3 Crabapples for the Tittery Tia's Trio

There are a few things in life that I hate, unabashedly, without reason, and with the force of four mighty blue oxen. To name a few: giant poodles, peppermint gum, complete assholes, commercials for Bernie & Phyl's, and fancy pats of butter shaped like seashells.

There are a second category of things that I --yes-- also hate, but with distinct purpose. We have here: mushrooms (texture), sour cream (gross), jeans without back pockets (come on), and loud breathers (they make me tired and hot).

There is a third category of things that conjure up nightmares full of gorillas with horns, burnt toast with moldy jelly, and masked robbers eating mushroom caps and stealing my jewelry and shoes. Things in this category not only cause me to reevaluate the world fully, but also cause nausea and vomiting. And sometimes hives.
And, as in Category #1, they do not need or heed justification for this hatred.

On Saturday night, Category #3 welcomed a new member.
I give you: the three non-muses of Tia's on the Waterfront.

[Now, let me first make the disclaimer that typically I would need to be bound, gagged, and given at least 10-12 shots of Jack before I could be coerced to even say "Tia's" without overwhelming irony, but we were meeting people there and it actually turned out to be honest-to-goodness fun. Like, really. And they pour very good, strong drinks, even if they are in Solo cups. Okay, anyway.]

So, I'm in the bathroom at Tia's, and there are three girls furiously reapplying lipliner and mascara (wait-you carry mascara? what? really?) at the sink. Two of them are dressed identically in white pants, a silk halter in a bright, fushia and Sprite-green mod print, and strappy white heels. One was definitely under 90 pounds, with a jutting collarbone that could kill a pony. The other one, thankfully, was of more mortal proportions. The third girl wore a black tube dress. Fine. [Okay, yes, why were two dressed the same? I don't know. Stupid. But that's not the point.] They were....maybe...21? Maaaybe.

So, the conversation goes as follows:

Silk Halter #1: "I'm gonna call him and tell him I don't like him anymore."

Silk Halter #2: "Call and tell him you hate him."

Silk Halter #1: "Ohhh, yea!" [yea, totally novel...you fricking doooouche.]

Tube Dress: "You should just call and like, lay a full-on diva attack on him."

They immediately turn into a trio of wildly giggling, highly eyelinered bobbleheads.

Yea, dude, I don't need a reason to throw all three-a those bitches in Cat3.
Consider yourselves in the company of Tori Spelling and black licorice.

**Now I feel bad I talked smack about poods-- the one in the pic seems alright. A Flickr "yo" to Funkblast for possibly removing an item from Cat1.


Yea, some fruit.

1. This morning I saw the cutest dog that I've seen in a good while. It was so awesome. All peppy-stepped and prancy. It was a shipperke! SHIP-err-key. And how wonderful is that breed name?? "Hey, yo, this is Pebbles, my shipperke." Try to say that and not feel a little bit better about life.
Shit, I just did and I feel the same. Forget it. Hypothetically, though.
::4 wish-it-were-true pineapples.

2. So, last night, as I'm walking down Mass Ave with a group of friends, a homeless man began giving us restaurant recommendations (after we denied him spare change). [BTW-- Redbones, he says.] Then, as I'm pulling out of the parking lot a little while later, he yells to me, all angry and stuff, "get a break job!".
Really? Car judgement?
::Stop it. 77 crabapples.

3. Shoes with ankles straps look good on no woman. It's true. I don't care how tall and skinny you are, your leg line gets unapologetically broken and it makes you look stumpy. Sorry, but it's true. Just no.
::16 crabapples. And a warning to preserve unbroken body lines wherever you can.

4. Can I wear black to an outdoor summer wedding? No. No, right? No.
::88 crabapples for even posing the question. And I just pinched myself til I bruised.

5. Okay. Finally. Ashlee Simpson's new nose. She doesn't even look like Ashlee Simpson AT ALL anymore. I mean, she looks completely fantastic, but, like, maybe too generic or something? She looks kinda like a blonde girl with a perfect nose. I'm torn. I mean, I don't know what I mean.
::Perhaps a mully serves me best here.

Happy Fri, all.


1 Mulligan for Grandpa Metro

There's this old guy who stands in front of the Davis T stop every morning and hands out the Metro. He looks kinda like what Grandpa Addams would look like if he lost 40 pounds, grew a few inches, and ditched the cape.

He yells, with craaazy syllabic elongation: "meeeeeeeeeetro paaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaapaaahhh... get yo' meeeeeeeeeeeeetrooooo paaaaaaaaaaapaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh...."

It's cool and everything, makes me think of ol'times when I would get up at dawn and shear the sheep and play stickball with the neighborhood boys and try to put trinkets in an old tree trunk while deftly avoiding Boo Radley.

But, like, so, this morning, I walk by him, and I actually want a meeeeeeetrroooo papaaaahhhh. But he's going all Ray Charles head-fake on me and refuses to catch my glance for long enough to give me a damn paper. So I walk a little ways down the street to the actual Metro box-stand-distribution-thing (what's this called? yea, that.) and begin to open it, and he comes shuffling after me: "young lady, young lady in pink..." and hands me one. But my hand is already in the box, clasping my own meeeeeetrrrroooo paaaapaaah. So now I have two.

It was like kinda like Manny and Coco bungling it up in centerfield on Sunday. Except that while their mishap resulted in an inside-the-park-HR, I simply left with two periodicals.

Wow, um, uh, yeea.

**flickr nod to Harvard_Avenue.


159 Pineapples for Towelie's New Girlfriend

So, uh, guys...
LOOK! It's me as a South Park character!
Now, go make your own and show me. Please?
(And don't go yelling at me if you don't have the newest version of flash. It's free-o.)


I'm almost tempted to audblog a soundtrack for my little lady here.


You wouldn't even know what to do with a mulligan, Ted Stevens, so you don't get one.

Things that scare me:
snakes, clams, debt, Adrienne Curry and Christopher Knight's wedding (tonight at 9 on VH1), swords, and Ted Stevens.

I apologize for my choice of topic, since TS's ineptitude at, um,
a. his job
b. life
c. using words
has been a bit hyperobsessively mocked and rocked all over the blogosphere within the past week or so, but the crit is 100% deserved, so my redundancy is somehow a'ight-ified.

I've met bulkie rolls that understand the internet better.
In fact, it was a cute little potato roll who sent me this YouTube clip.
Thanks, Marty.

On completely not the same topic, but in follow-up to my JP Licks anger on Thursday, tabasco sauce ice cream is just sooo not okay. And that cornmeal flavor they talk about at the end of the article-- no.


55 Crabapples for Mattie's Mom

What I really wanted to write about tonight was Ashlee Simpson turning down Playboy, but then something happened today that I simply can't keep to myself, so little Ash and her brand new prep-nose and waif-arms are gonna hafta wait.

Okay, so.
Today I decide I would like an ice cream cone.
So I walk to the ice cream store.
And there is a lady with her couple-month-old baby ahead of me.
Now, as I begin describing this wench, please understand that I eventualy come to hate her so, so much, so my description may be slightly skewed. I stress slightly though, because she was plainly horrible in even the most unbiased view.

She had a long scraggly, frizzy-straw, treebark brown ponytail, which reached halfway down her rather sizable ass. She wore tivos with ugly off-white socks, which were clearly only off-white because they were old and dingy. She had on an fugly t-shirt with some stupid wildlife or something on it, and probably had some dumb puntastic slogan on it... something granola-lame, like, say, "No More Monkey Business in the Rainforest." [Okay, I made that up completely, but ride with me here.] I think she had a mole. Or two. And patchy red blotches on her neck and forearms. And she had quite obviously never seen eyebrow wax, or, like, tweezers. And, I'm actually 100% serious on this one-- she had a fucking fanny pack. What? I know. Color: dirty traffic light yellow. And she actually had things in it (probably, like, wet-naps and a whistle and gimp). Gross. Oh, and she was like 4 feet tall. Tops. So I'm short and whatever, but I don't make it worse with navy burmuda shorts cut below the knee, and high socks nearly meeting them mid-calf.

The baby was cool. It was cute. Blonde. A boy.

Here's how it starts.
So there is one guy working. She steps up to the plate. She asks: "Does the eggnog ice cream have real eggs in it? Or soy? Or nuts?"

IC Guy: "No. None of our ice cream, even the egg nog, has egg or soy in it. And that flavor does not contain nuts."

I think he has done a very good job.
She does not.

Jackass Lady: "Can you check?"

IC Guy: "Um."

Fucker Lady: "Don't you have an ingredient manual for each flavor?"

IC Guy: "Oh, sure, yes, it's out back. I'll get it."

[Goes in the backroom, 5 minutes pass, comes back, confirms his original assertion.]

I think: "Great."
I think this too soon.

Lady of Death: "Can you show me?"

IC Guy: [with more patience than Whistler's Momma] "Sure."

[comes back with binder thingy. starts flipping through.]

As he is flipping, Assholeface says, "Thanks so much, it's not for me, it's for Mattie (motioning towards the baby in the babysack-papoosey thing attached to her front).

Wait, what??????

And then...THEN....THEEEEEN.... she starts talking to the baby in a tone of voice that made me want to pull out my Duck Hunt gun on her shoddy ass.
"Huuuh, Mattie, Mommy can't have the ice cream without sharing with you. And you're allergic to the bad, bad eggs... and the bad, bad soy... right, Mattie-Piesie, and you're too little-bittle to eat nuts, so that's ir--rel--e--vant, right? right?"

I think: "omigod. omigod. i hate you too much to say. i am so overflowing with such horrible horrible hatred towards you that I may pass out. omigod, i am really going to pass out. You have filled my heart with darkness and death."

[meanwhile, my good man the IC guy is still flipping through ingredient lists and pointing out things to the lady.]

Can I just say, if you are going to choose to talk to the baby in a totally obnoxious baby voice, can you, uh, not go all Baby-Genius-Psychobabble and over-enunciate big words? Irrelevant? What? The baby does not understand that. Why don't you just tell him it's antithetical? Or, um, inapposite? Or languidly trichadecaphobic? Gah, you aaaaaasshoooole.

Oh, and the baby does not know what soy is. The baby does not know if it wants nuts or not. The baby hates you and wants you to shut the fuck up so he can drink your milk. And as long as your saggy breasts are not filled with soymilk or ricedream, he seemingly will be fine.

And seriously, if you are so fricking worried about "bad, bad eggs," why are you drawn to the egg nog ice cream? Clearly to be difficult.
And how do you now that's the flavor Mattie wants? Did he tell you? Yea, did he?

I left after 10 minutes of ingredient discussion, and the line was out the door behind me.

There are still angry rottweilers dancing in my head.

[Thanks to blueskygirl for a lovely pic of the ice cream I was denied today.]


45 Pineapples for Clarity's Sake

To follow up on yesterday, the bug is gone but his trail has stayed.

On the deo deal.. a big thank you to Elizabeth for clearing this up. And I quote:

"the deodorant thing... they're full of yucky toxins (mainly aluminums) and if your kidneys don't work properly and can't remove these toxins, they're even more of a problem, as the 'trace' amounts build up in your body and become significant... Whole Foods sells a safe one without aluminums, which are bad for bones and (very) likely carcinogens."

Thanks EK!

On an unrelated note, Jessica Simpson has offered fans the option of buying a personalized V of her new single, meaning your name would be poppered into the lyrics.
FYI- the song blows even without dumbifying it further with your name.

But, I did find the fact that Jess has been romantically linkered to comedian Dane Cook to be veeeeery interesting. He's from Arlington, btw. Wait, right? I'll check.

On the other hand, songs that don't suck ass: Christina's new one.
Bravo, girl.


7 Crabapples for a Lack of Understanding

two things I need help with:

1. This morning, I am in the shower and I spot a bug.
I notice that he is crawling on the wall (which is white) directly along a little brown crack.
And then I realize he is creating the little brown crack.
And then I realize that he is not creating a crack, but rather he is trailing thin line of brown behind him as he crawls, so it just looks like a crack but is not.

He was small.
The size of a 14-point helvetica hyphen.
Black with a little yellow design on his back.
Not gross, just there.

What was he?

(this is not a pun)

2. I noticed this warning on the back of my deodorant this morning:
If you have kidney disease, consult your doctor before using.

I would appreciate clarity on both issues. I thank you in advance.
Now go enjoy your Mondays. A little.


1,896 Pineapples for Wiffiti's New Blog

If you're getting sick of my fluff (how dare you), or just want something more fun to play with, clicky-clicky over to txt out loud, the new Wiffiti blog.

The new viewer tab is fab.
And you can txt your comments to the screen in our office, which, in case you weren't sure, is wicked cool.

Okay, enough flagrant self-promotion. just go; i'll give you a dollar and a plastic kitten if you don't like it.

And I'm very open to suggestions, too... so txt 'em or leave 'em here.

...and btw, yes, leaving the "e" out of "text" is totally web 2.0.


100 Pineapples for Donkeys, Panic, Netflix, and Advergirl

I admit to being a tinge of a Negative Nancy lately, and for absolutely no good reason. Well, other than the fact that in the past week, I lost my keys in the supermarket (finally found them after 45 minutes of panic and whining, buried in the tomato bin), got locked in the bathroom at the Hess station (this time, a mere 15 minutes of panic and whining brought resolution), and spilled my entire salad for dinner tonight in the backseat of my car (okay, so I'm still head-whining about that right now).

But really, other than that, things are going very well and I need to stop being such a pussy.

So, here... here are things I currently think are awesome:

1. coarse sea salt in a disposable shaker. it's the official salt of summer.

ok, wait, pause: I am watching season 3 of Sex & the City right now, and carrie just stopped at a pay phone and made a call. Who does that?
This leads me to...

2. Netflix. Just joined. I love it. Anyone want to be my Netflix friend?

3. Advergirl. She's been shooting up the ad blog charts, and she's fantastic. Check her out.

4. white outfits. I like that white is back in such a huge way. It makes me feel all clean and frothy and stuff. Well, until I spill. But this leads me to... Gonzo. It gets freaking anything out of freaking anything.

5. Restaurants with magazines. I went to Yoshi's for sushi the other day for lunch and they had NEW magazines out for people like me who like to eat lunch alone but sometimes get bored if i forget to bring a book. This month's Vogue and Bazaar. So sweet. And they roll their inside-out maki in sesame seeds, which always makes me 23% happier.

6. Okay, this doesn't really make me happy or whatever, but I think I may have a tapeworm. I have been so unreasonably hungry for the past week that it's nutty. I am waiting patiently for it to pass. Meanwhile, I pass dead squirrels on the street and salivate. No, I don't; that's gross.

7. I am going to Sibling Rivalry on my birthday and I know it will be so good that I will LILAS (love it like a sis).

One final thought: Do you think Pin the Tail on the Donkey would still be fun to play at this stage in life? Like, not alone, necessarily, but maybe with people?

**and speaking of dizz-on-kays, thank you beafab4 for your primo donkalicious arsenal.

1 Mulligan for Next to Nothin'

I realized that I haven't doled out a mulligan in far, far too long, so I'm going to give myself one. There. Painless.
And while I'm here, in edit-post land, I will take a couple mins to unload some things that have been occupying some precious brain space for at least a moderate while.

1. Can someone come out with different colors of parsley? I'm just so sick of the green. I mean, really, yawn.

2. Should I buy a basketball pump for my mini basketball? I have one at home-home somewhere, but shit if I know where it is. And I need it if my stupid techno neighbor acts like a trashface again.

3. If I were trapped on a desert island, would I crave cantaloupe?

4. Do I even like vodka?

5. If someone just gave me a live bunny (small, young, soft, long-eared) right now and my landlord said it was okay to keep, would I keep it or give it to the MSPCA?
I'm pretty sure I'd keep it, though I would worry about the smell.

6. If I could only eat one grain for the rest of my life, I would probably choose rice. Even though I don't ever think to myself that I even like rice. And I never crave rice. But I would most definitely pick rice and it would be probably be the right choice for me.

7. I hate people who don't pay attention while riding their bikes. And birds. I hate birds. Especially domestic birds and birds that do tricks and stuff. They just always seem so... I dunno... boastful.

8. I have always thought that when I finally get a dog I want to name her Lila. But I have had this creepy haunting thought lately that I should secretly name him/her a rare strain of bacteria but then give her a cute public nickname.
Actually, um, forget I said that. It reads back way weirder than it looked in my head.
Lila works.
But, heya, so would menogiccoccal thispius.

9. I kinda wish I majored in math.


65 Pineapples for 65%

Today I wicked bad suck at life. And I'm kinda totally annoyed that the "k" on my keyboard also sucks at life, so together we completely suc at life.
And the not-a-word "suc" just reminded me of the word "sac," which makes me think of swollen glands and dirty unborn caterpillars and all other things evil and missing Ks. Like, um, oh, i dunno, Rudy Seanez.

Anyway, I found some things notable today, despite my suc(k)ination, so here:

1. World Cup viewership is up a whip-whoppin' 65% in the US since '02. These are old numbers from June... I'll keep my eye out for updated stats. But, whazzup-- that's a really big number. (as an aside, those are some thrilled ad buyers.)

2. According to Wikipedia, "On January 30, 2004, [Alex] Trebek escaped injury after falling asleep behind the wheel of his pickup truck. He bumped into a string of mailboxes and ended up in a ditch. At that time, Trebek was driving by himself on a rural road."

Did you all know about this?
I mean, wow... Al always looks so alert and spry and stuff. This just goes to show ya: one never knows what lies behind the salt&pepper mystique of our nation's heroes. Staggering, just staggering.

3. Barbaro is one tough horsie. I see an E True Hollywood Story on the horizon.

**Thanks to Nakashi for the nice pic of Barbaro's supporters. This banner is a lovely thought and very well-meaning and don't-take-this-the-wrong-way-please, but Barb can't read, right? Maybe mail a carrot arrangement or something? I'm not making light; I'm not.


90 Crabapples for Aubrey's Less Lockalicious Locks

I stumbled upon the new season of Making the Band tonight, and I saw something worse than a mouse eating my string cheese--
Aubrey has gone brunette. Like, dark brunette. Oh oh oh, sweet blonde balls of pointless volitility, did we not all learn from Ashlee?

In reverence to Aubrey's silly mistake, I'd like to bring back my second favorite song from season 3.
Note: My numero uno tawdry trash classic, "Lately I've Been Looking for a Man," rudely did not have a YouTube video for me to snarf-snag. Therefore, I have gone with #2, which also will lodge itself in your brain like a burrowing mealworm until you finally yell "OOOOOH! You're touching my body..." in line at the grocery store and everyone looks and you are forced to cover your face with a bag of Tostitos.

I have never done that because I have full control of every facet of my being, but yea, I can, like, imagine it happening. Sure.

**Editor's Aside: The intro sentence to the YouTube video link is a tragedy in verb agreement. I had nothing to do with it.
**Editor's Aside II: Mee-oow-oow to Eek the Cat for the band pic.


11 Crabapples for Small Wonders

Know what's almost as horrible as dropping a pile of dirt on your floor?
Dropping a pile of cleaning product.
I just did it with a can of Comet, and it sucked surprisingly much.
Oh, how often life comes full circle.

I don't have a lot to say tonight, and I am completely distracted by So You Think You Can Dance (Allison is my early favorito).

But, I will take a moment to discuss the fact that I don't think midgets are funny anymore. Actually, I'm not even sure I found them funny to begin with. Nah, I didn't. Like, Burger King just came out with this totally stu commercial involving midget construction workers, and it is the least amusing thing I've seen since CarrotTop. And, for the record, I consider CarrotTop less funny than a potholder.

Does anyone still think this is funny at all? Midgets, I mean.

Well, stop it.


77 Pineapples for Pepsi Pucks

Know that powder used to make instant pudding?
Yea, I eat that.


So anyway, today I reached into my pocket and pulled out this little folded sticky-note that said "pepsi/NHL," which means that I read something interesting somewhere when I was not close enough to my 'puter to gmail myself a reminder that I found something interesting somewhere.

I just googled "pepsi + flying rabid kittens" to remind myself what I was so intrigued by. No, I didn't. I googled "pepsi + NHL" first. But then I just had to do the former search, too, since I brought it up. A toilet paper that gives kittens rabies? Not cool at all, but at the same time, very cool, like, in how it does that if it really does that. I mean... right?

I have a point. I think.

Pepsi has won exclusive rights to NHL sponsorship.

But...but... Coke has "renewed and expanded" its NBA deal.

Coke wins.

Wow-- all that for that?
Yea, I think so.

Gosh, I'm sorry. Happy 4th.
I'm making strawberry shortcake.

**Thanks to Spolster for the flickr pic of Pepsi Latte.
Again, Coke Blak wins; but both are totally Gross Mocha.