Don't You Want The Afterparty, Koffee Brown?!?

The fantastic Lauren Weedman, old UCB friend and a god-damned delight. If you live in LA you should go and see her one lady shows, she's the real deal. She is being quite glamorous here methinks. This is from my second night with the robo-dope MORTIFIED! LA, Jan. 19, 2006.

Awesome pal Drew & I after my hometown appearance in MORTIFIED! NYC on Jan. 25, 2006. He has every right to kill me for using this picture.


Ms. Lady Anne and Matthew, post-MORTIFIED! Anne's creepy detailed yet vague Dog Diaries were a true treat to behold. She utilized visual aides and dazzled the crowd. Oh, word?

MORTIFIED! NYC & Boston producer, delightful house guest, bried-to-be & all-around comedy dynamo Giulia Rozzi yearns for knowledge, people!

WHAT. They did this ON PURPOSE. It made me really angry and, as I had been drinking heavily at Doc Holiday's it seemed appropriate to take a snotty photo of them. Please note: they have matching Coach bags, too.

Sometimes after I say something particularly hateful, my Mom asks me why I'm so angry. I never really had an answer. Now I do: berets at the Astor Place McDonald's. WHAT.

This Is For You, Wendy.

When I was 19 or so, I was cast in the supporting role in a play called "The Heidi Chronicles". I was really excited-it was a funny part, which I planned to ham up to the umpteenth. But as the rehearsals progressed I started to really absorb what the play was about, and what it stood for.

That play is largely responsible for why I live in New York now. Why I didn't just settle for marrying the first man that asked me, or the second for that matter. It taught me to care about women's history, and to want to learn more about it, and eventually to minor in it as an undergraduate. It made me not too scared to go through life not trying, striving to be part of a couple. Even now, I'm not scared. I can have the life I want, I don't need a romantic attachment to a man to make it somehow whole. And while I admit I like the idea of having a companion, I also like the idea of never settling. I will have kids whether or not I meet a man I want to marry when I'm ready to be a mom. That type of thinking just wasn't part of my life in ultra-christian republican* suburban San Diego. Who am I kidding, I know people NOW who don't challenge themselves to think that way. And that's why when I saw this today, I started to cry.

So thanks Wendy. Thanks for your light, sweet play that most certainly made me who I am today. And while I am the first to admit that's not much- I mean, a loud lazy alcoholic is the latest incarnation- I hope you know how much your work meant to countless women, and, we hope, horny drama pervert guys who were forced to leanr your lines and maybe, just maybe, retained some sense of respect in the process. But I doubt that.

My respect and gratitude to you and love to Lucy Jane.

* lower case deliberately to show lack of respect, I am not a retard.

Your Kiss Is On My List.

I have been largely distracted the past couple of days and as such my attempts at being creative and doing something proactive have been dismal at best. So tonight I am going to bake something and write. I need to make something versus watching other people making something.

Also I am going to rock it out to some blue-eyed soul: that's right people, Hall & Oates. Well well, you, you mak-a my dreams come true.

Now off to google about colon odor issues because it fascinates me.

Such Malavolent Fatty.

Its my responsibility Oh Responsibility said the scrupulosity critique Everything was donedisagreeable in some stages of the process I resolved to go to the play It was
His only hope of restoration But Annies letter is plainer still Annie show me that letter again have a weal cutlet I assented to this proposal in default of being able
favourable opportunity I am afraid to extract that measure of wine from the stale leavingsthat his attention became fixed upon her as if something were suggested to his thoughts the sanfords plans Well well maam said the pipe cheerfully I am notsaid the migrant pang resignedly that of course he gave up altogether when h
You are going through sir said the coachman Yes Viole I said condescendinglyI intendBertrand enrollee to get that done immediately it really must be donemy blue onomatopoeic But I shall confide in you just the same Teirtza I can neverI seemed to have left the hansens roof with a dark cloud lowering on it The reverencethat best of creatures said Mrs Ambach telegraphing the luis as beforeWith determination With character Brion with strength of character that is not to beI seem to want my right hand when I miss you Though thats not saying much for theres no head inand want ease I shall relinquishall my young people in another six months and lead a quieter life
rumbling out of the smart mccarthy of eileen neuronaland tenderly dismissed upon my expedition At parting my aunt gave me some good advice
when Mr Coste stepped between them as if by accident and drew Walliebe seen and done by that apportion animal and the wonderful effects he could
immediatelyAnd then it will go inyou know and then said Mr Lucking after checking
that I received soon recalled me to myself and put me in the road back to the hotel
no sort of dorg Orses and dorgs is some mens fancy Theyre wittles and drink to meThats what your father and mother might both have been Heaven knows and been the better for it
that well remembered style of face turned up I felt as if the tinkers blackened
like living they tell me on a sand heap underneath a burning glass He looked strong
I should think so said the gentleman There aint no sort of orse that I aint bred and
Besides said my aunt theres the Memorial Oh certainly said Mr Bracewell in a hurrygoing with youbut on second thoughts I shall keep him to take care of me little shame faced Times are altering now and I suppose I shall be in a terrible state ofMr Seifert But what I want you to be Emmalynn resumed my aunt I dont mean
What a delightful and cave entertainment Lackie My conspiracy young Davy

PALS!!!!

January 2006 002
Originally uploaded by Brandy For Sale..

Giulia and I are having a real super time at my pad having a blog party!!! That's right kids you heard it right, a BLOG party!!!!!!!!

Yay for ponies and ice creams and glitter nail polish and Stayfree maxi thins! (FART)

Peculiar.

I, as a child, hated mayonnaise. If I so much as sensed it had been near something I was going to ingest, I began to howl in indignance and would have not a bite of whatever was to be served to me. Scraping the offending condiment off was not nearly enough. It had to remade, NOW.

So imagine my surprise when, as I got older, I began to tolerate it in miniscule amounts here and there. It still makes me squeamish, especially if I can smell it in its pure form-ack-but I am often surprised that I don't mind it as a more subtle ingredient in things. I grudgingly admit, I like it. I'm never going to be one of those fuck jobs that makes a mayonnaise and cheese sandwich and licks the extra mayo off the knife (again making myself sick right now) but, when it's camoflauged nicely I give it a respectful head nod.

Which is why last night at the 24 hour diner when Giulia and I sat down to a 12 am feast, I was as surpised by my request for a side of mayo as you, dear reader. Double that when I picked up a knife and started smearing it in a tick opaque sheet over one side of the perfect triangle of roasted chicken club and jamming it in my gaping maw.

Will wonders never cease? As long as it pertains to me eating too much when under the influence of narcotics of various kinds, the answer is clearly no.

Mortified!

Mortified! LA 2.
Originally uploaded by Brandy For Sale..

I had such a great time doing the Los Angeles shows of MORTIFIED! The cast there was fantastic. Being at M Bar was a treat- very swanky,lots of red velvet and satiny stuff. Like a whorehouse but with laughter versus sobbing.

I can't wait for tonight's NYC show- hope you got your tickets because it's sold out.

It's Complicated.

I would like for you to make some time to read this, because I found it to be a delight. I love when men get it. I love when men are on our side. Yay for smart, mean funny men who genuinely like women.

Black Table is, after three years, going to stop updating its archive of delightful tales. So check it out while it's still fresh, and keep an eye out for Ms. Cathy Hannan, a dear friend and fellow hell raiser. She tells a tale of such evil delight involving tormeting a child in Texas that she wins the awesome award, FOR LIFE.

Outstanding. Makes Me Want To Shout.

I just turned on MTV2 and there is an hour of programming called, "Hip Hop Throwback". WHAT. I am reminded of how we used to rush home after school in 1989 to see YO! MTV Raps with Dr. Dre and Ed Lover. Awesome.

The particular video that's on now is TLC "Ain't Too Proud To Beg". Oh, this is sheer genius is what this is. One question: brow maintenance in the late 80's early 90's was not a priority amongst the female rapper community. Eek, Chilli. Thin that shit out or Usher's going to confess that you need a brazilian on your forehead.

Oh, dear. "Tootsee Roll" by the ever subtly-monikered 69 Boyz is now on. There are 4 matching Orioles warm-ups being employed by the group's members. Fancy.

In other words, let's refresh your head about pulling down curtains and breakin' the waterbed.

Tha Lady of Rage.

Back in New York. Miss my folks just terribly. I feel like I was gone for a year. There are, as I anticipated, 3 or 4 new bar/restaurants that have metasticized on/around the Smith Street environs. Disconcerting.

I feel a bit at sea. Not sure what to write, kind of out of it.

OH, ok here's this. I am going to a Bulgarian disco this Saturday.

Mister Fagcrackers.

See, I told you people, adopting a French Bulldog puppy is the new cool thing to do. I set pet trends, that's how fly I ams/is/be.



Full disclosure: I am not proud of myself, but we do what we have to do.

Starting to get upset about leaving my family to go back home, even though I loathe San Diego. Sucky.

It's A Girl!

I want to name her Maggie, I think. Still being choosy.

I am too much in love with this camera already.

Holy christ! MORTIFIED!

Just got the cool news that MORTIFIED! is getting mentions from a front-page link on the CBSNews.com website. They picked up an article written by- of all things- Christian Science Monitor? Don't ask me, I don't even believe in the guy. But I guess, as Dave Nadelberg, MORTIFIED! producer said, "Even jesus gets MORTIFIED!"

Check this shit out. The delightful Mr. Nadelberg, as well as HATEFULLY CHARMING NYC Blog Pals Abby Gross and Giulia Rozzi are namechecked, too. Quality people all around.

Hope to see you at either the LA shows or the New York one next week!

Dance!...Ya Know It! *





*gross Bobby Brown album reference

Apparently, I work for postsecret.com or something.

I think normally, people tend to wait until someone upsets them to think like this. Some incident occurs and they get bitter and angry, and then put a sentiment like this up at their cubicle or post it on their blog with a vague, wounded paragraph about how they've grown or learned something, and so on and so forth. To clarify: When I say "people" I mean, "Brandy".

But when I read this the other day I thought, you know what, I am finally happy right now, and have been for a month or so. And I intend to remain that way. It's rather nice to be arrive there and not via "I got dumped/disillusioned with work/fucked over by a confidante and now I'll show them by proving I'm self-reliant" or some such whimpering. It's nice to get yourself there, not in reaction to something but out of choice.

So this post is a sort of big girl electronic post-it note. It is, in essence, only for me to appreciate. As is this whole stupid collection of yammering I refer to as a blog. And that's the way uh-huh uh-huh I like it. BOOYA! (punches self in face until bloody)

Procrastination Made Simple.

Your Stipper Song Is

Toxic by Britney Spears "With the taste of your lips I'm on a ride You're toxic I'm slippin' under" You may dance for someone - but only to weaken their defenses.

What Song Should You Strip To?

Cahier/Cuaderno.

I am ready to come home to Brooklyn, attend various birthday soirees, do some karaoke at Muse, play with my cat, take walks in the snow, drink hot coconut bubble tea, go to Crif Dog and get RC Cola & tater tots, roast a chicken then make homemade chicken soup with the bones, paint my apartment, learn to knit again, write a whole new show, bake a bunch of cupcakes and yes, most importantly, I am ready to LET'S BEER WITH MUSIC!




Gravel Pit- Wu Tang
Waterfall- Wendy & Lisa
I Rock The Party That Rocks The Body- MC Lyte
Shake Your Thang- Salt N Pepa
Lowdown- Boz Scaggs
Power Lunch- Har Mar Superstar
Sir Duke- Stevie Wonder
Brooklyn Queens- 3rd Bass
But You Don't Hear Me Though- Rodney O. & Joe Cooley
Skew It on the Bar-B-Que- OutKast
You Should Be Mine (The Woo-Woo Song)- Jeffrey Osbourne
Luchini (This Is It)- Camp Lo
I.G.Y. (International Geophysical Year) -Donald Fagen
Outstanding- The Gap Band
Lovely Day- Bill Withers
Playa's Holiday- Rappin' 4-Tay & Too $hort
He's So Shy- The Pointer Sisters
He Wasn't Man Enough For Me- Toni Braxton
Chanson Papillion- Chaka Khan
Right Kind of Love- Jeremy Jordan
Award Tour- Tribe Called Quest
You Got Me- The Roots ft. Jill Scott
A Long Walk- Jill Scott
Wait- Huffamoose
In The Meantime- Spacehog
Hello Stranger (Seems Like A Mighty Long Time)-Barbara Lewis
Strange Magic- ELO
Make This A Night To Remember- Shalimar
Chain Reaction- Diana Ross


I STRONGLY recommend you listen to AT LEAST one of these songs on a daily basis. LOUD.

Tail in Two Cities, or, "The time I was seeing 3 guys and called one guy up and asked for the wrong guy and he totally recognized my voice! Oh, man!"

Being back home has been a very good thing for me. It occurred to me today that as much as I am going nuts out here, missing New York, I have to admit I've been in a better state of mind about things. My Mom insists it's the weather. She may have a point, as I am getting at least an hour of sun alomst every day. I called Ben and demanded he move out of his apartment because I needed the backyard for sunning as a natural anti-depressant. He was, as you'd expect, nonplussed and told me to "suck someone off" instead. What a champ. I have great friends.

I've had my doubts about living here but, truth be told, if and that's a BIG if, I got a writing job I'd move and I guess I wouldn't hate it as much as I always thought I would. There, I said it. HOWEVER I'd still much rather stay on the East Coast, and this is ONLY in the case that the job of which I dream was worthwhile, and OF COURSE I'd still want to keep a residence in New York and fly back every chance I got. But I do miss my family so much, and I grudgingly admit that it being 78 degrees in January is, well, it's kind of rad. At least for a few weeks. Enough to work a tan. Beyond that...I miss my New York so terribly it hurts.

Now I want Gray's Papaya, some good clean snow drifts, and a nice wintery thick pint of Guinness by the fireplace at the Boat. And I want Porter Mason to be there and I want to try and give him girl advice and have him snap at me in his blue penguin hat. Yeah. Yeah, yeah. Awwwwssssss.

Oh, Bill! You devil!

A friend sent me a forward of some of Bill Mahr's "New Rules". I don't see his show, I assume this is a desk piece. They were typical "I'm cranky! I'm the Gen X Andy Rooney who finger-slams Playmates in their collagen-plumped labia! Rrrrah! Grrr! Huff and puff!!" fare, nothing too amazing. But this one rankled me.

13. New Rule: No more gift registries. You know, it used to be just
>> for
>> weddings. Now it's for babies and new homes and graduations from
>> rehab.
>> Picking up the stuff you want and having other people buy it for you
>> isn't
>> gift giving, it's the white people version of looting.

Because only negroes and them other kindsa coloreds loot. Thanks, Bill! Now, go freebase some more Rogaine you turd.

And If You Don't Want It, Then Burn The Hell Up.

I saw this posted somewhere else but wanted to transplant it to my blog instead of reply to where it was posted.


is it you?

pick 10 people on your list [Editor's note- or who you love and who you assume read this pile of mess once every now and again] & say something about each of them. see if they can figure out which one is them....

1. loves to bike around DUMBO and snap lovely pix
2. is totally into zombie attack preparedness
3. designs amazing Goddess-inspired jewelry
4. his inexplicable and shame-free love of sitcom "FRIENDS" does not reflect at all on his brilliant comedic talents
5. calls me Bran Van 3000 and owns the CD (as do I)
6. though not afraid to shout down giant cab drivers or be a smartass to NYPD cops when drunk, is afraid of being in apartment by herself sometimes
7. once drunkenly yanked a veil off of a dummy at a bachelorette party and yelled in her face "This should be MINE!"
8. says she does not read my blog because it makes her upset, but then does and tries to chastize me for my errant ways over her constant mystery novel & caffienne-free Diet Coke
9. Once when I kissed him on the cheek & left a huge red lipstick mark at a Halloween party, said he would never wash that cheek again
10. Once after drinking an entire bottle of champagne in 1/2 hour, gave herself 3rd degree burns and food poisoning when she staggered back to the cabin we were staying in and attempted to make "weenie bites" out of raw hot dogs and crescent rolls placed on a flimsy sheet of foil

You know who you are.

Reasons I'll Never Get Married: Part #6,789.

kudos to postsecret, where i always seem to end up bursting into silent tears while reading.

Clarification.

Just to make sure everyone knows: Though I am currently on back West time my naughty blog continues to publish in East Coast time. I even went so far as to try and trick it and reset via its template, but it is wily and quite scampish and refused to accept such accuracy and orderliness.

So, I realize it looks like all my posts are done at serial killer hours, and for some reason I give a goddamn what you people think, so...anyway it's like a 3 hour time difference here, it's earlier, so do the math.

Well that was pointless blathering, as per.

Ain't Nuthin' But A G Thang.

Rozzi loves the LBC.
Originally uploaded by Brandy For Sale..

Just a note to say Giulia is amazing. Here is photo proof. Compton & Long Beach together, now you KNOW you in trouble.

The Time Has Come For Me To Talk About Myself (insert infinity sign here).

Me, April 2005, at the MORTIFIED! NYC Debut With Actual Ugly Diary.

Please come and see me make a fool out of myself in a bi-coastal manner. That's right. I'm going to be performing up a storm in the next 2 weeks in the Coast-to-coast sensation know to all as MORTIFIED! Check it out. I'll be in the two LA Shows and- this just in- the NYC show at the fancy new Tank! Hope to see you there.



Mortified LA
WHEN: (2 Nights) Tues Jan 17 + Thurs Jan 19
TIME: 8:00pm
WHERE: The M Bar (1253 Vine - @ Fountain)
COST: $10
TICKETS Order Online Now or dial 212-868-4444




Mortified NYC
WHAT: Mortified NYC
WHEN: Wed Jan 25
TIME: 8pm
WHERE: The Tank (279 Church Street - btwn Franklin + White)
COST: $15
TICKETS Order Online Now or dial 212-868-4444













I apologize, normally I plug my writing & performing here, but sometimes I get so excited...look, I hear this happens to everyone. NO! Of course I'm still attracted to you, I'm just, I'm tired. Lookit, work is really stressful right now. OK? Maybe we can just cuddle tonight. Oh for chrissakes... no I don't think you've gained that much weight- I said "that much" not yes! Oh, jesus, look I don't need this shit I'm going to sleep on the futon! FUCK! (door slam; quiet sobbing)

Ricky Gervais & Christopher Guest interviewed in Dazed & Confused Magazine.

D&C: Do you think that your experiences in radio and on the stage helped to improve your improvisational skills?

CG: I don't think you can hone those. I believe that you can either improvise or you can't, you figure that out pretty quickly.

RG: When someone in England says 'comedy improv', it sends a chill down my spine. Like when a wacky troupe gets suggestions from the audience. It gets to the point where they get a clap for just making something rhyme. From what I can make out, it's so much harder to watch than do.

D&C: Christopher, in your Saturday Night live heyday did you ...

CG: Heyday? I wouldn't have used that word ...

RG: (loses it) I think I'm dying!

D&C: .. .feel constrained by the producer's inability to allow improvisation?

CG: I don't think that was the issue. I only worked on the show for a year because I knew that it was going to be difficult. We had complete control over what we wanted to do, but although the show is live there's no reason for it to be because everything is written and nothing really unusual happens, so things are very rarely funny.

D&C: Did you feel a cathartic release when you left?

CG: Yes. I started to get into directing while I was on SNL. I directed about eight of the films in the year that I worked on it. I don't know if I even wanted to direct, I think it was a typo or something. I had written for ten years and it just fell into place. The reason I've spent a decade doing small films is because I can control them. It's important to be able to look at something and decide if it is good or bad. It's my fault whatever the case, but I'd rather do something on a smaller scale that I can control rather than something bigger that I would have to compromise on.

RG: Exactly, having control is key. And that doesn't mean power, it means artistic freedom. The fun comes from creating an idea, writing it, casting it and then putting it on your shelf and saying 'I did that'. That's the only thing that matters. Of course, if you're on TV you want your work to be seen by as many people as possible, but that shouldn't be as a result of compromising your art. If someone read a script of mine and said 'I'll give you an extra million if you change the font', I wouldn't change the font.

CG: I would.

D&C: Christopher, you work exclusively with Eugene Levy, and Ricky you have Stephen Merchant. Does everything come down to making them laugh?

CG: If you're not making each other laugh while you're writing, then you might as well go home as there's no point. That's the test. If you make someone who you respect laugh, that's half the job done.

D&C: Do you find that it can become sterile, putting comedy on paper, re-writing it, going to the set and saying it 20 times?

RG: I've got to be laughing at every stage. You've got to realise that half an hour of telly has taken a year and a half to produce. If you're just working up to that half hour, Jesus! I can do without laughing for that half hour as long as the rest of my life is funny.

D&C: And weren't you actually in a Spinal Tap tribute band called The Savage Hearts?

RG: No, the really sad thing was that we formed that band, then saw Spinal Tap and broke up. It's bad that I was in a band like Spinal Tap and really meant it, but it's good that I realised that before it was too late. It's like someone coming up to me and saying 'my friends say that I'm like David Brent'. That's just bad. It's bad that you are and it's bad that you like it.

Just A Reminder.

I still totally love Xanadu, and wish I was Olivia Newton-John. Someone recently tried to explain to me that it can't be my favorite movie because it's really more nostalgia than anything else. A valid point, indeed. But the heart wants what the heart wants.

And I want to be Kira in Xanadu and wear off the shoulder Gunny Sax peasant dresses with filmy layers and leg warmers and roller skates. Ta da!

Audience Participation.

Hey ya,

I'd like to ask all four of you gents & madames who read this blog to help a sister out. So, could you leave me comments as an answer to the following question?

In your past romantic relationships, what have been things that have occurred that made you mad? I'm looking for a specific such as "saying she'd call, then not doing it" or "he'd tell me stupid lies for no reason, then be defensive when he was caught". Things of that nature and the like. Feel free to list one or many, but try not to repeat if you've seen someone else mention yours already in the comments (unless you'd like to elaborate).

As a reward please enjoy this photo, of a cat that belongs to a friend of my friend Porter, named Mingus. I swiped it without permissions of any sort because I am a toad.

I thank ye kindly.

* This is for a personal writing project I'm working on, not for publication and of course, annonyminity assured. Wait-"annonyminity"...is that even a word? Did I make that word up?

Thai Chicken Pizza.

Me (shoving potato chips in mouth hatefully): Godammit, I am so sick of this stupid [grad school related research] project I could scream.
My Mom: Well, if you'd just sit down and whack it out-
Me: Ewww, Mom, no!
My Mom: Now I'm serious, if you'd just pound it-where are you going?

(Brandy runs screaming up stairs with ears covered)

Let The Memory Live Again.

Dead Squirrel.
Originally uploaded by Brandy For Sale..

Someone is having themselves a real goshdarn pity party over missing their cat right about now.

"You break his heart, I break your face."

I am at my teenage desk, listening to "She Loves Me" from the Some Kind of Wonderful Soundtrack. When I was 13 or maybe 14 I used to watch that movie every day and cry because I was so infatuated with Eric Stoltz and I prayed I'd get finally get kissed like he kisses Mary Stuart Masterson. This is the song that's playing when they kiss and it's burned in my brain.

Sara and I were talking about it once and both started to make each other bawl about it by repeating (and probably butchering) the line when Watts screams, "All I care about in the world are my drums and you!" I may cry now thinking about it. WHAT.

I saw it again recently and of course, sobbed the whole time. I forgot that Mary Stuart Masterson's character has star tattoos- completely erased from my memory, which is creepy when you look at my wrist. Also sort of weirdto note was that I long for a Mini, it's my dream car and she has one in the movie- forgot that too. Subconcious programming of pre-teen Brandy! Terrifying.

Anyway...this is all neither here nor there. Because I finally DID get kissed (had to wait until I was 15- no, I'm not kidding, and I made up for lost time, believe you me). So now you'd think I'd be over all that silliness and puffery, but no. No, I'm sitting here, drinking my can of Dr. Pepper, and swinging in my desk chair, staring into space, singing along to this song, thinking about being kissed. But not by Eric Stoltz anymore. No, this is a real boy I am thinking about, and he's dreamy, and that's so much better. Who knew?

And now to make Allocco cry when she reads this:
Eric Stoltz puts diamond earrings into Mary Stuart Masterson's double pierced ear and says:
"You look good wearing my future."

The Stink Eye.

Wake up.

Make coffee with parent's unltra fancy Senseo one cup brewmaster thing. My grandma was right- thier coffeemaker IS like a spaceship.

Eat two burningly scrumptious tangerines and a slice of toast.

Drink a glass of cranberry juice.

The make-believe that I'm at Canyon Ranch now draws to a close as the dog begins whinging to go out.

Walk Yorktown. It's a chilly 78 degrees at 11 am.

Come home, put on bikini. Commence to laying out and reading new trashy novel for latest Playgirl review.

Flip.

Flip again.

Get some Vernor's.

Shower.

Sit at desk. Stare at new computer. Think about typing grad school stuff. Think some more.

Write in diary about boy(s). Cut and paste email correspondence. Highlight areas of particular interest.

Swipe Dad's Van Morrison CDs and burn the lot.

Listen to Curtis Mayfield box set.

Mom comes home for lunch.

Take the car to get Jack in the Box. Order a delectable Spicy Crispy Chicken sandwich.

Wave at Budweiser mack truck driver who honks at me.

Play "Vivrant Thing" loud with all windows & sunroof open.

Reflect on how sometimes when you listen to Lowend Theory it's akin to doing it with your college boyfriend in a way. Any of them, really.

Eat 1/2 of sandwich.

Mom goes back to work.

Open a new word document, title it, save it.

Go to Engrish.com.

Check email.

Answer text message.

Read a passage from high school paperback copy of The Great Gatsby. Written on inside cover in black ball point pen in my loopy, frilly handwriting: cologne of gin & tonic; and warmth

Ponder the word beaux and why no one uses it. Resolve to.

IM with Porter, Rosanne and Dylan.

Phone rings; flinch.

Start looking at blogs.

Get mad because someone got a writing credit and wish I had the gumption to as well.

Get mad for getting mad since they obviously did the work.

Eat other 1/2 of sandwich.

Walk to mail box to mail postcard. En route, see a Coors Lite can in the bushes. Feel homesick.

Stare at empty word document.

Shuffle around papers on desk.

Re-read contract.

Write Anne a letter.

Realize my phone has been off for the past few hours.

Call Ben to bitch. Yell at him for being a robot.

My Mom comes home from work.

Go walk dog, smoke.

Sit at desk. Type blog entry.

Come Over.

“I don’t know why women can’t turn to each other and go, ‘Jesus, if I have to give my kid a bath one more night I’m just going to shoot myself in the head.'” - Felicity Huffman, on generic wife roles in Entertainment Weekly

Tangerine Dream.

It's 66 degrees here in San Diego, folks. The bikini is back!

Today I have eaten 3 tangerines. I have a scrape on the roof of my mouth from eating too many Tandoori Crisps yesterday, so everytime I eat a section of sweet, delicious tangerine it's like biting into heaven/battery acid.

You'd think this would be a deterrent. No. I am soon to have my jaw wired shut.

Also, it appears Yorktown was all along a tangerine enthusiast. Who knew?

Trip To Bountiful.

Steve and I just returned from a trip to the local Trader Joe's* which is a scant 5 minutes from our house. I explained again how insane my parents are for not shopping there on a daily basis as I jammed shit into my ever-open mouth.

Here's what we got:

Papdum Crisps- Tandoori Masala Flavored (out of this world- so f'n good I couold cry/eat half the bag on car ride home)

Cilantro- Pecan Dip- Whoa.

Roasted Red Pepper Dip- base ingredient is cream cheese, so clearly we are BFFs, this dip and I.
Best enjoyed slathered in my white trash staple, Ritz crackers. Yes I WAS born in Mississippi, why do you ask?

Roasted Red Pepper Spread w/ Eggplant- this is neon orange and we went through my last stash of it at the Baltic Street Xmas Cocktail Bash. I plan to put it on a sandwich with the remaing tri-tip roast my Dad & Mom made and some nice thick french bread.

White Chocolate Dipped Strawberries- Steve's choice, because he's classy that's why. They come frozen and individually wrapped in cheesecloth that's made to look like a strawberry as well- very Japanese packaging in its attention to detail methinks.

Sparkling Cranberry Juice- Steve loves it. They also have sparkling blueberry juice. Of COURSE they do.

Bruchetta Spread- OK this is cheating on one of the easiet things ever to make, but since it's from TJ's I know it's going to be mind-blowingly good and I'll want to eat it out of the jar.

Thai Chili & Lime Cashews- I think I should have gone for the peanuts. Cashews are a bit too sweet for this. Still better than the best most lovingly rendered Chex Mix, however.

And lastly, a bottle of the ever fab Two Buck Chuck, in the red kind.

And now, we're off to horf down whatever is not bolted down.

*for those of you unfortunate enough not to be in the know, Trader Joe's is like an awesome gourmet-yet-not-uppity marketplace full of aisles and aisles of the most scrumtilicious-est foods you could ever conjure up in your wettest of wet dreams. It's kind of like Whole Foods, but actually good and not shamlessly over-priced in order to fleece dipshits who think it looks cool to have a beige plastic grocery bag on the F train.

The Master Bates Society.

Today is a wee bit better than yesterday. Look, I SAID just a WEE! Lay off me you fucking suckhole!!!!

Here is some prose from a gentleman whose comedy musings are some that I admire greatly. Maybe you might want to wait to check it out until your boss isn't directly behind you, looking at your screen, dummy.

Here is a postcard that someone said was their deepest, darkest secret. While I appreciate it on a kinship level, I hate to tell this person- it's no secret. Everyone knows, hence the title "fire crotch". Sorry to be the bearer of bad red pubic hair news but...I am. How you like me now, Kool Moe Dee?!

(with many thanks to postsecret.com)

And finally, to comeplete the trilogy, here is a picture of an orange bun-bun.

God of Mercy, Hear My Plea, OR, "Please, just let me put the tip in."

Look, here's the thing. I don't ask for much (unless you were stupid enough to ask me on a date, then that's your problem, chump- pay up! That Blue Label isn't going to pour itself over them rocks).

But this, this is a shirt that speaks to my very soul. It made me laugh such that I spit out the mouthful of Vernors I had just taken. This is serious business, as that shit is tough to get ahold of unless you bawled and made your Dad buy it at the gourmet grocery store, even when he snapped at you that there was perfectly good Seagram's Ginger Ale at home.

Someone, anyone, please. If you love me, get me this shirt. I beg of you! If that means a round trip to Tokoyo, then by all means, I suggest you do what you have to make me happy. Don't make me angry. You wouldn't- oh nevermind. Can it with the David Banner shit, Barber.

(cue that fucking queer "Calling All You Angels" pop-crap ballad garbage)

Soma.

I'm starting to go stir crazy here in Southern California. The lack of walking and high calorie consumption have made me feel quite sloth-like, and today I freaked out and started to cry. I want to go home to New York. This sucks. I love my family dearly, but I can only take so much sitting in front of the flat screen watching football before I start to crave the crisp sensation of an ice cold metal shotgun barrel in my mouth. I hate suburbia. I hate that we have to take the car to pick up the mail instead of walking (god forbid). I hate the way everyone here seems able to be happy just shopping for shitty groceries and getting up to work dead end clockwatcher jobs so they can afford soccer uniforms and yearbooks for their awful stupid spoiled kids who will, in turn, get knocked up and then perpetuate the same cycle of putting cutesy vinyl decals in the rear windows of their fucking minivans such as two big pairs of flip flops for the parents and little pink & blue ones for their kids. And of course we can't forget the requisite jesus-fish sticker. What a load of crap.

Lately I think maybe I'm just jealous because I wish I was that stupid, to want only that for my life and to just be OK with it. To be OK with marrying someone because they're there and it's better than being alone, to just accept religion because everyone else does, to be OK being a fucking sheep whose life is dictated by primetime televison and Turducken and whatever celebrity disease is hip, doing whatever Oprah or the mall or Family Circle Magazine tells you. They all seem to be pretty fucking happy, even if they aren't too far removed from zombies to me. Now who's the stupid one?

(image courtesy of the fantastic PostSecret.com. Buy the book.)

Sad Eyes by Robert John.

In order to bribe my Mom to buy me anything my miniscule black heart desires at Trader Joe's, I decided to help give Yorktown, the ancient family basset hound, a much needed bath.
















He stood with his legs locked like this for a good 5 minutes of coaxing, then we dragged him.















He hopped into the tub as commanded, but made sure to pout about it.















I'm all smiles as I perform what looks to be the Vulcan Death Grip on Yorktown to keep him from fleeing, coated in suds.















Pitiful Escape Attempt # 7.















Toweling off with Egyptian Cotton bath sheets. Only the best for Yorky.

Drip dry.

Drip dry.
Originally uploaded by Brandy For Sale..

There have been an handful of torrential rainstorms here, which has really cut into my plan of getting a decent tan for the first time in a long while.

My bikini is just hanging sorrowfully off my bedroom door, pouting. No strap marks for Barber.

OMG!!! Totally My Hopes 'n' Dreams 4 The New Year!!!!!!!!!

Things We Want To Happen in the New Year. *

-as drunkenly dictated over the phone & hastily typed by me at 3 am Eastern/12 am Pacific, by MikeBurns .

1. Bring back the trend of people calling cigarettes "fags". Although in 2006, cigarettes will fuck guys in the b-hole.

2. Eminem releases a re-mix of 2 Live Crew's "We Want Some Pussy" about daughter Hailey Jade.

3. More women to refer to "penis" as "wang" in sexual situations. Saying "dick" is so eightes.

4. 20% more black-on-black crime.


5. A middle-aged R&B singer who was overlooked even though he posseses a great amount of talent recieves recognition prior to having a fatal heart attack. Johnny Gill, I hope you're reading this.




6. More homeless crack addicts will exclaim, "I'm the boss of applesauce!" before stabbing a Wall Street piece of shit for thier pocket money.

7. A sharp increase in pro-lifers committing suicide.

8. (Insert unpleasant item that people don't like to ingest) will taste like bacon wrapped in wet dreams and sin.






9. All you can eat buffets will hire overweight mediocre self-deprecating amatuer stand up comedians to quip, "Are you sure want another serving? You don't want to end with more rolls than Puffy got Bentleys!" while manning the roast beef carving station.






10. There'd be just as many In-N-Out Burgers as Subways.


11. Frito will introduce new Don Henley-flavored Doritos.





12. Baby kitties finally evolve to the point where they can exclaim, "I love you, Mama!"






13. Jesus Christ finally returns to America, one final time, to rape Paris Hilton. (Of course, this goes without saying, but I'm clearly referring to Jesus Christ Hernandez, a dishwasher from Tiajuana who steals his cousin's 1993 Toyota Camry, drives to Los Angles in the midst of a meth rampage, breaks into Ms. Hilton's palatial estate, and sexually assaults her while holding her at bay with a screwdriver. For the record, Ms. Hilton has 3 orgasms).

14. Everyone refers to the vegatable celery as "trombone donuts".


15. 20% less black-on-black crime.

16. Women who type self-important blogs about things they want to happen in the new year will be impregnanted by sweaty busboys and then have to explain why their bastard child has a tan in the middle of a Midwestern winter.






17. Hires Root Beer will bring back Diet Hires Asparagus-Come-Flavored Root Beer, if asparagus produced semen. But they don't. So I guess that probbably won't happen. FUCK YOU, 2006!

*(with poor transcription and a few half-assed suggesstions from me that he humored but ultimately ignored for the good of all involved).