Tuesday, May 31, 2011

New Jersey has moved!! New Location - Approximately 10 Miles From the Sun... Also, Book Recs and Stuff.

It's fucking hot here in dirty Jersey. My tits are sweating and I'm pretty sure I have swamp ass even as I'm typing this. Once again, I'm wondering why the hell we thought it was a swell idea to buy a house without central air-conditioning.

More or less what I feel like right now...

I made ML put in the window units yesterday (not that they help a whole lot) and the conversation went something like this:

Me: I'm hot. Can you put in the air conditioners?
ML: Yeah.
Fifteen minutes later...
Me: Dude. My vagina is drowning in my swamp ass. Seriously. I'm gross. Put in the air conditioners. I'd do it but they weigh five hundred pounds and the heaviest thing I've lifted in years is my box of Bota Wine.
ML: Okay, okay. Going now. (I should point out that he has not yet even looked at me. His eyes are still glued to Facebook, which I presume is his go-to site when he's pretending he's not looking at porn. Because why else would someone spend so much time on the internet??? Oh. Shit.)
Fifteen minutes later...
Me: I swear to every god that has ever been mentioned in the history of this fucking planet if you don't put in the air conditioners rightthefucknow I will do vile things to you while you sleep and possibly also murder you by smothering you in my disgusting sweaty armpit.

Okay, maybe the conversation wasn't exactly like that. I think I said please at least once.

I'd crack a joke about this being my stash o' wine but I suspect most of you would actually believe me. I can't blame you.

Yeah, yeah, I know some of you live in places where ninety degrees Fahrenheit is considered a chilly day but ... well, I'm a pussy when it comes to heat. First of all, I sweat in the fucking winter when it's twenty below zero so you can only imagine how sweaty and gross I am now. I smell like a used litter box.

That being said, I'm feeling pretty fried (excuse the pun) and all I want to do is curl up around an air conditioner with a good book. Unfortunately, this heat puts a real damper on my bathroom reading time, considering that I broke a sweat pooping yesterday.

Anyway, I did recently read a book that I figured I'd share with y'all. It is quite possibly the farthest thing from Twilight you can get without being non-fiction but it was a very excellent read.

Brass - Helen Walsh
This is one crazy, speedy (sometimes literally) race through the seedy underbelly of Liverpool towards potential self-annihilation. The story revolves around nineteen year old Millie O'Reilly, who snorts and drinks and fucks her way through one encounter to the next, and her best friend, twenty-eight year old Jamie, who is getting ready to settle down and marry his very dull, very straight missus (who naturally hates Millie).

Don't get me wrong, this book isn't exactly a walk in the park, unless you're walking with a prostitute and a baggie of blow in your pocket. The sex is pretty hedonistic and bi-sexual Millie comes off a little predatory at times, but at the end, it's not really about that (though the title of the book is actually slang for "prostitute").

It's Millie. Her voice. She's tough as nails yet somehow vulnerable as hell. As she navigates through these harrowing situations that she jumps into full throttle - sometimes a little poetic, sometimes a little naive and often completely fucked up out of her gourd - there's just something insanely likable about a character who, for all intents and purposes, probably isn't really that likable. But there is something very real about that.

A review from here:
Along with recent noteworthy debuts from Bella Bathurst (Special) and Jardine Libaire (Here Kitty Kitty), this novel is part of an emerging subgenre that might be called chick-lit noir. Its antiheroines are motivated—if you can call it that—by a creeping anomie and low-grade nihilism. If these girls have any ambitions at all, they are emotional abnegation, deranged sexual pleasures and/or chemical obliteration. Walsh's 19-year-old Millie could be the poster child for the subgenre as she bombs around her native Liverpool, lusting after barely adolescent girls and packing her head with booze and blow.
So if you get a chance, check it out! And as always, let us know your thoughts in the comments or share your recs for summer beach reads (if you can - we are desperately trying to figure out how to disable Disqus because... we miss all of you who can't comment!!)

Monday, May 30, 2011

How to Not Wear a Maxi-Dress.

I'm in my fourth day of Memorial Day weekend get-togethers and in addition to the fact that I may very well be on my way to becoming a piece of grilled meat given how many burgers and dogs I've consumed, I'm having a little bit of a wardrobe meltdown. It started the way these things often start: here in New Jersey, it finally stopped acting like winter (or Forks) and just jumped straight into hazy, hot & humid summer. I miss you, spring we never really had... Also, I realized I might be forced to wear something other than jeans and a black t-shirt (long or short sleeve) this weekend. Egads! I was totally unprepared.

What I felt like this weekend (and looked like, a little bit, truth be told...)

I dug out some of the cute cargo capris that were a staple of my wardrobe last summer and big surprise, they were a little too tight to wear. I mean, in theory I could have worn them and I have seen people wearing garments that tight, but I am usually looking at them and making some sort of a "tsk"-ing sound to myself and wondering how well a fashion intervention from a stranger would be received, so I didn't want to go there. If you are stressing the seams of your clothes, time to get another size.

Enter the maxi-dress. I've never been a fan of the maxi-dress for me [note from JJ: even the name sucks. I always think "pad" whenever I see the word "maxi"]. All the prints seem too much on a full-length dress; and most solid colors are overwhelming, too.  I recall seeing a bright yellow number that just HAD to make the wearer look like a giant banana - and the fit on some of the knit versions evokes sausage casing. Or patchouli. Until this vision in black came along...

I bought this online at Loft a couple of months ago and fell in love with it the second I tried it on. It's exceptionally soft, it's flattering, and it covers an amazing variety of body flaws--everything from my pooch to my veiny ankles--POOF!--gone in an instant. I imagined myself morphing into the model in the photo above when I put on this dress: instantly pulled together, effortlessly stylish, with someone walking directly in front of me with a fan, wafting soft breezes in my direction, which would toss my hair playfully back over one shoulder. I could dress it up or down, and I was certain I would wear it everywhere. I imagined wearing this around the house, to the grocery store, to dinners out and parties. I imagined that I would wear nothing else all summer and seriously considered buying a second one as a back-up.

When the weather finally got warm, I went and got a pedicure and had my Fit-Flops at the ready. I'd been invited to a backyard barbecue yesterday and it seemed like the perfect place to wear my new dress. I showered shortly before I had to be out the door, such was my confidence that I knew exactly what I was going to putting after I dried off. I wasn't even going to allow myself to be put off by Jenny Jerkface's recent maxi-dress & flip-flop malfunction which resulted in her taking a header down her basement stairs; no, I would lift up my hem when faced with any and all stairs (and I ensured that I did not need anything from the basement,  just in case - I mean, why risk it??? JJ's ass is still sore weeks later).

I was ready to go, swooped into my dress, took a quick glance in the mirror to confirm that I still loved it, and then...I started second-guessing myself. I am the type of person who puts things on and takes them off a million times when I am getting dressed. Putting together an outfit I like usually involves me removing the contents of my closet and all my drawers and tossing them around the room to be put back at some as-yet-indeterminate date. And don't even get me started on accessories.... Was this just too much dress for me??? I don't own anything else even remotely like this... Would I stand out? I HATE standing out. I like looking good, but I don't want to stand out.

Desperate, I  tried consulting Mr. Snarky, who is loath to give my any wardrobe advice and who usually responds to my flouncing into the living room wearing two different shoes and doing that thing where you stick one out and then the other to decide which one you like better before asking "Baby, the black wedges or the ballet flats with this???" by reminding me that he is a heterosexual male. But instead of just sighing and giving me that "I don't know a maxi-dress from lederhosen" look, this time he comes out with "I don't know... Cute dresses are Jenny Jerkface's thing." Like she's cornered the market and I'm not allowed to wear a dress. Granted, JJ inspired me to wear dresses more often. Is that so wrong??? {{{sigh}}

So should I have pushed myself out of my wardrobe comfort zone??? Do you??? Should I have just said "Fuck it!" and worn the damn thing instead of ripping it off, tossing it across the room, and pulling on Levis and a black t-shirt before walking out the door in a huff (leaving my house late and my bedroom in shambles, natch)? I have one last weekend get-together tonight, and I think I know what I'm wearing. Just gotta watch those steps...

[Note from JJ: If you don't wear that dress tonight I am going to mock you mercilessly on twitter all night long.]

Aaaaand decision MADE.

Sunday, May 29, 2011

Random Video Madness

Happy Memorial Day weekend to those of you in the States! Hopefully everyone is having a relaxing long weekend. I got to sit down for five uninterrupted minutes earlier and it was glorious. I spent those minutes catching up on the happenings in the Twidom.

Michael Sheen, who played Aro, did a dramatic reading of some Twilight fan fiction on VH1. It was pretty awesome. I would pay to have him read the dictionary to me. "Anus: noun. The excretory opening at the end of the alimentary canal. Related: anal" Can someone make this happen?

Video by RoseArcadia

This next video is completely unrelated (just like most items in my posts), but I thought it was hilarious. I lifted it from Thinking of Rob. Robert Sean Leonard has been in a million movies and TV shows, but I will always remember him as Neil in Dead Poets Society. Apparently he played a vampire in a movie I never saw, but will rent immediately. He gives advice to Robert Pattinson (sort of) on playing a vampire and embarks on an extended soliloquy on vampire and werewolf battles. It made me laugh pretty hard, but I'm easily entertained. You be the judge.

Enjoy your weekend, everyone!

Friday, May 27, 2011

The BEST Robert Pattinson Water for Elephants Premiere Video EVER. For Reals.

I feel guilty for not sharing this sooner, but we have been aware of this masterpiece shot by our bloggy bestie @Laxplays for a little while now and frankly, I feel bad that we didn't get this out immediately after receiving it. It's THAT good. Maybe it's better that we waited until after the deluge of RPatts goodness that we were inundated with at the time, because now we can really appreciate this and it won't get lost in the shuffle. That's my story and I'm stickin' to it.

 Super-huge thanks to Laxplays and Mr. Laxplays for putting this together during what was their "wedding anniversary weekend getaway in NYC (well played, Laxplays--well played).

Enjoy! This actually makes me feel all squishy inside. In a good way.

Thursday, May 26, 2011

Why Are Men So Useless?

I've come to realize something in my 16 years with Mr. LKW... men are generally useless around the house for anything that doesn't involve fixing or building shit. If I need a window replaced or some shelves built, he's my man. If I need the dog bathed or help with the vacuuming, he's fucking useless.

I always notice this right around the time someone from HIS family is scheduled for a visit. And guess who's expected to make the house squeaky clean? Yup, me.

So the other day he says he's going to give the dogs baths before his dad comes for a visit over the holiday weekend. I said great, they're really dirty. Have fun with that. I'm thinking one less thing on my list and I can get some stuff done while he's scrubbing the hounds.

No such luck.

I have to sit in the bathroom with him JUST IN CASE he needs something. It's like living with a fucking 4 year old. What. The. Fuck? Why is it I seem to have no problem bathing the 75 pound hound all by myself, but he can't? Is it that he sees it as helping me clean, so I have to be involved?

And then guess who is left to clean up the bathroom and all its dog hair glory?

Clean-up is a major problem with the penis carrier in this house. If I'm gone for a few days, you can bet your ass that when I get home, every dish we own will be dirty and piled high in the sink. WE HAVE A DISHWASHER PEOPLE! How hard is it to put the dish in the dishwasher?

I'll tell you what, filling the dishwasher is a lot easier than building a fucking barn and he seemed to do that without a hitch.

I know there's a class that boys take early on in life that teaches how to do household chores wrong so no one ever asks them to do that chore again. Ever. And I'm also positive my husband has a PhD in this class. He probably even teaches it on the side. Actually, I think he invented it.

Calgon take me away! [This is my calgon...]

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

The Hunger Games Casting: The Good, The Bad and... Who?

Many moons ago, I had done a recommendation post on The Hunger Games. At the time I had no idea that they were planning to make it into a movie but...they are. And I'm really super excited.

I really hope it doesn't fucking suck because these books have a huge potential to be an insanely good movie trilogy if done properly.

Anyway, in the past month or so they've finally began to announce the cast and like most things, I have a thing or two to say about it. Literally, just a thing or two. This is probably going to be the shortest post on the casting EVER because I simply have not heard of 98% of the actors/actresses that have been cast and I'm too lazy to do the research. Plus, some of them are young and I hate making fun of little kids. Well, that's not entirely true. I just don't like to do it so publicly.

That being said, I'm just going to focus on a few of the main characters and the actors/actresses who will be playing them.

Gale Hawthorne - Liam Hemsworth
I guess? This isn't exactly how I pictured Katniss' presumably smokin' hot hunting partner but I think it will work. Actually, the more I look at him, the better suited I think he'll be to play Gale. He gets a pass.

No, seriously, I've stared at this picture for the past twenty-five minutes and am now convinced he's going to make a great Gale. Either that or this photo is doing some weird mind-voodoo shit to me.

Peeta Mellark - Josh Hutcherson
In the beginning, I kind of thought Peeta was a bit of a putz, which is exactly what I thought when I saw this guy so... he gets a pass as well.

In the end, I really hope this guy can pull this roll off because, um, he's kinda important.

Haymitch Abernathy - Woody Harrelson
WOOT!! Woody Harrelson FTMFW!!

So far, I think this is the best pick. I know I'm going to end up watching the entire trilogy and hoping against hope that somewhere Haymitch tells Katniss and Peeta to "nut up or shut up". Someone needs to make that happen, m'kay?

Cinna - Lenny Kravitz
FAIL. FAIL. FAIL. FAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIL. Oh mah gahd, the casting of Cinna's character is just... no. That's like fucking casting Uma Thurman to play Albert fucking Einstein or something. (Actually, that might work. Never mind.)

As Katniss' stylist and the one who basically transforms her, Cinna should be played by someone... else. Like, someone who has actually acted before. Yes, I know he's had a few bit parts but... no. No.

And last but not least... drum roll please.

Katniss Everdeen - Jennifer Lawrence

I can't imagine a better a Katniss. Seriously. I was blown away by her performance in Winter's Bone and was pretty impressed (even though the movie kind of sucked) by her in The Burning Plains. I think Jennifer Lawrence will make an amazing Katniss.

For more information on the entire cast (thus far) go here or here.

Overall, I'm totally stoked their making this into a movie and will keep you updated in my usual half-assed manner. In the meantime, feel free to share your two cents.

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

Seeking Solace in Robert Pattinson's Facial Hair [That's right.]

This one's for you, Jenny Jerkface...

 So the weather across these United States has been nothing short of genuinely frightful - and horrific in some cases - these last few days. It's even been strangely Forks-like here in New Joisey (no sign of the Cullens yet, but I have my fingers and other things crossed). I was toying with a few ideas for things to send out on the interwebs tonight, but nothing was sticking and then when I found out that our very own Texas Katherine was huddled in her bathroom with the boy, the hubs, the cat, and Rex, shit got a wee bit scary (read: we probably blew up TK's phone with texts looking for reassurance that the roof was not being lifted off her home).

In an effort to keep things light, I say when the going gets tough, the tough turn to Beardy Rob for comfort. And by comfort, I mean "things that make the tops of your inner thighs tingly in a not at all unpleasant way." 

This photo that turned up everywhere last week when a "new" recording of RPatts singing surfaced left me in a little pile of mush on the floor, and I'm not even a fan - at all - of facial hair... Er, or so I thought.

That weird whimpering sound you just heard was JJ's vagina...

And the video I just found tonight while searching for something RPatts-y and juicy on YouTube did me in. It's official! I have an unhealthy fascination with body hair... On a very tiny, very specific portion of the population, anyway...

Did Beardy Rob make you a convert, or am I preaching to the choir here? Add your fave Scruff-ward pics and links to the comments, if you can! For those of you who can't comment [we're working on it, btw], feel free to email to me - snarkierthanyou@gmail - and I'll do a round-up of all the goods! Right after I add them to my own special collection...

P.S. Anyone directly affected by the tornadoes - or if you know someone who was - please let us know how we can help!

Monday, May 23, 2011

Something Smells Fishy

No, this isn't another post about my vagina. It's not even a post about JJ's vagina. Shockingly, it's not a post about vagina at all. It's a post about how Mr. TK is in the dog house.

You see, we went to a festival on Saturday. We did the usual gorging ourselves on food and talking the boy out of riding rides that looked like they were assembled by drunk carnies hell bent on having their revenge on the uppity folk with a full set of teeth. The boy guilted Mr. TK into riding some sissy roller coaster where the boy squealed with glee while Mr. TK shit his pants.

It was on our way out that Mr. TK had the genius idea to let the boy play a game where the prize was a live goldfish. You already know where this is going. The only one who didn't see the end result a mile away was Mr. TK. About thirty seconds after Mr. TK insisted that the games are rigged and there was no way the boy could possibly win a fish, we were on our way to Petsmart.

Meet Rex, aka Mr. TK is in Deep Shit.

We are now the proud owners of a one dollar fish in an expensive tank. I suppose the tank isn't that expensive comparatively, but it does sting to shell out money on potential cat food. We haven't had good luck with pets in the past , so this does not bode well for Rex. If you Google "survival of the fittest" you will find a picture of our house. The only good thing that has come out of this is that I discovered I have actually DO have moral fiber - thin and tenuous at best - but it's there. Because if I didn't, Rex would be swirling down the toilet.

Oh and guess who is the only person that's remembered to feed him so far? And so it begins.

Sunday, May 22, 2011

ZOMG! FORKS2011 Is 130 Days Away!

Not that 130 days has any significance, but I all of a sudden got to thinking about it and I'm like SO excited! And then I was thinking about how we haven't been talking much about Forks2011 lately and I need to talk about it!

I need this... I can't wait for this...

Since we all survived the Rapture (right? JennyJerkface, are you still with us?) that was supposed to happened yesterday, I think that's as good a reason as any to get even more squeeeee-y about going to Forks again! But I am a little disturbed that if you follow the rapture link above, it says October 21, 2011 is The End of the World (as we know it) - at least it's after the Forks trip, that's all I can say!

Here at Twitarded HQ, we've been hard at work making plans for the upcoming trip and we'll hopefully have some really important information to share with you very soon. As you may have heard, our hangout - The Twilight Lounge - has closed down, along with its restaurant counterpart, The Lodge. This sent more than one of us into a downward spiral of depression seeing as this appeared to be the only joint in town where a group our size could drink, dance, and get our karaoke on.

This group seriously NEEDS a place to dance! And drink...

Have no fear my h00r friends, we have been pounding the pavement to find us a new place to par-TAY! We're also planning on setting up a few committees to help us out, but more details to follow on that in the near future...

One committee will be set up to make sure this is on my pillow at the Forks Motel this year.

And please, please, please... if you ARE going to embark on the fabulous Forks2011 voyage, make sure you fill out the form below [if you haven't done so already]! Also, don't forget about the Forks Forum for hooking up with others for rides, room sharing, whatever you need. If you're new to Twitarded, and you're wondering about this exciting excursion, just ask. It's going to be even more epic than last year!

Friday, May 20, 2011

Us vs. Them - The Suburban Backyard Edtion

For those of you who may not have been around at that time, in 2009 ML and I embarked on an adventure. It was called “buying a house”. I’ll leave out the many gory details but it basically involved us putting a bid on a house and ML immediately setting off on tour with his band for a month, leaving me to deal with lawyers and packing up our apartment in 100 degree weather with no air conditioning. Essentially, it was really just me freaking out on a daily basis and leaving viciously angry messages on his cell phone while he was off gallivanting around the country.

 Home sweet home... the bathroom is gorgeous. It's out back...

It was about as fun as having someone gouge out my eyes with a rusty spork.

Anyway, we survived the process and became proud owners of a little arts and crafts style house with awesome molding, a wraparound porch and a lovely, but big**, backyard. While I love everything about our little abode, I was less than thrilled at having a piece of land that required me to do more than just stare at it.

I am not a garden person. I hate weeding with a fucking passion and flowers attract bees, which scare the ever loving fuck out of me. I almost got hit by a car running away from bee because I was too busy flailing around like a mental patient and screaming.

I totally pooped my pants looking at this

In the end I embraced the backyard, especially when ML and I planted a cute little vegetable garden last summer. It’s no joke taking care of a garden but I figured between me and ML, we’d do just fine.

Immediately after the plants went into the ground, ML went on tour for a month. Does anyone else see a pattern here?

Regardless, I dutifully went out there every single day and weeded and watered and all that shit, telling myself it’ll all be worth it when our vegetables finally produce and I can eat yummy salads and enjoy the fruits of my labor.

This did not happen. The day I went out to harvest all our vegetables, I noticed the flimsy plastic fencing was looking a little squashed. There were no veggies left inside, only a few chewed-up tomato stalks and a shit load of deer hoof prints.

Wrong. Evil deer wasn't watching me masturbate because she was too busy eating my fucking vegetables. Also, learn how to spell masturbate, fuckhead. 

Let’s just say I didn’t react well and I’m pretty sure the next door neighbor’s kid learned a few fancy swear words that day.

Fast forward to this year. ML has been working tirelessly to build a Fort Knox structure to put our precious veggies in. Metal fencing, a retaining wall. Hell, there’s even a fucking perimeter that separates the fence from the vegetables, so unless we have giraffes, nothing is getting in there. The deer must be quaking in their hooves.

Or not. The other day I got a text message picture from ML while I was at work. He stayed home to finish the deer proof fence and begin to plant our veggies. He went inside for five minutes to get a glass of water and happened to look out the window when he saw this:

 Looks like someone's waiting for the all-you-can-eat buffet to open...

It’s war, mother fuckers. And we have opposable thumbs and a possibly a slingshot. Okay, we're not resorting to violence. Yet.

** I should point out that our yard is big by the standards of our town and not by, say, someone who lives in Maine or Colorado and probably has a backyard the size of our county or something.

Thursday, May 19, 2011

Exercising is hard and I don't wanna.

I'm skinny-fat. I'm not exactly overweight (although I hide my body fat like a fucking ninja), but I have absolutely no muscle tone and if my bathroom scale's body-fat calculator is to be believed, I have butter coursing through my veins.

So when I searched for a photo for "skinny fat," this pic came up. 
Apparently, Kristen Stewart has called herself "skinny fat" in the past.
In related news, I need to stop calling myself "skinny fat."

When I said recently that I was committed to shaping up, I meant it. I just didn't realize how far gone I was at the time... I guess it's been over ten years (-ish) since I've exercised regularly. Note: muscle-memory is a myth. Or my muscles just can't remember that far back. Let's face it--I can barely remember what I wore yesterday, so I can't expect that somehow my muscles remember their glory days. If they had them.

In the interim years since I last worked out consistently, I rarely broke a sweat doing anything more exerting then wrestling open a box of Cheez-Its. Honestly, it's been so long since I've exercised that my typical reaction to feeling a significant increase in my heart rate is not "feel the burn!" - it's "holy crow, I'd better stop doing whatever it is I am doing right now!" In my defense, I've been uber-aware of my heart lately. When I noticed an erratic beat, I went screeching to the doctor, then wore a monitor for a day, and later was told that I have a "normal" irregular heart beat. I'm still freaked out by this, but rumor has it that exercising will actually help fix this problem. (and not in a bad, final way. probably.)

I've made some token efforts here and there... I bought exercise related stuff, which has got to count for something, right? Workout clothes, fancy sneakers that are supposed to magically shrink your ass, dvds, books - seriously, if thinking about being fit and buying scads of well-intentioned gear was the key to fitness, I'd be giving Jillian Michaels a run for her money. But I've rarely actually put that stuff into action, or I've use it once or twice and then it starts to collect dust.

 The package I need to get in shape now. 
Treadmill must be moving for laptop to function. 
Cat optional, and there better be vodka in that glass. 

I've never been one of those people who likes exerting myself. I didn't really play sports as a kid--I'll save my Little League story for another day, but everyone didn't get a trophy in my day--and I always hated gym class. When we had "Fitness" in gym, also known as "spending 45 minutes running," I would always be on the lookout for any male gym teacher who would let me of the hook if I complained about "female trouble." When forced to run, I would tag along with the end of the pack like the rest of the ne'er-do-well smokers I hung out with at the time. [Note from JJ: I totally did this too. AND I played sports. I hated that 45 minute run.]

While I hate exercising, I love the results. When I was in my twenties, I used to work out at a Gold's Gym in the free-weight room. This is where all the muscle-heads would hang, and I may have gotten a contact high from the steroids. Some days it felt like my entire workout consisted of racking some lazy knucklehead's 25-lb plates from the quad machine thingy (which has a proper name that I have long since forgotten, if I ever knew it in the first place). I had a routine that had been put together for me by a competitive body-builder friend, and it kicked my ass. Or it felt like it kicked my ass, literally. I found myself relying heavily on the bars in the handicapped stalls at work because I could hardly bend my legs. It was agony-inducing, but it worked.

This is pretty much what I was going for at the time.

There have been some well-intentioned fits and starts since then - running, jumping around to random dvds with Jenny Jerkface, Wii Fit, taking up martial arts to fulfill my childhood fantasy of kicking the asses of bullies who taunted me channel my inner Bruce Lee. Shockingly, given that I have Bella-level coordination chops, I was not very good at Jeet Kune Do, but it was cool to work out with someone who trained directly under Bruce Lee. 

I must have been absent when they taught this move. Or maybe I would have had to test out of the beginner part of the room to get to the real bad-ass stuff. Regardless, my dad tells everyone I have a black belt, so at least one of us is impressed by the six months I spent sweating from places where I didn't even know I had glands and pretending I didn't have alcohol oozing from my pores when I showed up on Saturday mornings. To this day, I feel a reflexive need to methodically kick, punch, and yell "Yes, Sifu!" when I hear Prodigy's "Firestarter" cranked to 10.

  See?! I'm not the only one who likes to kick some ass! 
I'm just not this cute when I stick my tongue out.

Anyhoo, it's almost summer and shit's getting real. I can't hide in winter clothes much longer, despite the fact that the weather in New Jersey has been decidedly cold, damp and downright Forks-like this week. I need to get it together and maybe even abide by my "no wheat/eggs/dairy" food allergy rules, which omit so many food groups that I'll lose weight even if I remain a lazy slob. But I'm committed to putting more effort into it - and hoping that telling everyone I know will help guilt me into getting off my butt. I'd like to be able to not feel like I am going to keel over every time I exert myself a tiny bit. I know it's all about baby steps, so that's the way I'll start - take the stairs not the elevator, park further away from my destination, walking instead of driving downtown when I need a few things. It'll add up, and before I know it, I'll be able to sprint faster than Robert Pattinson being chased by a rabid hormonal mob.

Who's with me???

Note from JJ: Me. You. Donaldson Park. I have running shoes and an inhaler, not to mention the tenaciousness of a fucking pitbull on acid. First person to give up the jog... oh forget it. We'll get twenty feet and turn around and go back to you house for a cocktail.

Wednesday, May 18, 2011

RPattz, Charity, Dreams and Homicide

The Twitarded girls were having our daily discussion on what we were posting tonight. I stated that it was my turn and, as usual, my topic of choice would be a surprise to us all. I hope I didn't just burst anyone's illusion that I was always prepared and have my act together at all (or any) times. Um, yeah, I'm pretty sure no one thought that to begin with. Whatever.

I've been stuck in a software training class all week. (I promise that's not code for 'anger management class.') Nonetheless, I am even more clueless than usual about what is happening in the outside world. I clicked on over to Thinking of Rob during a short break and found this story.

RPattz visited a young fan to fulfill her Starlight wish. Pic from ToR. Full story here.

I immediately e-mailed the Twitarded girls because I'd found the subject of my next post. Or so I thought. Things got a little dicey from there. I almost wish I could say this e-mail chain was atypical.

From: TK
To: JJ, STY, LKW, Myg, VitR
Re: *sniff* This made me all weepy.

From: JJ
To: TK, STY, LKW, Myg, VitR
Re: *sniff* This made me all weepy.
I just read that and got all weepy too.

From: TK
To: JJ, STY, LKW, Myg, VitR
Re: *sniff* This made me all weepy.
Maybe that's what I'll write about tonight & I can talk about what a fucking asshole I am for being jealous of a terminally ill little girl.

From: STY
To: TK, JJ, LKW, Myg, VitR
Re: *sniff* This made me all weepy.
He looks like another species in those pics. It's weird. Like they were photoshopped (although I know that's not the case).

From: Myg
To: TK, JJ, STY, LKW, VitR
Re: *sniff* This made me all weepy.
STY, he IS another species. I think the species is: god. Perhaps a minor god, but god all the same.

From: LKW
To: TK, JJ, STY, Myg, VitR
Re: *sniff* This made me all weepy.

[Skip ahead a few dozen e-mails where we started talking about ear wax and dream interpretations. There's really no segue. There never is.]

From: LKW
To: TK, JJ, STY, Myg, VitR
Re: *sniff* This made me all weepy.
I had a dream that I was riding RPattz's face like I was at the fucking rodeo.... oh wait, maybe I was just fantasizing about that at my desk a few minutes ago...

From: JJ
To: LKW, TK, STY, Myg, VitR
Re: *sniff* This made me all weepy.
Jesus LKW, even I can interpret that dream. You're a fucking whore.

From: LKW
To: JJ, TK, STY, Myg, VitR
Re: *sniff* This made me all weepy.
I had a dream that I was held captive in a vat of oatmeal and my captors pulled my teeth out with rusty pliers. [LKW KNOWS I have a thing about teeth dreams and JJ fears oatmeal. Bitch.]

From: Myg
To: LKW, JJ, TK, STY, VitR
Re: *sniff* This made me all weepy.
LKW, that means you're fucked. Mentally. And maybe in other ways.

From: JJ
To: LKW, TK, STY, Myg, VitR
Re: *sniff* This made me all weepy.
I had a dream I drove up to Maine, killed LKW and made a lampshade
out of her skull...

From: Myg
To: JJ, LKW, TK, STY, VitR
Re: *sniff* This made me all weepy.
These are pent up sexual desires. Let them out, JJ. Let them out. LKW--run.

From: LKW
To: JJ, TK, STY, Myg, VitR
Re: *sniff* This made me all weepy.
I had a dream that I thwarted JJ's attempts to kill me and I held her captive in a vat of oatmeal.

From: LKW
To: JJ, TK, STY, Myg, VitR
Re: *sniff* This made me all weepy.
JJ -- wouldn't you need someone to drive you to Maine to kill me? Or do you drive yourself in your dreams?

From: JJ
To: LKW, TK, STY, Myg, VitR
Re: *sniff* This made me all weepy.
I fly in my dreams, mother fucker. Or transcend all natural physical
boundaries and just materialize right in front of you. BAM! One minute
you're cooking dinner and the next you're my fucking lampshade.

From: Myg
To: JJ, LKW, TK, STY, VitR
Re: *sniff* This made me all weepy.
Non-celebrity dream death match: LKW's freezer vs. JJ's lampshade. The betting starts now. Who's in?

LKW owns guns, so I think JJ gets a handicap.

From: LKW
To: JJ, TK, STY, Myg, VitR
Re: *sniff* This made me all weepy.
Did you learn how to make skull lampshades in home ec for demons 101?

And plus... I'd cap your ass with the .50 cal Beowulf before you even got to the house. You'd be nothing but fleshy bits amongst the gravel in my driveway. Sorry...

From: JJ
To: LKW, TK, STY, Myg, VitR
Re: *sniff* This made me all weepy.
No, it was Skullworking 101. I had to take it in order to get my
Cacodemon degree. It wasn't nearly as interesting as Flesh-Flaying:
And introductory guide to torturing your enemies before you cast them
into eternal hell-fire and eat the marrow from their bones.

Also, unless you walk around 24/7 with your finger on a trigger you
aren't going to get me. I can fuck with the time/space continuum and
I'll wait for a moment when you don't have any firearms around you.
Just remember that the next time you decide to linger on the shitter
reading fan fiction.

From: Myg
To: JJ, TK, LKW, STY, VitR
Re: *sniff* This made me all weepy.
I really love the fact that the subject header for this email trail is, "**SNIFF** This made me all weepy."

From: STY
To: LKW, JJ, TK, Myg, VitR
Re: *sniff* This made me all weepy.
LKW, please make sure you check with JJ before you get any tattoos... We don't want any decor clashes, do we???

From: JJ
To: STY, LKW, TK, Myg, VitR
Re: *sniff* This made me all weepy.
Good call, STY. LKW, if you get tattoos of Disney characters or
something I'm going to fuck you up. I don't want that shit in my
dungeon, er, living room.

From: STY
To: JJ, LKW, TK, Myg, VitR
Re: *sniff* This made me all weepy.
And here I never thought that LKW would find the motivation to get a full back tattoo of the Magic Kingdom and all its inhabitants, but there you go...

I'm afraid I have to cut the e-mails off here as you can not be privy to our top secret detailed survival plans for the zombie apocalypse.

What do you talk about during the day? I assume most of your conversations consist of ear wax, charity, oatmeal and skull lampshades.

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Talking Poop for Poop Talking Sake

Over the past few years, I've developed a love hate - hate relationship with my colon. And lately, we haven't been seeing eye to eye, or eye to anus. A while back, I lamented to my doctor about my recent colon-related problems and she said, "it sounds like Irritable Bowel Syndrome." Not the words I wanted to hear.

Not only is my bowel irritated by certain foods -- goodbye delicious, creamy, cheesy Alfredo sauce -- but also nerves. And I seem to get nervous a lot. Just ask my ass. Doctors appointments, new crazy dogs, presentations at work, life in general... it all makes me nervous. Lately my guts have been a churning bundle of nerves. And with those nerves comes the shits. Probably a good thing I didn't come face to face to RPattz in NYC -- who knows what kind of mess I would have made! Embarrassing.

IBS, laxative... what's the difference?

Seems like everything irritates my bowel these days. I haven't had a good, hearty, solid shit in weeks. Sucks getting old.

I've known friends with IBS and their tales of barely making it to the bathroom after eating a specific food had me scared shitless. Literally. And I experienced such an event after a particularly delicious meal at Longhorn Steakhouse one night. Stupidly, I had opted not to use the facilities before embarking on my 30 minute ride home. Mistake. Big mistake.

The Longhorn culprit - warning: do not eat without hitting the head before you leave!

About 10 minutes into the drive, I was hit with pains so intense, I could barely drive. My head starting spinning, but I pressed on... praying I could make it home without shitting my pants. As I passed my last chance at relief - the last exit before a 10 mile stretch of woods, the pain intensified. No able to clench my butt cheeks together any longer, I was forced to pull over at a rest area. A very scary, very deserted rest area. I almost couldn't get out of the car as I was positive the seat was the very thing keeping the poo in.

I slowly extricated myself from the vehicle and walked very fast -- albeit with very small steps -- into the dimly let restroom where I was positive a hockey-masked figure would viciously murder me with a machete and leave me dying in a pile of my own feces. Not the way I wanted to be remembered. I can just imagine the eulogy.

"P U, what is that fucking smell?"

While I did make it to the toilet without incident, the intestinal pain made a torturous death by an ax murderer seem like the easy way out. I pity the poor cleaning person who stumbled upon that fucking toxic waste dump. It was definitely not my finest hour.

When I walked in the front door of my house, my face must have told the story. My husband asked what had happened to me. I told him I had a near poo-tastrophe... I was playing Russian poo-lette. That's the last time I don't visit the ladies room before I leave a restaurant.

Monday, May 16, 2011

Repeating High School = Eternal Hell. Maybe Edward Was on to Something After All...

The other weekend, Mommy (not a)Jerkface showed up with seven slightly soggy cardboard boxes of my Childhood. They weren't soggy because of the perpetual emo tears I probably shed as a teenager (though that wouldn't be too far off base) but because apparently sump pumps break down and wreak havoc on basements. Anyway, these boxes smelled like total musty ass-funk so I ended up spending an entire Sunday camped out on my porch with a pair of latex gloves and going through "Jenny Jerkface: The Teenage Years". I can't quite decide what movie genre my teenage life would fall under - horror or after-school special. Probably a mixture of both.

Okay, this is more like 5th grade but whatever... Can I get an F! Can I get a U! Can I get a C! Can I get a... ah, fuck this shit. (Psst, see the tall girl way in the back? See the scowling little goblin-child right in front of her? Yeah, that's me.)

It's really weird for me to go through stuff like this because a) I apparently kept every scribbled note, picture, 'zine... what-have-you and b) I really don't have a clear memory of what high school exactly was like. Like most people, I was a seething mess of hormonal rage and insecurity as a teenager so it's only natural that I would hate my high school years like a hooker hates a herpes outbreak.

Let's face it - I'm a maladjusted adult. Of course I was a total fucking shitshow as a teenager. And all the letters I found from 15-17 year old me confirm that yes, indeed, I thought high school was located somewhere on the inner circles of hell.

Reading those notes was a mixture of chagrin, hilarity and sheer mortification, along with quite a few what-the-fucks?!? I was so emo back then that reading them made me want to punch myself in the twat. And the rage! As Snarkier Than You can testify (countless times) I have a bit of a temper and have been known to go a little beserk every once in awhile. My high school career was more or less a non-stop rage-fest.

I even kept a few detention slips. What teenager keeps their fucking detention slips??? I'm sure I would have needed a whole other box if I had kept all of them. I was an awful kid.

Looking back, I honestly don't know how my parents didn't send me to military camp or pay someone to murder me and make it look like an accident. I wouldn't have blamed them.

The best part of going through the chaos and fuckery of my teen years was finding the pictures. Like most teenagers, we weren't smart enough NOT to photograph ourselves doing stupid shit but those snapshots are hidden away for now.

Instead, I present to you (more or less) - Jenny Jerkface: The High School Years. For the record, I'm not the one with the dark curly hair or missing a face. Just in case you needed clarification.

Freshman Year

Me and JBJ (yeah, I'm original and witty, fuck you). Ahh yes, Hang Ten t-shirt and oversized corduroys. That grunge/hardcore/I-have-body-issues look was just fabulous. And comfortable. I have no idea where this was taken but clearly - given the fact that the couple dancing next to us are both wearing mom jeans with their shirts tucked - it was nowhere cool.

Freshman and/or Sophomore Year

JBJ had a hard on for all things The Cure, in case you were curious. I had a phobia of hairbrushes, apparently. And I'm wearing jorts and my Dad's sweater. Hawt. And a fucking crystal around my neck, which is a throwback to an even more embarrassing moment in life, which is my pre-teens.

Sophmore/Junior Year

I'm straight up hardcore now. All I need is a Shelter or Avail t-shirt and I'm good to go, what with my Carhart overalls and Vans that I had to order out of a skate magazine and wait 6-8 weeks to actually get. Think about that. I had to physically go buy a fucking magazine, cut the coupon out of it, beg my parents for a check, put all this shit in an envelope and mail it out. By postal service. Do kids these days even know what postal service is (and I don't mean the band)??? Fuck, I'm old. 

Senior Year

This is my prom outfit, bitches. How do you like them clunky fucking shoes? Oh, and let's not forget to point out that I'm hanging out by the ashtray, which is pretty much what I did the entire night until I got drunk off those Jack Daniels Wine Coolers and threw up somewhere. 

End of Senior Year? I think? Look at those red eyes - how am I supposed to know???

I don't have much to say about this picture except that if I had known I was this skinny during my teenage years I would have totally dressed like a fucking slut.

At the end of the day, I don't think my high school years were all that bad. We had good music, a lot of fun (and a ridiculous amount of drama, according to a couple of little notes all folded up into perfect squares with bubbly fucking handwriting from someone telling me they hated me, which actually made me laugh HARD because really? Did teenage girls actually send hate letters?) and I've been lucky enough to carry a few of those friendships over into my adult years.

That being said, no fucking way in hell would I ever want to repeat it. Just sayin'.

I love hearing about other peoples' high school experience because they are so wildly different than what I expected. I mean Latchkey Wife was a goody-two-shoes in high school. Can you believe it?

Yeah, me neither.

Feel free to share your experience in the comments!

Sunday, May 15, 2011

Breaking Dawn: It's a Wrap! WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!

There's been a lot going on lately in our little corner of the online world - after months and months and months of waiting for something, anything to force RPatts and/or Twilight into the spotlight so that we could recharge--at long last!!--our secret folders where we keep our Robward porn, we got what we were wishing for! When it happened, it came in a geyser-like gush. It came like Edward on Isle Esme, like Osa Bella's Sailward at Lake Crescent. It came hard and fast and left us feeling all well-fucked, semi-coherent, and very, very contented.

  Like so. Or something like that...

But somewhere in there along that amazing ride, something happened. Something that made me cringe despite all the remarkable, squeeee-inducing interviews, photos, and set-leaked goodness we were feeding on from the one-two punch of Water for Elephants and Breaking Dawn. It was the proverbial turd in the punchbowl that despite all the new fodder coming our way left me feeling a little squiffy: filming of the Twilight Saga wrapped. Over. Done. Fini. THE END.

At least it won't be like this. Probably.

Sure, sure - I know that for better or for worse, at the time of this writing, we have another [consults widgets] 186 days until Breaking Dawn - Gettin' It On and 550 days until Part II: Birth of the Spawn (sweet fucking jeebus: 550 days?! gah!), but the fact that it's all in the can now made me feel a bit melancholy. I guess Robert Pattinson can't play a 17-year-old immortal forever... Hell, he could barely play a 17-year-old in the first movie, and I thank our lucky start that Catherine Hardwicke cast him instead of someone much younger like she probably should have. I guess we can also thank Kristen Stewart for deciding that one little tête-à-tête in Cathy's bedroom was definitely not enough for her. Can you blame either of them?

 Yup, THIS is more like it!

It's pretty clear what most of the major players felt about wrapping Twilight... I'll give all of the actors credit - three movies in - for maintaining a certain level of decorum and rarely disparaging the Saga, even given more than ample opportunities (and sometimes reason) to do so... But still, seems like they might not be all that sad to be movin' on...

Tell us how you really feel about wrapping, PFach.

So did you note the final wrap of Breaking Dawn or were you too busy clicking-and-licking Rob-porn as fast you could lest it disappear? Did you have "a moment" like I did or are you ok with it? And wtf are WE going to do??? Guess we have 550 days to figure it out... Plus the dvd releases... Plenty of time to hatch a plan for mid-2013! {{{shudder}}}

Friday, May 13, 2011

Happy Birthday, Mr. Pattinson

Yesterday was an insane day for me. I was crazy busy at work. Crazy busy when I got home. I finally had about 4.35 seconds to sit down and hammer out a post... and Blogger was broken. Nooooooo! I couldn't access it at all. I tried for hours. I was not a happy camper.

Fuuuuuuuck youuuuuuu!

I'm going to make this post quick and dirty before Blogger goes down again like a $10 hooker on payday. Today is a certain someone's birthday. Our favorite sparkly vampire actor turned 25. That makes him a teeny bit closer to an age appropriate crush for me. Score!

I hope he enjoys his birthday because he is the boss.

I want someone to make a gif out of the following video and save it for my birthday next year.

I think it would be nice to revisit the most famous birthday wish of all time. RPattz, if you call me I'll sing to you like this. I pinky swear.

Join me in the comments for a few verses of the birthday song. We can't sing the real birthday song though because I hear it costs a shit ton of money. So... uh... I guess you can join us for a rousing rendition of Bappy Hirthday.

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

30 Seconds to Love 30 Seconds to Mars

If I seem a little all over the place today, it's...well...because I am! Between adopting a one year old (90 pound) bloodhound puppy this past weekend, and my niece being born this morning, I feel like my head is spinning. I actually enjoy going to work to relax!

But I did actually get to do something really fun this past weekend. I saw 30 Seconds to Mars last Sunday night at the State Theater in Portland. It's a great, small-ish venue that used to be a XXX movie theater when I was in high school. And no, I didn't hang out there. Much. 30STM does occasional theme nights and our local alternative station ran a contest for our theme -- Neon Night won. It was like a rave gone terribly wrong.

Jared took Neon Night to the extreme!

This was my first 30STM concert but I've been in love with their music for years...and who wasn't in love with Jared Leto Jordan Catalano in the early 90s? I've been reliving the My So Called Life days on Netflix recently and fuck me, I love that show. And him. And yes, I was picturing myself making out with him in that boiler room the entire night.

You, me, boiler room...STAT!

I'll try to be brief with my review...

The concert was amazing, and while I was disappointed they only played for a little over an hour, I had an absolute blast! Plus we got to do a pre-concert meet and greet. So yes... I did get to meet the band very briefly, and as my friend BC said, it was rather disappointing. There were too many people so they just signed autographs and then took group pictures. And Jared's flip flops made us both want to hurl.

Tomo (guitarist), some girl (who I didn't know), Jared (who needs a sandwich), BC (my friend), moi and Shannon (drummer)

We were marginally decked out in neon and glowy bracelets and necklaces. Not as crazy as some people! Although I did have a complete wardrobe malfunction. The t-shirt I had made with glow-in-the-dark fabric paint that said "I ♥ Jared" didn't fucking glow. I was pissed. I really was hoping he'd ask me to go hang out at Tino's.

I wanted to wear my glowy bracelets to bed that night! I wished they glowed forever.

If you've ever seen 30STM live, you know Jared is big on audience participation. He gets a little testy if you're not on your feet, jumping around. He actually told the people sitting to stand up or "go the fuck home"! The constant jumping, combined with walking a 5k that morning, left me unable to walk on Monday. Am I too old for this shit?

I would have preferred him shirtless at this point.

He also likes getting people up on stage. I was a member of the mob scene on stage. It was crazy. I really have no idea how many people were up there for the closing song, Kings and Queens, but it was nuts. And as I was leaving the stage after the concert had ended, I got pelted with something. I'm sure it was Jared trying to get my attention for our very own meet and greet, but I had to let him down gently - my heart belongs to RPattz.

I was somewhere in the back of that mob, in front of the triangley Triad logo thingy.

I think Hurricane is becoming on of my favorite songs by these guys. Jared did it solo with just an acoustic guitar and it was fantastic. If you haven't seen the video and have 15 minutes to kill (yes, it's very long and dirty and NSFW), it's totally worth a look. It kinda made me wonder if Jared maybe wasn't a closet MotU fan??

All in all, it was a fun night. I do think that Jared Leto can be bit douchey when he opens his mouth. So as long as he keeps him mouth shut and his clothes off, I'm definitely not kicking him out of my bed.

Nom, nom, nom!