Joy to the World and Boob reads a book

I drank a bottle of wine waiting for Rico to get through the iron clad fists of the US/Canadian Border Patrol on the eve before the eve of Baby Jesus day. Thus began my holiday festivities, which only got more merry and more exciting as the bottle dried and was tossed in the recycling with care as thoughts of DADT, Frida Kahlo and how I could put the Chris back in Christmas danced in my head.

Really though, I had some wine, drank some beer, Rico arrived (that order may or may not be accurate, I was a goner by 8), I gave him a labatt (cerveza) and other festive holiday appropriate fare, like eggplant, garlic, and pita, (comida)  and we watched a movie. The movie wasn't great.  But I do want to say this...the most impressive part of the film was not Rosario Dawson and Rico so quickly squealed with delight...it was the fact that Will Smith's character committed suicide using the most non traditional method I have ever heard of....Jelly Fish. A singular jelly fish....his pet jelly fish. I totally give that a well deserved golf clap. A for effort in thinking of the most bizarre way to kill off a beloved and conflicted protagonist.

After driving west for a bit from Buffalo to New Jersey, one of the less intuitive moments of my life, we finally got on the right road, going in the right direction and by way of Georgia, made it to New Jersey in time to say good night to my father and make some weird comment to my father about Activia and constipation.  Rico headed to NYC to challenges I cannot possibly relate to (you go boy) and I to my parents home in Smoosh town, USA (please use this moment to google "South Park" and "Jersey Shore" if you are confused) to inevitably fight with my mother, ignore my father, and hopefully get into a fist fight with my younger brother.

In this household, thanks to my leadership, no holiday is sacred or safe from family battles. I think this occurs in other households. I imagine if I were to look at other blogs or flip on the tv, Everybody Loves Raymond or some other self indulgent ego maniac would express similar musings. It's nice to know I'm not alone.  Nonetheless, this family is a nest and source of much of my happiness and much of my pain and I respect both most of the time. 

Boo advised that I blog about my hope that "my little brother remain flacid for eternity" or "that I smother him in cow dung," but it's incredibly challenging to write funny things about family sometimes, particularly when you're in the thick of it. I'm sure soldiers come back allll the time from Iraq and laugh and laugh and laugh at stories of being in the trenches and the other pleasantries of combat. So, maybe when I'm out of the trenches....

The spoils of the battle are pretty fucking good though. I scored a coffee mug, soap in the shape of a crab, soap made out of seaweed, coffee, a book, chocolate, a nuts and oats bar my father bought at Marshall's, some more soap, and a glass paper weight....with a transparent corgie in the middle of it. There's a story to that....My mother, a 60 something year old art teacher, mumbled something about how they just sort of turned up, a lot of them, as my sister also received one with a Golden Retriever in it. Sounds a lot like the all the stuff that "falls off the truck" just in time for a sale in a truck at Main and Utica at 11pm. I love that store.

I am reading a book and its been awhile. I've barely moved off the couch save coopting my sister's computer to write this gem of a yawner.

It's about Katrina and the War on Terror.  JOY TO THE WORLD

Boo is currently in 'Zona, so let's all wish her a Feliz Navidad and Felizy Felizy Neuvo Anos. Or something.

Dear Boo...thought you'd never ask!!

The onset of winter in Buffalo ushers in wonders such as shinny hockey, Tim Hortons Christmas cups, the requisite office holiday festivus, Santa…and a deep, brooding depression which I will lament and wail about til mid summer. You’re welcome.

So I began to write a me-tox plan. But alas, I am me…therego/I go ergo self-imposed timeouts are the extent of the rehab. So I have chosen to be proactive...I did not intend this to be an advice column but alas here goes everything I wish I had known or realize now. Do as I say, not as I do.

Boo’s List of Everything a lass in her mid-twenties should know, understand and practice

# 1            How to change a tire, how to change your hair color without going to a salon, and how to change a man. (Regarding the dude: Tell him what you want him to do, reward him when he does it, and ignore him when he doesn’t do it.)

#2             Go play with your dog. Your dog is the one creature on earth you can make insanely happy by playing “hide the cookie” in the living room. If you have neither cat nor dog (nor bird, nor fish), it’s not essential, but if you want to lead a more enjoyable life…why not?

#3             Don’t read blogs written by unhappy, spiteful people. Bad blogs will mangle your mood. Instead, spend an hour a day with your Precious Moments notebook, connecting deeply with your own spiteful thoughts. At least they’ll be original. And P.S.: Anyone can make history. Only great women can blog it…not necessarily frequently J

#4            When addressing a man’s penis, if you want it to get huge, tell it it’s huge.

#5              When you’re in college, don’t worry too much about grades. Other than getting into a decent grad school and associating with the cream of your generation, getting straight A’s means diddly-squat in the real world, where it’s all about hustle, determination, focus, dressing right, sucking up, and who you know. Also if you did not go to the actual school, but its sister school or some degenerate cousin of the school…do not say you went to the school. Desperation never wears well.

#6             Bad grammar never wears well…nor does butchering any language with abbreviations…neva eva

#7             Women say they want a “nice guy,” but show them an asshole who treats them like dirt and they’ll trample over their own therapists to get to him.

#8             If you suffer the heinous habit of constantly saying “I’m sorry” (a real career killer, right up there with downing a flask of vodka before important meetings), take your pathetic “I’m sorry” and start adding three words: “I’m sorry…I’m so brilliant.” “I’m sorry…I’m so stunning.” “I’m sorry…I’m so miraculous.”

#9             Nobody would have sex if they thought about it for five seconds. It costs too much money – i.e. children, mortgage, therapy – makes you stupid and ties you down. Sex makes you crazy and causes nothing but pain, but that moment of pleasure is worth it all. Sometimes we can’t help ourselves.

#10             The three tragedies of life: (A) not getting what you want, (B) getting it, (C) seeing your best friend getting it. Don’t you know we were born to feel competitive with our friends? Jealousy is a little whip given to us by the queen bitch Mother Nature to push us to excel above our own expectations—to be better than our selves. Via nip, tuck, bedazzled nails, conquests, whatever! Rivalry brings glory to the human race. This is just an excuse for my self-indulgence in judging and narcissism but at least I'm honest! Some times...and I am getting better at that!

Ta da.

It’ a start…but I never said I was committed.

I must confess I had one about family, and the old idea of the one we’re born into versus the one we select, but I’m waffling so it’s best not to make too many inane pompous statements in one blog.

I also had one about panache…and then fear and arrogance…but those were the battle cries of my now registered sex offender high school English teacher so that might need some rethinking…

Prince Charming ain’t showing up on his white horse in the near future.

This was cathartic and now I’m depressed again.

“Boo’s Incomplete List”

Wait for the remix.

Xoxo,

Boo

Girls in the Buff take Albany by storm

The title certainly doesn't scream interesting. And for some this entry won't be. But, I'm ok with that.

The excitement lies in the fact that this is the first trip Boo and Boobs have taken outside of the warm womb of Buffalo. The bags are packed, the wine carefully stashed amongst the granny panties and sports bras, the computers secured in their fancy carrying cases, and the classy clothes of the underpaid activist stowed and ready for take off.

For what?

Lobby visits? NOOOOOOOOO.

To visit our capital and revel in the historical relevance of the odd and almost alien like sky line? NOOOOOOOO.

We are here for a training. I'll skip the details of the training, however I want to be clear-we are vapid spiteful mean spirited individuals, but there are reasons for that. Boo and I have dedicated our lives to...gulp...social and economic justice. So, we've seen some shit, and we've seen some shit on top of shit, and we've seen that when you wipe the shit off in hopes of finding something brighter, cleaner, shinier, something you can look at and say "this is why we do what we do" there's just more shit.

Not to say we are completely demoralized, though in reading this it sounds that way. I think we are just both aware of the challenges, politically and socially-as aware as we can considering our own intellectual and personal restrictions-that we face today. And that makes us what we are-vapid, spiteful, and mean-spirited. Often judgemental. There are clearly some daddy issues embedded in that as well, but that's for another blog and another time.

Anyway, now that I've drawn you this far down the blog saying a whole of nothing, I'm going to leave you with this. Basically the entire point of this blog was to write something because we've been remiss in our duties to our adoring fan (Hector from PR, I love you baby).

Aside from addressing some of our high school like social awkwardness  and most likely drinking too much wine and making ridiculous plans to get up and use the treadmill at 6am, most likely this will be a conference full of a lot of talking, discussing jobs, the economy, taxes, messaging, framing, blah blah, some brief fleeting conversations with co workers from across the state and a long car ride home. That's it.

So, throw tomatoes at the screen and leave a comment as to how disappointed you are in this entry.

I AM UNTOUCHABLE.

The Ballad of Boo

Fyi…I had a BRILLIANT much-anticipated, national treasure of an entry going and then a little old bat shit crazy church lady made me cry. Just so you’re all aware.

Anyhoo…I heart this to itty bitty pieces:

'we need the excuse of a fiction to stage what we truly are.'

This blog has been a brought on a new emboldened state of self, followed intermittently by states of paralysis. A blank blog presents a pressure unlike anything I’ve experienced before. The anonymity of it, certainly enables a bravado to be open and honest in a sense, but then coupled with the vulnerability of sounding like a whiny brat with bad grammar let alone questionable life choices I go blank. And that just gets me through the title.

Feeling the need to expand the girlinthebuff empire, I’ve taken our show on the road to Tucson back and forth a bit which has provided ample time for self-analysis and people watching/judging…err, I am trying to minimize the judging but I’m also a bitter baby right now…so I judge, a lot. But I digress…back to self-anlaysis, fiction, frauds, and true selves…hooray!

There’s a difference between being a fraud and not even knowing what one aspires to pretend to be…I’m just not sure which category I’m in and vagueness, “nebulousness” are par for the course…apologies, again.

I’ve been settling into this state of unsettlement in my life for a bit now…it’s creeped up on me over this year, & now I have this gnawing suspicion that I have done just that—settled that is. Pick your definition and it will suffice. Being a privileged white girl from the upper middle class I tend to have this massive guilt complex in general, apologizing is the norm.  I’m sorry.

I operate in bubbles. Not literally…not like Bubble Boy or the guy on Allen…but I like to keep the different circles I operate in separate and distinct. When bubbles collide they pop and Lord knows I have an aversion to cleaning things up. Maybe this has been indoctrinated from an early age, but people pleasing was something I regarded as a positive trait up until the last couple days. So now people aren’t happy and I’m at a loss…shocking. Bubbles have burst.

So all of this is to say that I am grateful for this blog. I’m not about to go all Eat, Pray, Love on you (you’re welcome—and I’m off carbs right now) but it’s incredibly refreshing to address no one in particular—hence not having the conversation in my head ahead of time to figure out the path of least resistance and popularity. Welcme to crazy town.

So I’m tired, sad and generally unpleasant. But that’s me, that’s the truth and that’s legit. That’s Boo in a crazy nutshell. No apologies. Sorry.

Now watch out little old ladies!!!

Xoxo,

Boo

OkStupid and how internet dating is changing the world

We're all friends here, right?  Well, come closer, just a bit closer, I have a secret to tell you. Not that close, your breath smells of rancid rat guts.

Deep breath.... here it is....

I am an on line dater. Or, I am a member on an online dating site. However you want to put it, I am a virtual dater (damn it, that doesn't FULLY work either)....you get what I'm saying. I've given up on real life dating and moved onto something simpler, from the days of yore.

Following my break up with a father of two who lives in Toronto, following a month of wallowing in my room writing terrible poetry about the sun and how it never shines in my bedroom, following gallons of tears and wine, following thousands of calls to my mother, and finally concluding he was and is an stupid fuck face, I joined an on line dating service.

I'm actually not all that embarrassed about joining an on line dating site. I'm kind of busy. Sort of. And let's be honest, once you join, you kind of craft these ridiculous justifications for doing it. And some are legitimate, others are horse shit.


I was also tired of the one night stands and sexual experiences that leave you empty and unsatisfied (Let's be real here, I actually thoroughly enjoyed those at times....The idea of exploring your sexuality with men and women without the accountability or work is at times an essential part of growing. The theoretical can only take you so far.) I digress as I often do.....I'm having flashbacks and I just want to take this opportunity to thank some of those people for their hard work and for leaving before the sun came up.


It's been, how you say, an experience. The short stint has been rich with douchebags, masochists, pathological liars, sociopaths (oh green eyes, I still miss you late at night when I have more alcohol coursing through my veins than blood-that's love), and men who hate their mothers. Don't get me wrong, there have been some real gems in there as well, but just like in real life, they are far and few between.

Ive also probed my dear friend following the 3 dates that she's gone on in order to collect more ....evidence.

The first date was with a gentlemen who didn't have a car, so she had to drive out and pick him up. The date didn't go so well, for a bunch of reasons. No one person can be at fault, unless they do something wildly atrocious....

What we found particularly amusing was that the guy emailed here  AFTER THE DATE   to tell her how awesome the date would have been if SHE weren't so nervous. Laundry list of things he would have done to "knock her socks off" had she not exhibited anxiety....on a first date....with someone she met on line...and who could be  serial killer.....In the words of Gob...COME ON.

Dude also acted put off and judgmental when she refused the generous invite to his basement apartment/room in his mothers basement following their less than successful date. 

The other dates were less abrasive, but they all ended in -dude likes girl, girl thinks dude is ok, maybe friends? dude still tries to kiss girl, girl turns, dude gets cheek....burnz.

She has another date tonight....I know....I know...I cannot wait for the outcome either. They really are like mini-novellas. And plus, the action that I am seeing is nil, so I've made a very concerted effort to live vicariously through my friends.  I have a friend who models, soooo, potentially I could say I am "vicariously modeling."  I also have a friend who is a dr. soooo....I think we can all see where this could potentially go.

OK ok ok ok (eddie izzard fans out there?) where was I?

...how internet dating is changing the world. Aside from the obvious incredible stories women and men come away with from these experiences, as well as the ability to view and read about jackasses, douche bags, megalomaniacs, egotistical jerk wads and the list goes on (the hope is, that you will find all of this amusing and not depressing. I wouldn't say its indicative of an increase in these types of individuals, just more that we can now access entry into their perverse stupid minds), internet dating, the new millenniums' Yenta, is fundamentally altering how we date.

How so?

• We have a new screening process, that we control...sort of. Much of this of course is predicated on whether or not the individuals are being honest as to who they are.

                        And we loop back to the whole serial killer thing...ASK HIM/HER is HE/SHE is a
                        fucking  killer.....this DOES NOT make you look crazy, only smart, savvy, and   
                        obsessed with serial killers. It's a good thing.
                      

            

• We can have thoughtful conversations with people via email...we have the ability to erase what we say and come up with something even more delightful, even more witty, and we can google/wikipedia information to bolster our intellectual appearance. Seriously though, this is yet another mechanism for weeding the douches out and laying a foundation for a possible face to face. Its equally as challenging crafting interesting questions, answering in your own voice, and ultimately the same feeling and sting of rejection is there if they never respond.  
• This gives us practice if we ever decide to date in a more "traditional" way. 
• For some of us, potential suitors existed in very specific scenarios. For example, I've been doing the facebook stalking (just like any healthy well adjusted fulfilled individual) and many of my "friends" are marrying or dating people from college. So, college is one of those spaces that we meet suitors. Work, school, friends. These are generally the institutions that create spaces for people to meet up, greet up, and fall in love. But often this means that they are somehow networked into your pre-existing web, which is not a bad thing. My claim is just that internet dating (maybe I really just mean the internet) is changing the world....and expanding our social networks in meaningful ways (not accumulating 6.5 trillion friends on Facebook) is one of those things we couldn't do 5 years ago.  

The list could go on. I was formally trained as a social scientist....meaning I should have picked a side and stuck with it, tested my hypothesis, measured my variables,  given  you all that voodoo crap, but I didn't and I actually now think that maybe internet dating is neither good nor bad, just different.  There's no question though that its playing a fundamental role in altering the human experience.  I know I know, not everyone's using it, but enough people are (at least here in America), that my "sample size" is large enough.

Internet dating gives us the freedom to choose, makes dating more "convenient" and simpler in a way. It goes beyond traditional social networks,  decreases  limitations,  provides us with protection from the cruelty of a few "playas" -not like the word beach, but you know, "the Situation" and the such. And there's a romantic element as well-we write more, we return to wooing through the written word. There's something comforting about that....and its always interesting to see how history repeats itself.

Boo, where have you been? I could have clearly used some help here....instead I unloaded a garbage dump of thoughts. Sift through it assuming you're prepared with a haz mat suit, a nose plug, and a bullshit meter.

The Wine-o's take a breather

‎Oddly enough, following the entry about really sticking with the blog and celebrating our dedication, we collapsed into silence. Our apologies. To our one dedicated follower. Bless you O' Canada.

I can tell you from my end, I've been spending far too much time watching "When Harry Met Sally" and "Romeo and Juliet" and feeling particularly sorry for myself. More so than usual. Anyway, beyond concurring that love is absolutely a cruel joke played upon us by the gods and deciding I'll get what she's getting, I've been reclusive. Not JD Salinger reclusive, for the record. 


Anyway, before this spirals into a  series of blogs where I wax poetic about my comparably charmed life, I leave you with this. Because, hipsters....well when they are as self indulgent and unaware as this joke makes them out to be.....suck.

"How many hipsters does it take to change a light bulb?”
 

“It's a really obscure number, you probably haven't heard of it.”

-Boobs

Manny Poppins and other musings

Well kids, I finally determined how much "too much wine" actually is.  The details shall remain details, to be journaled about and discussed while horizontal on my therapists couch, for I am afraid if they were to come out you would see me in a different light and this blog would lose all credibility. OR sharing them would gain us credibility and legitimacy and prove once and for all, our life decisions are questionable. I spare you though. I've got my reasons. Lets just say I woke up at 10am fully clothed, heels on, and several dollars lighter. The biggest disappointment was having missed four 3:30am booty calls. I have a lot to make up for in the next week.

On Friday, Girls in the Buff celebrated its one week anniversary. BOO! We made it! I find this significant because I tend to pick up "hobbies" only to put them down an hour later. I have approximately 16 unfinished scarves, 3 model airplanes still in their boxes, a train set barricading a room in my parents house, 5 unfinished paintings, and let's not even get started on the ant farm/graveyard. But here we are, our first benchmark....one week and a handful of days. And we are going strong. Don't worry, there are more sordid stories stored on our BBM, texts, and emails that shall leak out in the weeks and months to come. Point being, we're dysfunctional, we have plenty of fodder for the masses.

I'd like to take a minute to apologize to the folks that have googled the following and ended up at our blog, extremely disappointed I am sure-girls in the buff, chicks, buff, boobs,tits,in, the etc. We've had a good amount of traffic through the blog, but I remain confident that most of the traffic has been caused by a few lonely folks seeking adult entertainment and instead  finding themselves here-a self described self indulgent window into the psyche of off kilter, intelligent, yet insane women attempting life.  Please don't hate us. Our intent was NOT to dupe you...though we are reaping the benefits.

So, in a series of losses this week, green eyed sociopath (real loss?, not sure), dignity (see "too much wine" commentary), favorite earring (see "too much wine" commentary as well), I lost my Manny. For those of you not in the KNOW, Manny is Man Nanny.  I am not wealthy, I might even be kinda poor depending on what guidelines you use (the guidelines set forth by the Federal Government or Cosmo), but yes, I had a Manny (Think Tony Danza only 6'5, Puerto Rican and stunning. I never did catch him in the shower, though believe me, I tried. Oy, I just aged myself.). I am in my late 20's, I have no kids, save the infant that I turn into after a few bottles of wine, I rent, my phone gets turned off once a month, and I have a dog. I need a Manny.

Let's begin at the beginning. My dear beautiful friend Rico (anonymity is crucial here, who would want to be associated with me?), was headed off to school in Toronto to get his N.D (Nature Doctor, like dude who plays bongos to stop the profuse bleeding from your femoral artery following a horrible wild bear attack, or dude who uses pins and shit to heal pain and anxiety, blah blah blah). At the border, however, Rico was turned away, he was told NO, you cannot enter this country and learn.  So, Manny Rico found his way back to our house and sadly set up a bedroom and a life, anticipating his stay would last for an eternity (read: a few months).

This is boring, I'm going to skip a few weeks.

Rico wanted to give back to the house for my roommates incredible hospitality (I'm fairly inhospitable and toxic and bitter), so he did our dishes, walked my dog, and cooked. FOR FREE. I suggested he wear an elephant banana hammock, BECAUSE OF HIS DEEP LOVE FOR ELEPHANTS, but he opted out. That was my addition to the relationship.

Rico found his way back into Toronto last week. I cannot say how or when.....or whether it was by legal means, but he went back. Which means he's doing more astrology than dishwashing, more smellotherapy than dog walking.

So, this weekend I watched sadly as the dishes took over the kitchen and a segment of the bathroom, dog moped around the house, my bed went unmade, and my life turn to shambles. I blame it all on the loss of my Manny Poppins (see "too much wine" commentary as PROOF).

My Manny lies over the border, My Manny lies over the lake......Please bring back my Manny to Meeeeeee.

If you like it then you should have put a ring on it

Hello loves,

It’s 11:00 on a Thirsty Thursday…if you’re reading this, there is a chance that you might be newly single…or perennially single. Or not. Two years strong me and my boo…and it’s me and Detective Stabler tonight. But I digress…

Kind of like Kanye’s Workout Plan, I present Boo’s He-Tox.

30 days guys and dolls. 720 hours.

Rule #1 Do not contact the ex-target. That means no “accidental run-in,” calling from blocked numbers or third party torturing—for example, do not call his mother or sleep with his best friend.  Call your boss, bbm your friends…DO NOT CONTACT THE EX. Even if he/she contacts you. NADA. Social networking is a bitch. I had to defriend and block. Childish? Perhaps—but there was no way I was going to be subjected to his “Single-ing & Mingle-ing” Status while my I waffled posts somewhere between melancholy & Shera Man Haters Club. Keep the ex out of the newsfeed & refrain from cyberstalking at all costs. Freeze your account if you have to. Hate me. You’re welcome.

Rule #2 Remove all pictures, mementos, love tokens from the ex. I’m not saying search & destroy, but box up & store—out of sight. In another county if possible. Grieve it & get it outta sight. There is no sense in prolonging the misery. You cannot stay in a relationship because of how fantastic it used to be or how photogenic it might have been.

Rule #3 I am dead serious about Rules #1 & #2

Rule #4 Do you.  Self-preservation time is OVER.

• Dress chicly. New boots are an excellent start.
• Be a cheerleader. Step outside yourself and do something for your token homely friend. I’m kidding…kinda. Seriously, do something good. Go to an animal shelter for christsakes.
• Drink tons of water (good for skin & hangovers)
• Be a good friend. You will need someone to take that call when you’re headed to crazytown. Be that person too.
• Smile & laugh…(relieves stress, pretties you up).
• Sweat…a lot. By that I mean work out, silly. Release those endorphins & you can ogle objects of desire.
• Get drunk (just checking if you’re paying attention). But do it…”responsibly.”
• Sleep. With all the suitors headed your way you will need your beauty rest.
• De-friend bores and dickwads (they drag you down).
• Journal. Track this journey and see where you end up. And if you’re not happier…this was all Princess Boobs’ idea!

With that, celebrate yourself. Throw a party and invite the cutie from spin class. Put your hands up single ladies…and dudes.

I needed hetox from a TOXIC four-year debacle of a relationship because it provided a great way for me to learn who I am and how I could live independent or completely void of knowing, seeing or learning about him. I needed to reclaim, and at points get introduced to, my ability to control how I let others access my life, how I feel and what I do. And now I am getting tired…

So in the end, have I relapsed?? Hells yes! But like I said, I love me some me.

What’s past is prelude.

Xoxo,

Boo  

Catwoman Suit and More Incongruent Thoughts

I drank a kale shake without bananas this morning.....it was absolutely horrendous.

I love the site Texts From Last Night. Sometimes I try to picture the people engaged in such absurd tangled circumstances. Then I realize some of them look familiar...and I check my phone....

Anyway, an ode to Texts From Last Night. Only this was at 7:45 am.

Alligator Jack: Morning! How's life in the fast lane?
Boobs: Good, thanks for checking in. How was your drunken return to work? Did you swing open the doors and yell "I HAVE RETURNED, BOW DOWN BEFORE ME"
Alligator Jack: uh, something similar. You should buy a boat and call it Life in the Fast Lane, so I can ask you that more often.
Boobs: Dude, I DO live in the fast lane. Why just last night I read a book, got stoned, and stared into my dogs eyes and communicated with her for 3 hours via blinks.
Alligator Jack: Oh.

Tits Mcgee Waterparkapalooza

I should take a moment, and correct me if I'm wrong Boo, to help make sense of our blog title. We are two girls (girls in that condescending way...) who currently reside, play, drink, and occassionally work in the city of Buffalo. So, girls in the Buff has a double entendre if you will...if you will meaning, if you speak french.

We're loud and proud of our roots (I'm not actually from here, but admitting where I originated from would just open up a whole new can of worms...but let's just say I KNOW SNOOKIE is not from the Jersey Shore..why? Because I cared enough to google search her), but sometimes Buffalo can be a frustrating place to live. And not for the reasons that might immediately slap you in the face-weather, poverty, declining population, shadow governmental agencies dictating community planning....no, no, no, no, no, NO! It's the lack of theme based water parks.

Why does everyone else get a water park and we don't?  Our entire city, NAY, the entire northeast, midwest, west, east, south, and up, can thank us for the Erie Canal.And what goes through Canals? Other than barges? Water....so, that finally brings me to my original point. Our city, NAY, our country flourished because someone had the awesome idea that transporting goods via canals was far more efficient than whatever else they were using at the time...Had GM been founded yet?  So, water water water water.....

What better way to pay tribute to the very thing that defined our country in the mid 1800's than a themed water park. But not like any other water park....Buffalo needs to be different.

Let me take one step back.  Back to the controversial revialization of Buffalo's historic waterfront, which dates back to right before they (whoever they is) decided to burn the old downtown community and pave over the original canals. I can imagine the moment that that parking lot was built over the original opening to the canal, there were a lot of people going....hunh, well fuck me, that might have been a mistake.

So, in the interest of time, mostly mine and not yours dear reader, there's a lot of public money out there to be spent on "recreating"this dead dormant land in downtown Buffalo. I'll spare you the details, but  very recently Bass Pro decided not to be a non-tax paying member of our city despite the $35 million we were willing to throw at them. Following the devastating loss of such a respectable company, the community scrambled for ideas. You can bet your ass Boo and I had some of our own. "Tits McGee Waterparlapalooza" floated to the top as being the strongest.

Details:
All lifeguards are women. Safety First.
All the lifeguards wear Hooters like outfits, short shorts, white t.
Part of the fun is, whenever the hell you want to, you get to spray them with water. THEY ARE NOT WEARING BRAS-OMG.
There's of course a Lazy River...only at Tits McGee Waterparkapalooza, you are floating in the comfort of two humungous inflatable breasts. And for those willing to pay a few extra dollars, you can float in a huge vagina, nestled oh so comfortably right below the clitoris.

We didnt submit this plan to the Mayor yet. We're still negotiating some of the finer details and logistical questions....like is this kid friendly. We're not quite clear on the answer yet.

Boo's Bit of the Day...

For those of us who appreciate good penmanship & grammar...or not...the greatest cartoon EVAH!

xoxo,
Captain Grammar

Ruminations, deep thoughts, and whipped cream

During one of our morning smoke breaks (Boo doesn't smoke, Boobs on the other hand, smokes furiously through flu, scabies, rheumatoid arthritis, and earthquakes), we briefly discussed creditors, becoming mature adults through automatic billing, and the Katy Perry feat. Snoop Dogs California Dreams Girls video. Neither of us are prudes (self described or other), and while we each enjoy a little Katy Perry in our lives, we both found the "war" scene at the end of the video to be, well, disconcerting I suppose.

Here is a snippet of that conversation:

Boo: Why would she want to kill gummy bears?
Boobs: Because they are part of Snoop Dogs army.

Clearly.

Further Iterations...and Introducing Boo!!

Hello loves,

First things, first: I love me some me.  Also I am highly qualified as the prototypical egomaniac with an inferiority complex. Hence, a blog. Brilliant. Add in my uber bodacius life coach Boobs as a partner in crime—chronicling every socially awkward, inappropriate moment with charm, wit & some sick dance moves—double brilliant.

You’re welcome world.

Full Cuckoo Disclosure: It’s the truth, even if it didn’t happen.

Ever since the onset of young adulthood, post-graduation from Tailgating U majoring in Bad Decisions, quarterlife crises have begun appearing regularly for this 21 + 6 year old. Law school might take the cake but men (who go to Europe and never call for instance), food & Buffalo sports teams also factor in heavily. Consider that a partial teaser…

Reader’s digest version of the current situation: I am currently in a relationship that I have enjoyed for almost two years…a lifetime. I have a job that I think I love, but doesn’t pay the bills. So I am blessed to receive some pretty serious support from my fam. We’re talking groceries, rent and a pony. For reals. I am now coming upon a point where I desperately need to seek some independence, but the details or means to such an end are not clear. Poor little white girl. 

Plus I’m Catholic. Double the pleasure, double the guilt.

I understand that there are crises in this world that trivialize my pain into making me look like an overindulged and underslapped little brat, but it is my pain.  I’m not asking for sympathy, empathy or any “thy”…but I will not justify my melancholy to anyone because I don’t have to.  But you can judge, laugh and feel better cause I hope to do the same later on at my shenanigans.

Princess Boobs, (I have many iterations of quarterlife crises and petnames for my co-author) likes wine. 

I prefer whine.

Brilliant.

Xoxo,

Boo

Iterations of a Quarter Life Crisis

While my partner in crime experiences another extension of her quarter life crisis (boo, I love you, but it's true...your words, not mine), I'd like to share my recent experiences with a gentleman (and I use that term loosely).  Well, it's more a lesson that has become clearer, based on my recent dating trends.

I love to date way past the expiration date. I read the label, I know it expired a month ago and whatever is in that container smells of vinegar, fecal matter, fish heads, and is inevitably chunky and growing something fluorescent. But I stick through it, like a real life Super Trooper. And the outcome is always the same. I dedicate time, resources, sometimes cash, to making this stinky ass relationship not stink. And its impossible. A friend threw me this gem the other day, which I think is relevant, concise, and simply poetic-"sometimes life hands you shit and you're expected to make lemonade. The problem is you have to know when the shit is shit and when it's shit with potential."  It makes less sense now, but I like the idea of making lemonade with poo.

So, here I am, once again, digging through a "relationship" with a sociopath, who has the most beautiful green eyes, and rationally recognizing that the expiration date has come and gone many moons ago, but unable to let it go, just yet. I have to test it out, just one more time...maybe two.  Update: I tried once more and was still able to swallow the sour milk that had expired...note, that IS NOT a sexual euphemism..or is it?

On another completely incongruent side note, a friend just returned from Indiana where she was visiting her aunt and uncle. They are both teachers, having graduated from highly esteemed establishments, AND they love their wine. I love wine too, so I love people who love wine.

Well, my friend started to feel under the weather, and she was advised by her aunt that she needed some vitamin C. And clearly, the only way to ingest Vitamin C, was to put some OJ in her wine. Like a mimosa, but without the bubbles.

Needless to say, friend is still sick, but she and I went out last night for a glass of wine. And it was wonderful.

-Boobs.

Cee Lo

Oh Cee Lo.....