Man or Fish? Um… possibly just gross.

The New York Times is doing it.

Entertainment Weekly is jumping on the bandwagon.

Even the venerated elder statesman of the Blogeratti, Slate is sucking Michael Phelp’s dick.

I’m having a hard time with this.  I think a lot of it is based off of me not having really watched either of the last two Summer Games, and for thinking that breaking Olympic records isn’t something that should warrant the wholesale abandoning of the senses.  (It happens every year, people!)  But come on!  Everyone keeps calling the kid ‘Merman’, or ‘Part-Fish’, but I’m starting to believe that it’s all just a cover for the fact that when he switches from profile to head on, he completely disappears, which could easily explain why he’s so fast in the water.  My point being, a narrow pallete does not a pretty face make.

My mom – wise as she is – whenever the First Lady of California comes on TV, will say, without fail, ‘Maria Shriver is the ugliest woman on the planet!  Ugh!’  This is how I feel about Michael Phelps.  I almost want him to grow back that porn stache so I don’t have to look at his meth mouth ever again.

Does the porn stache help you filter the krill?

Too harsh?

CBD Update 1

So.

My first text came at 11:01 this morning saying that they ‘*may* have a date for me with Zachary Sun between 7 & 10 pm.  Immensely curious, I promptly logged in and confirmed the date.  When asked what my choice of neighborhood was, I selected Hell’s Kitchen (natch) and proceeded to pick out a few bars I was either familiar with, or truly enjoyed before.  I got another confirmation text saying that he’d like to make some changes, so he suggested fancy bars in Union Square and the Flatiron.

Well… this is what I know of him from the website.  His name is Zachary.  He’s 26.  (Dating someone my age… what a novel idea.)  He’s Jewish, and from the South.  (I’m a sucker for southern boys.)  He’s either a lawyer or a law student.  Well, I figure if he’s a lawyer, I’m going to let him pick the fancy bar, because I’m also going to let him pick up the tab, me being piss poor and all.

Here’s the thing that makes this Sad.Sigh worthy; (although this entire process has been semi-awesome?) in the original text message it says, ‘… date with Zachary Sun btw 7 & 10 pm’.  I thought the dude’s name was Zachary Sun, and my initial reaction was, ‘Fuck!  Not another Asian!’

Just goes to show how open minded I am, hate criming before I’ve met.

More to come.

Pedophilia: Hilarious!

So, you remember the dude who dumped me who I wasn’t really dating at the time?

Now we are dating for reals. He is 11.5 years older than me, no lie, but he’s a nice guy so whatever. Age ain’t nothin’ but a number, right, or so said the late, great, Aaliyah?

Wrong.

It’s a little creepy when your new boyfriend starts referring to you as “the 7 year old [he] took to the prom.” As in, this is his idea of a laugh riot. But it’s not mine.

Quirks of living at home

Yes, at the ripe ol’ age of 26 and after eight years of living away, I have moved home. It is the sacrifice I had to make to finally get the fuck out of L.A. before my future journeys lead me out of San Jose (Sunnyvale, technically, because my parents sold their house two years ago thereby ruining my townie social life).

I have a feeling this is going to be an ongoing series of posts.

1. Ever since I moved home my fragrance allergies have been off the chart, leading me to complain of feeling headache-y and dehydrated. My mom’s natural reaction was to yell at me about not wearing a jacket and force me to take vitamin c. After debating with her about knowing why I felt decrepit her final solution was to…slip a raw onion into my room when she thought I wasn’t looking. I noticed, forgot about it, then found it again today when cleaning. Apparently she read somewhere that onions are natural air purifiers. So to breathe “clean” air or smell like B.O. that is the question.

2. I got to work from home today and before leaving for work, my mom was gracious enough to cook me lunch and then repeatedly call me until I finally picked up:

Mom: If you’re hungry, there’s spaghetti and falafel on the stove.
Me: Falafel? Did you mean to say falafel?
Mom: Yes, because you can’t eat meatballs so I used falafel balls.

Needless to say, I was not impressed, and complained later of being hungry leading my mom to say “Beggars can’t be choosy.” Which technically is true since I’m living rent free and getting free food. But still, spaghetti and falafel balls are enough to make any sane person finally get dressed and drive to Chipotle.

CBD

Okay.

After a bit of blog wandering, (starting from here, and then through here, and ending up here), I’ve officially signed myself up for a Crazy Blind Date.  This is a date where the company contacts you within 24 hours of your prospective date via text message, and matches you up with someone who fits your criteria.

Nuts?  Probably.  Deliciously evil potential Sad.Sigh material?  Definitely.

I mean, as if my life weren’t sad enough, I get to add the extra awkward element of blind dating, to the already-pathetic layer of internet dating, all already on top of the realization that I kind of detest dating in general, and if casual sex weren’t so gauche, the prospect of having to go through a series of dates to find a suitable match might make me want to die.

But I haven’t actually tried it out yet.

Will keep you posted.