Friday, August 25, 2006

Bang! Bang! Friday Bullets

Welcome to Cynic's "Getting To Know Min" Friday Bullets list.
  • When I was in third grade I owned an inbred and therefore slightly retarded border collie named Tabby. One drizzly (is that a word?) day I decided to take Tabby for a walk. While walking down a hill in our yard she ran a circle around me, tying me with her leash. Then she decided to take off full speed down the hill, ripping my legs from under me, dragging me for about 10 feet. My right ankle wound up somewhere near my head. As I lay there motionless, crying, my mother came to the porch to see what was wrong. She told me I was fine and went back inside, leaving me to hobble up a wet, grassy hill. The next day the doctor told me I fractured my patella.
  • I resolve arguments with family and friends by biting them.
  • My favorite beverage is a strawberry daiquiri made and brought to me, poolside, by Manuel at the Gran Melia, Cancun.
  • I'm deathly afraid of sharks and won't swim in the ocean because of it. I also don't like swimming in lakes or ponds because fish just creep me out in general.
  • My first crush was in first grade. His name was Brad; he had blonde hair and blue eyes. When he walked by me I would French kiss my hand, pretending it was him. Although, not knowing what a French kiss was, I think I just used to lick my palm.
  • My favorite food group is chocolate.
  • My second favorite food group is cheese.
  • I have a (half) brother who is 5 years younger than me. I have two step-sisters that my family never sees who, subsequently, were in my (step) grandmother's will, whereas I was conveniently left out. I love my brother because he hates my step sisters.
  • I like to play video games.
  • I don't eat meat (fish and poultry included), but I like the smell of steak on the BBQ.
I hope you all feel closer to me now that I've given you irrelevant information about my life. I also hope you're happy that you're getting any updates at all today, because I'm quite tired and it's raining outside and all I want to do is curl up on my couch with a mug of hot cocoa and watch Disney movies (Including and Post-The Little Mermaid).

Tuesday, August 15, 2006

Well...That Explains A Lot


Behold! Min shall shed light on the question: "What does Britney see in Cletus McK-Fed?" Answer: her own father. This takes the Electra Complex one step too close to a cinder-block porch on a double-wide trailer in Louisiana.

*Photo Source People.com - Left: Britney Spears' father, Right: Cletus

Friday, August 11, 2006

Friday Bullets

  • Happy birthday to the woman who birthed me; I blame you for the way I am. Just kidding. But really, I am this way because of you. It's a good thing, I swear. Much fun planned for tomorrow with lots of good food, beauty, friends and sangria.
  • You ever sit down at your desk and think "Wow...I really...hate almost everyone I work with"? That's my day today.
  • We have a new kid at work that laughs like that retard from Beavis & Butthead. But instead of calling him Butthead I call him Asshead because somehow it feels more grown up and I feel justified for making fun of another human being for the way they laugh. But I mostly hate him because he laughs at the most inappropriate times: "Uh-huh, uh-huh-huh. Min, I kind of backed into your car with my Camry. Uh-huh, uh-huh-huh-huh."
  • Happy Friday. Remember: Cynic hates you, but you love her for it.

Young Man

Ho-Bag supposedly moved out of my apartment building a couple of months ago (I secretly thought she was killed by our landlord). In her stead, two twenty-something guys moved into her old apartment.

One of them owns an old brown, rusted Bronco with a decal on the side saying, "Injun Racin'". As much as that scares me, it doesn't nearly come close to the horror of walking to my car and finding a Trojan wrapper in the parking lot next to said Bronco.

Obviously, Ho-Bag wasn't murdered, she got a sex change. She probably goes by the name "Steve" now and works construction.

Road Rage

It seems my day is not complete unless my life is threatened at least once by insane drivers during rush hour traffic.

On my way into the office this morning "Let's Go" by The Cars came on the radio and I'm all: "Yeah! The Cars! Kick Ass! Kick. Ass."

I'm in the passing lane doing 80 mph, easily, when all of a sudden a pick-up truck with a Calvin & Hobbs sticker (the one that shows a rebellious Calvin peeing and flipping the viewer off) decides to inexplicably move into the left lane and brake.

I do irrational things when people cut me off. Some people honk their horns, others yell even though they know deep down inside that the driver of the other car can't hear them, a few loose cannons take out double-barrel shotguns and mow the mother fucker down. I jot down their license plate number and stalk them for a few months, leaving them anonymous pieces of hate mail under their windshield wipers and occasionally slashing their tires.

My therapist said I have anger issues that I need to confront. She also asked me not to tell her what I do to the people I stalk anymore because patient confidentiality only goes so far with the police now-a-days.

Tuesday, August 08, 2006

Matthew Also Likes To Ride

Puts Jake to shame, really.

Michelle Tanner Is A Hobo

Mary-Kate Olsen has a lot of money. So why she looks like a post-Woodstock, greasy, smelly Janis Joplin on a bad day is beyond my comprehension.

On the upside, she looks like she's gained a few ounces. Which is a lot when you're a 4'2" greasy hobbit.

Double Take


When I first saw this picture, I thought: Oh my God! Keanu Reeves got fat! And then I looked more closely and thought: Oh...it's just Keith Urban. And I really don't care.

Friday, August 04, 2006

Example #4,000,080 Why Paris Hilton Is An Attention Whore

"Paris Hilton swears off sex for a year," says People.com. Instead, the walking STD-filled cadaver will "kiss, but nothing else."

At this point, I'm going to have to say that I don't believe her. She expects me to believe that men hang around her for her wonderful dinner conversation?

She goes on to say that "she's only ever had sex with two men in [sic]." I'm not sure if that's a deliberate typo to allude to the fact that she's only ever had sex with two men in the butt, or she's only ever had sex with two men in a video, or she's only ever had sex with two men in a row, or if it was a legitimate mistake on the editor of People's part. Stranger things have happened.

All I know is she is one classy bitch.

Example #542 Why Single Men Are Stupid

I just read a Mr. Matt Schneiderman's poetically entitled article, "My Week of Picking Up Women" on MSN. You don't have to read it; in fact, if you are a single man, I suggest you don't read it. If you are a single female, I beg you not to read it, lest you think all men are as hopeless as Mr. Schneiderman. Instead, I'll paraphrase his antics, and tell you what he did wrong.

On Monday, Matt hit the gym to seek out some hotties. After realizing women in the cardio room aren't interested, he signed up for a Nia class (a combination of stretching, dance, and yoga).

Why this is bad: Most chicks going to the gym, as he points out, are plugged into their i-Pods, reading the captions on C-SPAN or perusing through Self Magazine. They're sweaty. They're focused. If a man starts staring at her, she's not going to take it as flattering, she's going to wonder what the hell he is looking at. Is it because she's sweating so much you can see pit stains? Does she smell? Better to just leave her alone; most women don't go to the gym to meet people. They go to the gym to get the body to be able to meet people. Secondarily, if you walked into my Nia class, I would peg you immediately as gay.

On Tuesday, Matt volunteered at a basketball clinic.

Why this is bad: Assuming you're going to find single women at a basketball clinic is a stretch, but if you find any you still have to contend with her self-consciousness once again. Why? You're running around an un-airconditioned gym and she's sweating. A lot.

On Wednesday, Matt headed to happy hour. By himself.

Why this is bad: If you go to happy hour by yourself, you automatically signal to everyone that you are only there to find someone. Although this might seem like an honest approach, in a very naive and pathetic sort of way, people head to happy hour with friends and co-workers to unwind after a tough week. They don't want to deal with dudes who are going to use pick up lines on every single chick in the place until one bites. Also, "we met at a bar" isn't a great way to tell the 'rents where you hit it off.

On Thursday, our hapless friend borrowed a dog from a friend in the hopes that bringing the pooch to a doggie park would spark some conversation. The dog was a dachshund.

Why this is bad: Ok, he borrowed a dog. You don't borrow a dog. That's just wrong. And he borrowed a dachshund; while very cute and he must have gotten a few "awww's", the kind of dog you own directly correlates to the type of person you are. Dachshund = cute and dopey, high-strung, and kind of...well...blah. I want a man with a man's dog. Something active, something unpretentious and something with heart.

On Friday, Matt went to a friend's birthday bash.

Why this is good: Relaxed setting, you're there for your friend. If you happen to meet someone, great. Chances are, they'll know the friend, you'll have something to talk about and relate to.

Why this is bad: Hooking up with a friend's friend and then breaking up with a friend's friend. Ouch.

On Saturday, the S-Man went to a wedding.

Why this is good: Weddings make even the most black-hearted of women wonder why she hasn't met the right guy.

Why this is bad: See above.

On Sunday, Matt thought spending a rainy afternoon at a bookstore would snag him someone brainy.

Why this is bad: If she's into reading, she's there to...wait for it...buy a book. Maybe two! Unless you reach for the same Kafka compilation, don't expect an interested glance. If you do pick up the same book, be prepared to answer questions as to why it's your favorite. Women can smell a liar from miles away.

Thursday, August 03, 2006

Yeah, You. You're Dead.

Now, I love Puffins just as much as anyone could possibly love their gay best friend. But I say with the utmost conviction and without a tinge of remorse that after last Saturday's Spin Class at the Equinox I could have killed him. If I could have moved quickly enough, that is.

As part of his birthday gift, Puff requested that Nan-the-blogless-Porkchop join him at Spin Class. Somehow, and I'm not quite sure how or when, I was also roped into tagging along. We could miss any and all of the rest of the birthday, he claimed, as long as we went to Spin.

The stationary bike is part of my gym routine, so I am not unfamiliar with its mechanisms. I get a pretty decent workout from it; my ass and hamstrings usually burn a little by the end of my set. Nothing - let me emphasize this a little more clearly - NOTHING!!!! - could have prepared me for my first Spin Class.

Will, the tall blonde, obviously gay instructor, walked into the room crammed with 50 bikes, floor to ceiling, wall to wall mirrors. Fastening his headset to his noggin, he turned the lights off. All you can hear is soft whirring of bikers peddling. The music is turned up. And we're off.

Move to the beat. Back-forth-back-forth-side-side-side-move-to the beat-push it-push it-push-it. I'm sweating like a pig as he declares DOUBLE TIME. One two-one two-one two. And he says the dreaded words: take it up. For you non-spinners, this means get off your ass and feel the lactic acid pump through your muscles, out your pores and trickle down your face until you taste nothing but salt.

Some thoughts went through my mind:

1) Heeeeeyyy...sweat burns your eyes.
2) Puff is dead.
3) No, seriously. I'm going to kill him.
4) Slowly.
5) Fuck you, double-time!
6) Sadistic mother $(*&W&$(!

Forty. Five. Minutes. Of. Pure. Hell.

I pictured myself falling flat on my face trying to dismount my torture device at the end of class. Then I pictured wringing Will's neck until he was purple. But I was way too tired.

Wednesday, August 02, 2006

Meet Dyan Cannon...

According to IMDb.com, she was in Caddyshack II, although I never saw that movie and she still looks very familiar. She was also in Ally McBeal, which I never watched either. Regardless, from this photo, I would say she is very attractive for a woman of 378.





However, this photo probably more accurately displays her age. I'm going to forego the obvious comments about how she stole the blinds from a local funeral parlor and fashioned them into a blouse, and just ask you to note how the skin on her arms look like that of a burn victim's. And maybe I'll go to Hell for saying she looks like a burn victim because in fact she is, but a) I already knew that I was going to Hell and b) they make shirts to cover that kind of thing up.

*Source: Go Fug Yourself