Quotation of the Day

“Poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese.” -G.K. Chesterton

Advertisement

Letter to My Dog

Dear Roxy,

Why are you such a shameless skank? If I wasn’t there when we adopted you I would’ve thought you popped out of some two-bit mutt who sold her wares for biscuits in an alley somewhere. I saw you the other day, wagging your butt–yes your butt, not your tail–at all the other boy dogs passing by, even at Rascal, you’re uncle! Slut. And you do not discriminate when you are spreading your love, legs, and herpes. Oh no. Why, whenever anyone sits down next to you you flip right on your back and are belly up for the world to see your eight boobs. Eight. Show off. This isn’t the 70s, we wear bras now and know what a bikini wax is. So why don’t you get some self respect, cover up your naughty bits, and pass along the title of Town Bicycle to the next generation of insecure and undignified whores who line the streets trying to pay for “computer school.”

Love,

Tootsie

hooker

Quotation of the Night

“Progress isn’t made by early risers. It’s made by lazy men trying to find easier ways to do something.” -Robert Heinlein

Parental Dictionary: Wool

While watching the Oscars…

Mom: Why doesn’t Woody Allen ever go to the Oscars?What’s his problem?

Tootsie: I’m not sure, I think he’s angoraphobic so that might be it.

Mom: “Angora”-phobic?

Tootsie: Yeah, “angora”-phobic.

Mom: “Angora”-phobic?

Tootsie: Yes! What?! That’s a word! Angoraphobic! Fear of crowds!

Mom: That’s a-g-o-r-a-p-h-o-b-i-c! What’s “angoraphobic?” Fear of sweaters?

Tootsie: Bitch.

Quotation of the Day

“I’d much rather be a woman than a man. Women can cry, they can wear cute clothes, and they’re the first to be rescued off sinking ships.” -Gilda Radner

Breakfast of Champions

Since I moved I have not done a good job grocery shopping. The only thing you can buy in my neighborhood is beer, a Subway sandwich, and what’s the third thing…the third thing…oh yea, crack. So that means I have to get my groceries in a different neighborhood (though my normal 2 hour trek to find crack is a thing of the past) meaning that I would only be able to get a few things at a time because I have the upper body strength of a premature kitten.

I am saying all this to set the scene…DUN DUN DUN.

This morning I was lounging in my bed after waking up at the early hour of…noon. The ass-crack of dawn. I was lying there luxuriously in a robe watching a stand-up comedy DVD and needed something for breakfast. I look in my empty cabinets only to find carrots and hummus, bouillon cubes, and half a bottle of wine. I was about to suck on a bouillon cube when I noticed half a bag of popcorn that I had drunkenly purchased the night before so I delightedly brought it in my room, because nothing screams breakfast like popcorn! I was absentmindedly reaching into the bag because Louis C.K. was being particularly funny and ginger at that moment and I put what I thought was popcorn in my mouth…it was not. I cannot describe in words the fear I felt at that moment as I tasted the most disgusting thing I’ve ever consumed. And I’ve eaten sushi in Arizona. I started to gag and spit, to get whatever it was out of my mouth. I then started stuffing tissues in my mouth to suck up the grossness. Whatever it was was black as night, grainy looking, like a regurgitated oreo and it tasted like a flower that had been dipped in poison and set on fire. Also, it was not going away!! Every time I spit out the black, crap-like substance it seemed to double and come back with a vengeance. I coughed and hacked in vain, but the mystery food would not go away!

So how did this scene end? With me in the bathroom, robe completely open, crying like a bitch, sticking my pink toothbrush down my throat and forcing myself to throw up.

I was quite a mess to behold. I call that stance the Lindsay Lohan, as I’m sure she finds herself in that very position before many a drug test.

So, in conclusion, I still don’t know what I ate, I suppose it could’ve been a very VERY burnt kernel, but there is no way I got off that easy. So either I swallowed rat shit, a cockroach and will start violently vomiting any minute now, or I consumed a magic herb and will have super powers by morning.

Gratuitous Cuteness

If you don’t think this is cute you disgust me.

The Hangover: Part Embarrassing

I have ended too many nights recently like this:

I have recently moved from the rural-ish town I was living in back to the glorious city I love and I was making up for lost time. I saved up all my drunk chips (you can purchase yours at drunkendisaster.com) and have officially cashed them in. It’s not that I think there is something wrong with going out for a night on the town and experiencing the many delights of the city, it’s just that there is a limit to what a person can take. And by person I mean a sleepy, petite, poor girl of questionable drinking stamina who does not know how to say no when there is a drink offered to her. The other night I experienced a new first when the lights where thrown on at the bar I was at and they announced they were closed. Looking down at my watch I saw it was 4 am, how did that happen?! But I mean, who cares it was a Wednesday after-all…Wednesday, wow, it was a Wednesday…yikes. Yup, I definitely need to set a limit.

It’s just actually really difficult to say no!! Can I get a witness!?

Reasons Why It’s Hard (that’s what she said)

1. I don’t have a job yet, so I have nothing to wake up early for

2. I don’t have a job yet, so I need I distraction

3. I don’t have a job yet, so it’s time to live it up before I am held back by said job

4. I don’t have a job yet, so I need to drink to feel better about not having a job

I’m looking for some pattern, something linking all of those things together but, call me obtuse, I’m not seeing one.

Ok, fine! I need a job, I need to make that my priority and then I will be going out a “healthy” amount of times, if “healthy” can be used to describe having a drinking contest with a 300 lb tourist on a dare. That was off the record.

So conclusion: job equals balance and money and purpose.

( Y )  …my sign-off that I totally haven’t used

Talkin’ Crazy

I have been living in a not so nice neighborhood. Ok, it’s pretty bad. Ok, it’s so bad that whenever I walk outside, even to walk a block or two, I am secretly clutching my mace in one pocket and a blade in the other.

So how do I cope with the neighborhood? One word. Crazy face.

I use my (patented) crazy face, trademarked, copyright 1996. The crazy face isn’t just mine, it belongs to the world at large and it was passed down from my mother who taught me it’s secrets. I’m sure many of you out there have learned the ways of the crazy face and are knowingly nodding your heads and stroking your goatees. All that is required to make a crazy face is…a face…to splash some crazy on. Why have I spent a paragraph annoyingly describing this? Good question. Answer? Why is the sky blue? How many teeth are in the mouth of a Homo sapien? These are questions that can’t be answered.

So. Crazy face. All I do is make myself look like a lunatic to ward off bad guys: rapists, theives, murderers, cat stranglers, the Penguin from Batman is making a comeback…It usually starts with the eyes. I make them really big, angry, and intense. Then I furrow the brows. Now that right there is the your basic crazy face. Crazy face, phase 2, involve an awful smile that, juxtaposed against the angry eyes and brows, is off-putting. Phase 3? I start making my eyes all googly and I start to laugh to myself. Phase 4 is when I just full on talk to myself and, I mean, I really go for it. I only pull that shit out if things are ROUGH so it’s go big or go home. In the scary, scary scenario that someone approaches me, grabs me, ANYTHING I will go into Phase 5: Shit Fanning where I flail my arms around (it’s called a helicopter punch) and speaking in tongues. I do not fuck around.

Now, of course, there are things I do when I’m just a little nervous. If I know I’m being paranoid but someone is near me and I just want to be safe I start coughing violently. Sickness is gross and off-putting and people usually start backing away. And always, ALWAYS, I clutch my mace. ALWAYS.

Now that is the Tootsie Woo guide to street smarts and safety…that an don’t be an idiot and take a self-defense class so you can actually defend yourself. I should get on that. The self-defense class, not the not being an idiot…that’s here to stay.

Quotation of the Night

“An alcoholic is someone you don’t like who drinks as much as you do.” -Dylan Thomas