Sounds of Spring

Abby: You've been emailing each other?! How is that going?

Me: Eh.

Abby: What does that mean?

Me: I don't know if I like him.

Abby: Why not?

Me: I feel like he is kind of a nerd.

Abby: So are you! You're a nerd! You know what I mean, so am I. Don't give up so soon.

Me: You mean don't pull an "Erin?"

Abby: Yeah, exactly. Hang in there so you can join The Old Timers Club with me. (Laughs.)

Me: I'm a card carrying member. I started that club!

Slaminky Malargy to you and yours...

Now Playing: "Father Figure" by George Michael

The Thrill of the Hunt

Joe and I are looking for apartments. At first thought, moving out of my parents house and into my own place brought me nothing but unparalleled joy and excitement. I felt as if I were 18 again, moving out and into a dorm. And I felt like shouting "FREEDOM!" a la Mel Gibson's portrayal of William Wallace in Braveheart.

Unfortunately after a rather unsuccessful day of apartment hunting, I felt more like Goldie Hawn in Overboard after a day of manual labor sputtering, "Buh buh buh buh buh buh." I seem to be the perfect target for salespeople. I am gullible, easily persuaded and often appear to be confused in situations that involve me parting with my money and signing contracts that bind for a year. Oh the choices to be made and the amenities to request.

Thankfully, Joe is also a salesman, and can schmooze with the best of them. Some women would be offended with all the questions being directed at the man in the situation, but since I'm Lennie to his George, I'm completely fine with being basically ignored so when I'm distracted by the large walk-in closet, I can afford to zone out and daydream about how many pairs of shoes I can fit in that thing.

Slaminky Malargy to you and yours...

Now Playing: "Rebellion" by Arcade Fire

His application is already in for the next season of "White Rapper"

I was in Chicago for St. Patrick's Day weekend and we went to a party that was thrown by a few friends from Miami. Now, although they are my friends, they also ran in a crowd that I didn't particularly care for. Basically, this crowd is the embodiment of the predominantly white, privaledged Miami stereotype that I have to hear about all the time from the "haters." Anyway, we stood out ont he balcony looking down on the group in the back yard hanging out and littering the lawn with cans of Miller Lite.

Below us a mini-audience was forming for 2 guys battling. Battling meaning they were trading rhymes and insults in a "rhythmic" fashion. I love it when people make a public display of themselves and take it so seriously. I was laughing so hard that I thought I was going to throw up all over them. Ya know, because we were on the balcony above them.

I shit you not, one of the yuppie bastards said, "I'll put concrete shoes on your feet, because I'm from the streets."

Yeah those mean suburban streets were tough. I hated it when the neighborhood bakery was out of poppyseed bagels and I had to settle for whole grain. Or when the headlight when out in the car my parents bought me when I was 16 causing me to become a "padiddle." That's suffering, yo.

Slaminky Malargy to you and yours...

Now Playing: "California Love" by 2Pac feat. Dr. Dre

Step aside Jessica Simpson, there's a new idiot in town!

Actual quote uttered while eating the salty cracker Chicken in a Biscuit:

"I don't get it. Is there chicken in these crackers?"


Who would be so dense to even say that? Oh wait... it was me. And in front of a room of good looking male strangers. They all laughed in my face and felt bad for the daft blonde girl staring at a box of crackers trying to decode the enigma.

But seriously... why are they called Chicken in a Biscuit? I honestly feel like it's a different than from when Jessica Simpson said she didn't want buffalo wings because she didn't eat buffalo. Or when she asked a dumbfounded Nick Lachey if Chicken of the Sea was chicken or tuna. I mean... COME ON.

Since I'm too lazy to do the five minutes of research it would take to answer my own question, I'm just hoping someone would just leave an answer in the comment section.

Go ahead and enlighten me.

Slaminky Malargy to you and yours...

Now Playing: "Grace Kelly" by MIKA

One, Twice, Three times a Lady...

Anyone who knows me is aware that I have a surly digestive system. I've self diagnosed myself with IBS. That's Irritable Bowel Syndrom for those who aren't familar with the lingo. My stomach likes to make gurgling noises to let everyone in the vicinity know that I either really enjoyed my previous meal or that it's disagreeing with my choice in cuisine. It's usually the latter. I should name my stomach because honestly it is it's own entity and should be awarded it's own identity. Any suggestions? My friend Lauren who suffers the same stomach issues named hers Pablo. It's fitting.

Back in college my stomach made a noise so un-human like I asked my then roommate Britta if she heard the noise. She said it sounded like a motorcycle. A motorcycle revving it's engine down the street. Good lord.

I've been at my job almost 4 months now and my stomach and butt have had 2 mishaps in front of my boss. That's right I broke wind, cut the cheese, farted, tooted, let one rip, passed gas, pooted, ripped ass IN FRONT OF MY BOSS.

The first time it was one of those that come out like a clap when you suddenly laugh. It was barely audible and it didn't smell. Whew... dodged a stinky bullet.

The second was released about a week ago disguised as the same clapper fart triggered by a sneeze or jolt of laughter but it was like my ass really liked something in the room and wanted to pay homage by applauding loudly. Again it didn't stink, but my face got hot and red as I tried to cover up the sound by coughing and laughing at the same time. I am not sure if anyone recognized the popping sound as a fart, but regardless of recognition, I looked absolutely insane.

I am just hoping my Stomach (still unnamed yet deserving of a capital S) doesn't go for the almighty hatrick, because I know that the third time will be the charm and my ass will blow a fart like the loud trumpet farts that usually come the mornings after a night of drinking imported ale. I'm not sure how I'll cover that one up with coughing... I'll probably have to do my air saxophone impression and promptly quit my job.

Slaminky Malargy to you and yours...

Now Playing: "Danny Boy" by The Pogues

Dance Damme Dance

Even in this movie's prime, was it sexy or just sad? You decide.

Slaminky Malargy to you and yours...

Now Playing: Whatever the song good ol' Jean Claude is groovin' to.

Keeping my fans happy

I got the opportunity to chat with a friend/roommate from college today while at work and found out that she keeps up with me through my blog, so I thought I would give her a shout out and tell her how it was awesome to talk to her today. **HI KATIE!**

So I thought I would try and challenge myself and update this thing more often, especially now that I know that people depend on it during boring law school classes. Hehe.

Slaminky Malargy to you and yours...

Now Playing: "Love Like Winter" by AFI