Listen, we all know that person who can't seem to escape the crazy, the one with the consistently crazy stories. You know the classmate whose extracurricular activities include eating egg rolls off of laundromat floors. And then there's the co-worker who raced a rat down a very busy street last weekend. Well friends, I'm that chick and these are my stories. Get ready to laugh, cry, or just shake your head as you follow the misadventures of a mad monkey misfit.
Why is it that the UPS man had to drive right up to my house while I was outside with the dogs for a wee (them, not me)? Because he had to make a delivery to mi casa, right? WRONG! He showed up because he heard there was some crazed jackass outside, hair sticking straight up literally (the beast don't lay down for no man especially after a good sleep with no ponytail holder), looking like a fucked up Violet Beauregard blueberry sausage (wearing a tight blue undershirt and blue leggings-nap gear people, I try not to wear this outfit too often. It attracts flies.). And with no time to even wipe the crust from my eyes, I strutted on over, like the hot blueberry sausage I am, and PROFUSELY apologized for injuring the poor man's eyes. I hope he made it through the rest of his rounds ok. Best part is, I'm sure he's seen much, MUCH worse. At least I hope so...
The misfit is BAAA-AAAAACCCKKKK! And with many mad misadventures to amuse you with. -M.M.Misfit
Ok, so I lied. Big fat fucking deal. Took the summer off. Did a whole lot of nothing and didn't even touch this blog. Sue me.
I'm thinking that it's time to get it all going again. And with the start of school, I feel like the juices will most DEFINITELY be flowing again. And with that, I offer you this confession. Do with it what you will.
I got a problem. A big problem. I have this really bad habit of swallowing my gum. There I said it. I feel a bit better now. I think I need professional help. I chewed three pieces today. Pretty gross, huh? Things could be worse, right? (Just agree dammit.)
Your favorite goofy gummed-up gal, M.M. Misfit
You know typing out goofy made me think of something. Any of y'all ever read Highlights Magazine when you were younger? Highlights was my shit. I used to look forward to going to the pediatrician just so I could catch up on the latest Highlights. Shout out to Goofus and Gallant. Goofus had it going on. Gallant was a punk bitch. And I'm out.
And no, I'm not chewing my fourth piece of gum today. Don't look at me like that. I'm NOT.
SO, I've just finished one of the craziest, most busiest, most wackiest, most randomest months/six or eight weeks I've ever, EVER had in my life. And I'm finally back from a whirlwind trip to London, the icing on the top of the crack cake with smack filling that I ingested recently. And so, I will be back to updating this silly shite in 2 and 2 this week. (a Love Connection reference for all of you who remember the 80's)
In the meantime, keep it cheesy. M.M. Misfit
P.S. One of my favorite laughs on this trip (and boy were there a lot of laughs), because I am an immature jackass, came from a stop on the Tube. The last station on the Piccadilly train line in England is Cockfosters. And let me tell you that there is nothing more juvenile than sniggering for 20 minutes as you listen to the conductor/computer say "Last stop, Cockfosters." every time the train stops. And if I were easily embarrassed, which I am not, I would have hung my head in shame as I realized that no one else but my husband was laughing with me. But, I really don't give a fuck...so I ended up laughing quite loudly. And my only regret is that I did not have any memory left on my camera to take a picture of the train coming at me with COCKFOSTERS on the banner. Fuck shame...it's overrated.
If this shit doesn't make me a misfit, I really don't know what a misfit is. So one of my guilty pleasures is on the telly on this fine Friday evening. And as I'm sitting here watching it, it dawned on me. Every single time this piece of shit movie is on, I watch it. It's not on very often, but it really shouldn't even be allowed to be shown ANYWHERE at ANY TIME.
I know you're dying inside just trying to figure out what this monstrosity is. And if you're not completely stupid, you probably already know that it's Glitter. Yes, Glitter. Starring the multiple Razzie award winning diva, MARIAH (she on fiyah) CAREY CANNON! Or is it Nick Carey? They should just scrap both names and call themselves The Jackasses and be done with it. Screw tradition...two artistes such as themselves should eschew convention. Don't ya think?
So like I was saying, Glitter...I can't help but watch it. I don't know why. Maybe it's because I'm practically an 80's baby. Born in '78, but I'm 80's all the way baby. 80's music is really where it's at for me. If I had no other album but Off the Wall by MJ, I would be fine for the rest of my life. Well, throw in some Prince, Teena Marie, and some Anita Baker and I'd be good. Maybe you could throw in some Jem and the Holograms, and that would be it. So Glitter just touches something deep within me. I'm actually a pretty big Mariah Carey fan. I've loved her since the first time I heard Love Takes Time in the 7th grade. Right now I only own her #1's album, and I like to pop it in the car and sing along with her stank ass at least once or twice a year. And I've downloaded a few of her most recent songs. Them chickens is ash and I'm lotion...'nuff said.
People say that Glitter sucks balls and they say that Mariah should be set on fire (along with her dogs and 10 year old husband) for even thinking that she could carry an entire movie like she carries a note. But I really think she got a raw deal. I don't think she's a completely horrible actress. I've even heard it said that some people blame the movie's release date for many of the really awful reviews it got. I think it was released around September 11, 2001-a pretty hostile time for any movie to debut, much less some frivolous gobshite starring a high class hoochie wanna be ghetto diva. (Aren't there supposed to be dashes in there somewhere? Whatevs....Y'all know what I'm trying to say.) Who am I really trying to kid? The movie is really all different kinds of monkey shitty, but it's entertaining as all hell. And isn't that all that really should matter?
So what I guess I'm trying to say is give Mariah another chance. Although homegirl is clearly delusional, I don't think she's all that bad an actress. Who the hell else do you know that thinks she can wear mini skirts from Tello's all day and night long at the age of 53? And yes, chick is not nearly as thin as she used to be when she rocked that black catsuit in the Vision of Love video. But you have to have big balls to walk around and really not give a fuck what people think of you when you're dressed like pre-pubescent rainbow sherbet. So she's a bit off her rocker, aren't we all? And she even allowed Eric Benet to be in her major movie debut...that man-whore is probably the reason that the whole things tanked anyway. But we all make mistakes! (I probably shouldn't, but I'll tell you anyway. I've always admired Mariah because she is a fellow Longback. A Longback is someone who has no-ass-atall-itis. Their back just goes on and on...there is no boo-tay to keep their jeans up, etc. Yep, me, Mariah, Yellow Rat...all longbacks. Yellow Rat is another one of my good buddies. Don't even ask why we call her Yellow Rat...yet another misadventure. Did you know there is a store, or was a store, in NYC called Yellow Rat Bastard? It used to have live rats in its window display.)
Go on, give Glitter a chance. It's cheesy as all hell, tired, played out, sappy, and a tad melodramatic...but all my friends say that same shit about me daily and y'all know I'm fucking fabulous. Well, I gots to go. I'm off to go searching for the Glitter soundtrack on Ebay. Maybe someone will give it to me in exchange for my Barbie and the Rockers* cassette tape.
*So you say you don't know who Barbie and the Rockers are. Well, let me tell you. Back in the day (like 1986 or something), there was this little known band called Jem and the Holograms. Them bitches were the SHIT! Google 'em if you want to know what's what. Anyhoo, begged like a mofo for a Jem doll. Like two weeks later, my Ma busts in the house with a present. Open that shit up and what the fuck do I find? A BARBIE and the ROCKERS DOLL! A bobo ass, busted Barbie doll masquerading as JEM! Mattel had the nerve to call themselves making a fake Jem, fooling my poor mother and breaking my little 8 year old heart, all the while lining their thieving pockets with people's hard earned, Jem money. And they even had the nerve to include a cassette of Barbie and the Rockers songs. I tried to like pink haired Barbie...I did. And I tried to sing the songs...but I couldn't. Makes me get a sour taste in my mouth just thinking about it. You know what it's like to have the bobo thing in your group of friends. All of your friends have Punky Brewster sneakers. You got the bobo pastel colored ones from Thom McAn. You know how it is. And if you don't, then eff you, mang. You were the one who made it hard for the rest of us to get by with your I-always-got-the-latest-shit-because my-mom-sells-herself-for-name brand toys-ass.
It's not hard to see why Jem and the Holograms had to break up. They were getting taken for their ideas and music, etc. by Mattel. (Word on the street is that Synergy had to sell her computer parts on the black market to make ends meet. I hear that some of her bits were actually used to invent the first IPod. Steve Jobs is another...well, let me stop. I just KNOW I can't afford another lawsuit from them Apple bitches.) Fuck BARBIE and HER ROCKERS! Karma is a bitch...and her name is BRATZ DOLLS. Mwahahahahahahahahahaha!
either you let me go...or give me love, love, LOVE!
You may be wondering why in the monkey hell I have a video from School Daze on here. Well, I'll tell you. At least once a week (usually when I need a little enlightenment, entertainment, laughs, or a really passive-aggressive way to irritate Mr. Man), I like to blast this song and sing along and pretend that I'm Jane Toussaint from the movie School Daze (directed by the great Spike Lee). It's a very entertaining movie about the black college experience in America. Watch it...it's on Youtube in about 50 different parts.
Anyhoo, I blast this song and dance around like a damn fool while I try to imitate the faux-Supreme moves that Tisha Campbell and Jasmine Guy (and the other two unknown heifers) are busting. And I can never get it right, except for the arm part at the beginning...I'm really good at that one. But this shit never fails to entertain me. And the song might just get you going too...especially if you imagine my funky ass singing and dancing to it. I just wanted to share this with you, my dear readers. All 3 of you. I know how much you care about the different ways I like to entertain myself. (Have y'all been spreading the word? Yeah, I didn't think so. I'm assuming the orders of Slim Jims I sent to you all haven't arrived. Well, don't look for them now. That'll learn you. I'll just eat all of the Slim Jims myself. They're especially tasty with Dipsy Doodle corn chips.)
Ok, so I haven't blogged in a bit. And honestly, it would have been virtually impossible during the last two weeks. If I wrote a list (and I will soon) of all of the things that have happened to me over the last three weeks you just wouldn't believe me. I KNOW you wouldn't. But this shit right here is called The Misadventures of a Mad Monkey Misfit. And if you don't know, you better AXE somebody. Ughh...I'm so tired. One day recently I even forgot to eat. What kind of fucked up shit is that? Me forgetting to eat is like Pookie (New Jack City reference for those of you who just don't know) not fiending for crack or like Smokey (Friday reference and if you haven't see that movie just take your stank ass right up off of my blog and don't fucking come back) not wanting to smoke that wacky tobaccky all day long. So it's been a rather stressful time folks.
But I promise that I will be getting back to this writing shit ASAP. If for no other reason than me needing to express my feelings and get these misadventures out of my head. The craziness of it all is making me wanna holler!
Peace bitches, M.M. Misfit
Please excuse the unnecessary cussing. You know the stress and tiredness just bring it out in me. And if you can't understand, then blow it out your fucking ear. (My ma taught me that one...but without the fucking part.)
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
This mofo...this mofo right here is the reason that I feel the need to get violent sometimes. I'm normally not a very physical person. Actually, the only physical activity I really enjoy is moving my hand from my food to my mouth. But you know I would really like to meet this jackass just so I can run up on him and punch him really hard in the side of the head. Or maybe pay someone to give him a good donkey punch. (Learned that term a few years ago courtesy of an American University student...and NO, he just gave us the definition. I've got ABSOLUTELY NO kind of EXPERIENCE with all of that. I don't play NONE of that type of shit.)
Anyway, back to Blagojadummy. What in the monkey fuck is he thinking? I cannot even begin to fathom the utter and complete fuckery going on in his head. I can't even laugh at his dumb ass any more. I can only shake my head.
You (all two of you who read this here blog) may have noticed that I haven't posted in the last couple of days for a couple. Number one, the crazy blog lust wore off. Don't front like you don't know what I'm talking about. You know how you do when you just start...start um, having sexy times with a new "friend". And you do it all day long, every day for like a couple weeks and then the novelty wears off and you barely acknowledge them when they enter a room. Yeah, I call that non-stop "action" hot monkey lust. Something like what I was experiencing when I started this blog. The hot blog lust that I was experiencing last week died this past weekend...with a quickness.
Number two, one of my eyes gave up the ghost this weekend and then the other followed suit a couple of hours later. So right now I'm struggling to even watch my favorite educational programs on TV because my eyes hurt so badly. I don't even know who is currently still in it for the love of Ray J. And I had to practically squint, and hold my head as my eyes throbbed, through the whole reunion episode of Rock of Love. But I managed to keep my eyes open long enough to see Bret Michaels reach all the way down to Mindy's toes with that "deep kissing" he was doing with that rotten ass tongue of his. In case you're wondering, my ma calls it "deep kissing"...I just shuddered as I typed that.
So there's been a little too much blog lust and a little too much computer screen action for me recently. So I won't be up in this bitch every two minutes for a while. Gotta go easy on the peepers so I don't miss any of the Real Housewives of New Jersey, aka Mafia Wives Gone Bad.
It's 3:30 in the morning and I'm awake. I'm just so, so fortunate. Not only have I been blessed with the gift of misadventure, I am also a first class insomniac. Insomnia...It's what's for dinner. (And just in case you haven't realized it yet, I am not drunk. I know that I usually babble incoherently on this here blog, but this time it's REALLY not going to make any sense. But no worries, I just had a bit of an early breakfast, so I'm fortified and ready to go. It's amazing what a slice of F. Bakery pizza and a glass of Tropicana can do for your brain...not a gotdam thing.)
Another aside. I've got Black Snake Moan on in the background as I type this. What the fuck was I thinking? As soon as it opened with Justin Timberfake in the first scene doing sexy times with Wednesday Addams, I mean Christina Ricci, I should have dragged my ass to back to bed and put my pillow over my head. And don't let me get started on Sam L. Jackson, he's in this piece of shit movie too. Either that motherfucker really has an affinity for movies with the word snake in the title, or he really WILL star in any movie that comes his way. Mind you, I really like SLJ-what does the L. stand for? Lucky Strike? Lemonhead? Lucky Motherfucker? Lula Mae?
I once read an interview where SLJ said that he would pretty much take any job offered to him because he knows what it's like to be really poor and have to struggle to take care of your family. And I really can't knock the man's hustle. Many is the day that I've thought about giving up the teaching to work at Mickey D's. I KNOW that the money is better and boy I'd fill up on ALL of the free cheeseburgers, orange drink (not soda, orange DRINK), and hot fudge sundaes I could get my grubby little hands on. But they don't fire people from Mickey D's, do they? So I'd be fine stealing all of that shit. ( And yes, mofos...I am a teacher and a damn fine one too. More on that later.)
Anyhoo, back to the lack of sleep thing. I've really got this thing down to a science. Not everyone has the skills necessary to wake themselves up as many times as possible throughout the night. And I can will my mind to wake myself up without even knowing it. I don't even know what the fuck that last sentence is supposed to mean. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I have lots of little tricks up my pajama sleeves for ensuring that I don't get a good night's sleep. Here are my favorites. Feel free to jot them down if any tickle your fancy.
1. Get yourself a good case of sleep apnea. Not only will you snore like a Mac Truck and wake up your neighbors, your body will struggle for oxygen causing it to wake you up 5 or 6 times an hour so you can roll over or slap yourself or do whatever it is you need to do to catch a nice deep breath. (Unfortunately I don't have one of those C-Pap machines, a doohickey that you strap to your face while you sleep. Supposedly what it does is pressurize your airway. But let me tell you how this machine really works. While wearing this "mask", it will make you look like Jason from them scary movies. Your baby daddy will innocently roll over in the middle of the night and BAM! He proceeds to bash you senseless in his sleep-induced haze because he thinks he's having a nightmare or he's using the "mask" as an excuse to beat your ass for eating ALL of the chunky monkey he bought a few hours earlier. Don't we all know that when you're knocked unconscious you really have no choice but to sleep? Am I wrong or am I right, Smokey? In the morning, you may be a little hazy from the lashing you took, but it won't be any worse than how you feel when you wake up after having popped a couple Tylenol pm before you go to bed.
2. Learn how to kick your legs properly. Kinda like how you used to do when you were learning how to swim using a kickboard when you were little. Of course, I'm sure that some of you didn't take swimming lessons. You just had no choice but to learn to swim when your father threw you into the ocean in an attempt to drown you. But you got him good, didn't you? You learned how to swim all on your Pat Malone. And your daddy got used to crying himself to sleep every night because he was a failure and couldn't succeed at ANYTHING! (Yes, I really can be an evil bitch. But I'm not really mean. I'm just tired. Very tired...says the psychopath to the police.)
Back to the kicking. Doctors like to call this kicking "Restless Leg Syndrome". What they should really call it is "The pharmaceutical companies are threatening to take away my new Jag if I don't help them to get rid of the excess inventory of this here monkey pox drug Syndrome". Anyhoo, when you've got this RLS, you just like to kick your pretty little legs ALL NIGHT LONG! Sometimes you connect with your spouse and you wake up chuckling to yourself as he/she/it moans in their sleep. (I am SO going to Hell.) But most of the time you just toss and turn and kick.
3. Forget about letting all of the stress and craziness of your day float away as you drift to sleep. Get up once an hour to think about the fact that you forgot to make that list of your favorite crayon colors like you said. Or get up to check that the navy tights you washed last night are drying so that you can rock them in the morning with your new chucks. OR better yet, get up at least once during the night to make sure that the cookies/macaroni and cheese/chocolate mousse/pork chop, etc. that you have in your fridge didn't try to run away when you put them to bed earlier. Take a bite out of their funky little ass to make sure that they know who's boss. And please make sure to let your food digest properly. After you finish gorging on the floor in the light of the fridge, sit on the couch and watch a little VH1 Soul. Old school jammy jam videos are well known for their amazing ability to leave you dazed, confused, and unable to sleep worth a damn.
4. I can't really remember any other tricks I have up my sleeve. Actually, there is one more. Make sure that your husband does not have a NORMAL alarm clock on his bedside table. Make sure he has the one from Oregon Scientific that flashes the time onto the ceiling in big bright red numbers that jolt you out of your sleep every time because you think he's pointing a laser shooting thingie on your head when he checks the time in the middle of the night. Try to get him to do it at least twice every night. Works like a charm!
You may now be asking yourself how I know that I have sleep apnea, RLS, a silly husband, etc. WELL, let me tell you. A few years ago, at a money grubbing neurologist's suggestion, I was subjected to one of the most truly awful experiences known to man...a SLEEP STUDY. (Well, maybe not the most truly awful, but pretty bad.) Basically you check into the hospital overnight and a bunch of off duty janitors monitor your sleeping habits. Before you get to "rest" for the night, they prep you for at least an hour (no joke) by connecting ALL KINDS of wires and shit from the top of your skull to the tip of your piggy toes. And I am NOT exaggerating when I say that there are so many wires connected to you (I'd say at least 50, if not more) that you cannot go to the bathroom without one of the janitors having to leave his mop and bucket in a friend's care so that he can come in to partially break the chains of your bondage. I'm assuming that they disconnect only those wires that may electrocute you if you pee on them by accident because you can't see the toilet for all of the radio shack shit tethered to you. The rest they probably can't be bothered to reattach again, so they leave them be. Like they really give two shits about accurate tests results.
After you're connected up to Big Brother, they leave you to "fall asleep just as you would at home." Yeah, I'm telling you that's what they told me. It wasn't all cheeseburgers and orange drink, but I guess I did sleep for some of the time. In the morning, my janitor buddy told me that I like to have these little gasping fits a few times an hour (mild sleep apnea). And he informed me that I really seem to enjoy kicking while I sleep too (something ridiculous like 60 something kicks in the 8-9 hours I was there). Nice, huh?
I make it sound like I don't get a lot of sleep. I actually do. I like sleep. It's my favorite pastime after eating and reading. But even if I've slept 12 hours the night before (meaning I was in my bed for 12 hours straight), I will still yawn all morning and be very tired all day. So I just don't get as much of that completely restorative, deep ass R.E.M. sleep that I need. But I'm making do. Plus, now that I have this here blog I KNOW that I will succeed in knocking myself out with all of this boring bullshit I type.
I actually yawned just then. I'm gonna lay down on my futon and watch the rest of the Sam Lula Mae Jackson movie. Maybe JT and SLJ will make sexy times before the movie's over.
I'm no professional writer or whatever. But I feel bad about whatever mistakes, grammatical errors, all that other bullshit that you'll find in this here blog. So if you're interested in earning a year's worth of free Mickey D's fries, contact me. I may have a little editing gig for you.
Greetings to all 9 of you who read my little ole blog,
So it's been sunny as all get out here. This afternoon, while losing my mind and attempting to stay in my lane while driving, I was listened to Amy Winehouse on my mad dash to an appointment. I love Amy Winehouse, and not in a "she's ever so generous with her smack and reefer" kind of way. I can honestly say that I bought Back to Black (her second album) right before it became really popular and all mainstream and shit.
[I really need to let off some steam today, so please ignore the random filth that will spew out as I type. I can't help it when I'm stressed. It's like a tic or something.]
But back to Amy, who I have renamed Amy Wineho. The Wineho thing started when I decided to make an Amy mii for my Wii. I don't think her full name fit the profile, so I shortened it. Lo and behold, my version is even better than her real name. Don't you agree? SO like I was saying... Amy is probably one of my top 10 artists of all time. Listening to her music makes me feel like I know her. And when I'm singing along with her at the top of my lungs as I drive, I feel like we're buddies. Not drinking buddies, just buddies. (I'm no Wineho...ha ha.)
Back to Black (BtoB) is a great album, but her first album, Frank, is where it's really at. After burning out my copy of BtoB, I decided that I must cop her earlier stuff. (She was only 19 when she wrote Frank. Pretty amazing stuff. BtoB didn’t come along for another 3 or 4 years. I wonder what she was doing between albums? Crack or Smack?) So I hunted for Frank everywhere. But I wasn't able to find it. And quite unfortunately my incredibly loose morals actually prevent me from pirating/illegally downloading music. I really am one of the 10 people left in the U.S. who still purchases CDs. And you know I don't give a fuck, I’m big and bad. I can steal anything. (In reality, I'm just afraid that the cops will arrest me. And I just am not the type who'd do well in jail. I'd be big Bertha's bitch before I'd even changed into my prison garb.)
Yet again, BACK TO MY MAIN POINT! During our yearly trip to Oz, Mr. Man actually found a copy of Frank in some shitty ass music store in Parramatta (Let me stop. He might steal my CD because he really likes Amy. Yeah, the mofo who can only appreciate songs from the Thin Red Line soundtrack or anything by Elvis Costello.) And once I listened to Frank, it was all over. I knew that Amy and I really are true friends, BFFs. And one day when she's not as cracked out, I will stalk her for a few weeks so I can let her know how much I love her. But seriously, Frank is such a great album. The lyrics sound like she's reading them from her diary. And it's just so, so GOOOD! Frank is a MUST HAVE for all of my spring jaunts in the car. It's one of my favorite albums...definitely a top 5 or 6 in my book.
Now on to the meat of this post. One of my favorite Wineho songs off of Frank is Fuck Me Pumps (FMP). (My mother-in-law likes the song too, but I don’t think she listens to the lyrics. She likes the melody or whatever. I sing the filthy lyrics while she hums along. It’s great.). I have pasted the link in for the video of FMP but I don't know if them YouTube bitches are going to remove the video from my blog again. Listen to the clip and you'll get the gist of what I'm talking about. (Ok you lazy mofos who can’t click on a damn link, the song is basically about those old broads, you know they're like 30 or so. The broads who frequent bars and clubs looking for their husbands among all of the dumb frat boys and secretly gay undergrads who are trying to front like they're straight when everyone within a five mile radius is twitching because their gaydar is going berserk. You know the Winehos that give it up without any hesistation with the expectation that they’ll be engaged on their next date with the stud they picked up who was one drink away from passing out in his own puke on the corner where his friends ditched him.)*
SO anyways, this reminded me of an outing with my BFF, Caffe. She used to live in an apartment located on a city block with this one chi-chi restaurant/club/lounge type thing. One night a couple of years ago, when we just didn’t feel like going to the local pub and then waiting for the food poisoning to set in, we decide to pony up the extra 10 dollars and pretend to be adults at this new “hotspot” up the street.
It was a Saturday night and after 10:00 or so, the downstairs of this place would turn into a nightclub. Caffe and I were feeling a little hot to trot (like we were looking pretty decent), so we decided to go down and have a drink, maybe dance a little and be home no later than 10:30. (FYI…after turning 27, my bedtime became 8:00. 7:00 during the winter time. So I was really pushing it on this particular night.)
Now we were wearing our casual uniform...semi-decent jeans and a sweater than wasn't completely moth-eaten and didn't accidentally expose any pertinent bits. So after our overpriced burgers we strutted our fine selves on downstairs. I ordered a gin and tonic, my drink of choice, and then we actually TOOK IN THE HOT ASS CESSPOOL OF I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT that we had entered.
Lord have mercy, it was like a flashback to freshman year when we used to frequent THE SPOT. (All you college buddies need to stop fronting like you never went to THE SPOT on "Saturdays are free to all of the stupid 19 and under college girls we can squeeze in here at one time" night.) The heifers, I mean WOMEN, were all wearing tank tops (and you know they were freezing because they didn’t bring coats because they couldn't afford to pony up the extra dollar for the coat check). Women, both fat and skinny, with their bellies and shit exposed. The sea of complete and utter dicks, I mean MEN, well I can’t even remember what they were wearing. But it really doesn’t matter because Caffe and I were HORRIFIED!!!!!!!!!! There is no other word, well except for maybe MORTIFIED, that can describe exactly how we felt. Not only was there not one single solitary person over the age of 30 in the whole place, I don’t even think there was anyone over 22 up in that bitch.
Caffe decided that I have 2 or 3 minutes to do whatever the hell it is I need to do with my drink (she would not allow me to pour it on anyone’s head so I decided to chug it down hoping for a little liquid courage) and then we were gonna be out that bitch. As I was about to put the cup to my lips and drink, up comes this motherfucker. And who does he decide to talk to? ME! Yes, the one in the stretched out XL Gap sweater that was sweating like a monkey (and probably looking like one too). The only person within a five block radius who was wearing a WEDDING BAND. Yes, he chose me. I must admit that I felt kinda special, even as Caffes eye almost fell out of her head because she was rolling them so hard. Right about now I need to take a quick break before I type this motherfucker’s pick-up line/drunken asshole conversation starter. I still don’t know what to make of the situation. Should I laugh or cry?
This motherfucker walks up to me and says, “Hi!” (Started out pretty well, didn’t it?) And then bam…the bitch says to me, “Why are you wearing so many clothes?” Caffe and I looked at each other and it was in that moment that I truly felt like one of the “skets” that Amy Wineho was singing about in her song FMP. I just have to tell you that along with my turtleneck I was wearing jeans, shoes, drawers and socks. Nothing more, nothing less. With that, Caffe and I turned on our heels and fled. And we haven’t even looked in the general direction of a club type place since.
It’s really not easy being 30. You’re old and dried up and even if you’re dressed in your birthday suit, you will always be too overdressed for the young and drunk. I’m sticking to Target and Friendly’s for my jollies these days. I’m still waiting for Target to open a Martini Bar. I guess a girl can always dream….
*I have absolutely NO EXPERIENCE with any of this sort of shit. I'm just going off of stories I've read and what I remember, I mean what I've heard from friends.
After typing out this story and thoroughly enjoying myself, I have decided that I will definitely write a book. And for no other reason than leaving it for my grandchirren to read. These silly hijinks will be tame as all hell by the time my grandkids are adults. But as God is my witness, if I see even a hint of these stories on anyone’s site or I even sniff someone trying to steal my shit, I will put the smackdown. And it won’t be pretty. Mofos need to stop stealing other people’s ideas and shit and selling it to Hollywood or claiming it as their own. And this isn’t any James Frey shit. Oprah won’t be bitching my ass out on live television any time soon. All 9 of you loyal readers are my witnesses. And I’m out.
Big Brother seems to have deleted my link/video thing. In case you're wondering, the jackass I'm referring to below is the woman who jumped into the polar bear enclosure at a zoo in Germany (I think it was Germany). I'm too tired to repost a link, so look it up your damn self.
What the fuck did she really expect? A kiss on the lips and then perhaps a spot of tea, or dinner and then an aperitif. I'm just upset that the polar bear didn't give her a proper polar bear thrashing.
She's lucky that she did not jump into the monkey enclosure, because she would not have been as lucky. One monkey would have held her down while another gave her a sound spanking with his old-school leather belt. [You know the kind that you can't believe people actually wear. The belt that you SWEAR was only created to spank naughty children. Again, I have absolutely no personal experience with spanking. I was, and still am, perfect.]
Then a couple of monkeys would have thrown her funky ass in the stocks (you know, the ones used for public punishment back in the day. Then another monkey would have set up a concession stand to feed the monkeys who were going to pelt her dumb ass with moldy banana peels for a good two hours.
Dumbasses...
Yours, M.M. Misfit
P.S. Speaking of dumbasses, have any of you seen the video for Mariah Carey and The Dream's (who the fuck names themselves The Dream) song, My Love? Like I'm supposed to believe that Mariah Carey lives in the hood, makes and drinks red Kool-Aid, and can cornrow someone's hair. (That bitch is CERTIFIABLE! And it takes one to know, know what I mean?) And I shit you not, ALL of that stuff is in the video. I highly recommend that you watch it. Matter of fact, here. I know some of you lazy mofos won't even look for it.
New orangutan population found in Indonesia By ROBIN McDOWELL, AP 7 hours ago
JAKARTA, Indonesia — Conservationists have discovered a new population of orangutans in a remote, mountainous corner of Indonesia — perhaps as many as 2,000 — giving a rare boost to one of the world's most endangered great apes.
A team surveying forests nestled between jagged, limestone cliffs on the eastern edge of Borneo island counted 219 orangutan nests, indicating a "substantial" number of the animals, said Erik Meijaard, a senior ecologist at the U.S.-based The Nature Conservancy.
"We can't say for sure how many," he said, but even the most cautious estimate would indicate "several hundred at least, maybe 1,000 or 2,000 even."
The team also encountered an adult male, which angrily threw branches as they tried to take photos, and a mother and child.
There are an estimated 50,000 to 60,000 orangutans left in the wild, 90 percent of them in Indonesia and the rest in neighboring Malaysia.
The countries are the world's top producers of palm oil, used in food, cosmetics and to meet growing demands for "clean-burning" fuels in the U.S. and Europe. Rain forests, where the solitary animals spend almost all of their time, have been clear-cut and burned at alarming rates to make way for lucrative palm oil plantations.
The steep topography, poor soil and general inaccessibility of the rugged limestone mountains appear to have shielded the area from development, at least for now, said Meijaard. Its trees include those highly sought after for commercial timber.
Birute Mary Galdikas, a Canadian scientist who has spent nearly four decades studying orangutans in the wild, said most of the remaining populations are small and scattered, which make them especially vulnerable to extinction.
"So yes, finding a population that science did not know about is significant, especially one of this size," she said, noting that those found on the eastern part of the island represent a rare subspecies, the black Borneon orangutan, or Pongo pygmaeus morio.
The 700-square mile (2,500-square kilometer) jungle escaped the massive fires that devastated almost all of the surrounding forests in the late 1990s. The blazes were set by plantation owners and small-scale farmers and exacerbated by the El Nino droughts.
Nardiyono, who headed The Nature Conservancy's weeklong survey in December, said "it could be the density is very high because after the fires, the orangutans all flocked to one small area."
It was unusual to come face-to-face with even one of the elusive creatures in the wild and to encounter three was extraordinary, he said, adding that before this expedition, he had seen just five in as many years.
Conservationists say the most immediate next step will be working with local authorities to protect the area and others that fall outside of national parks. A previously undiscovered population of several hundred also was found recently on Sumatra island, home to around 7,000.
"That we are still finding new populations indicates that we still have a chance to save this animal," said Paul Hartman, who heads the U.S.-funded Orangutan Conservation Service Program, adding it's not all "gloom and doom."
Noviar Andayani, head of the Indonesian Primate Association and Orangutan Forum, said the new discoveries point to how much work still needs to be done to come up with accurate population assessments, considered vital to determining a species' vulnerability to extinction.
"There are many areas that still have not been surveyed," she said, adding that 18 private conservation groups have just started work on an in-depth census based on interviews with people who spend time in the forests.
They include villagers and those working on plantations or within logging concessions.
"We hope this will help fill in a few more gaps," said Andayani, adding that preliminary tests in areas where populations are known indicate that the new interview-based technique could provide a clearer picture than nest tallies.
"Right now the information and data we have about orangutans is still pretty rudimentary," she said.
Some experts say at the current rate of habitat destruction, the animals could be wiped out within the next two decades.
You know I had to add my two cents. That papa orangutan was right. These paparazzi are quite out of order! He was just trying to protect his baby mama and his kid from the prying eyes of the public. You know the pics are going to be splashed all over US and InTouch this week. People magazine is probably trying to contact the orangutan couple with an offer of 100 bananas for the rights to the first authorized baby pics. What is this world coming to when a monkey baby daddy can't take his family to the park without people getting all up in his business? Tsk, tsk, tsk.
-M.M. Misfit (Another swear free post, I think. It feels good. I'm turning over a new leaf until tomorrow.)
What up Peeps, (It's Easter so I decided to go easy on the cussing. Yes, I am a complete and utter heathen with no regard for decent language and all that. But I was raised a Christian. The pack of monkeys that found me on the side of the road in Madagascar and raised me were a rather wild, but God-fearing bunch. And I like to think that Jesus will forgive me for all of my sins when I repent...this repentance better come sooner rather than later. BTW, Happy Easter!)
I'm back. Decided to post this one while I still had the inclination to. Not only am I a world champion procrastinator, I really can't remember to do anything unless I do it right away or write myself a note. Those of you who know me know that my favorite notepad is my left forearm and I really prefer to write my notes in black sharpie. But, I'll use whatever writing implement is around, including switchblades and sewing needles. (JUST JOKING about the switchblades and needles. I gave those up years ago. But seriously, I find that black sharpie is permanent enough to last all day. And it usually washes off in two showers. The more you know...)
Anyhoo, this post will serve to introduce one my children. Bender's the other puppy and I'll get around to posting a pic of both dogs one of these days. I should probably write that down. BRB...looking for a sharpie. The post is a bit long-winded like its author. You may want to take a pee break right about now.
Since I became a dog in owner in July 2008, a lot of my funny stories or mishaps involve my dog. Her name is Nibbler. She is a designer mutt. Well, in my humble opinion she’s designer. Everyone sweats her like she’s some kind of Louis Vuitton purse or pair of Fendi shoes. Anyhoo, Nibbler is black with a little patch of white on her tummy area. She’s absolutely adorable. I’ll get around to posting a pic one of these days, scratch that just did. Her father is a Maltipoo named Calvin and her mother is a Japanese Chin or Pekingese named Ebony (just learned about the Pekingese thing). She was born and bred in Montserrat, West Indies. And she is the most West Indian dog I’ve ever met. She loves ackee and saltfish, turned cornmeal, chicken pilau, curried goat roti and hardo bread. And she always marches to the beat of her own drummer-that means that she does whatever the bleep (remember, it's Easter) she wants to do. Sometimes she’ll listen and follow commands, but that’s only because she feels like doing it or you’re waving a piece of mozzarella in her face.
[Ok, so I lied about the food part (not the mozzarella-it’s her favorite). But she will pretty much eat anything you give her, right Mr. Man? Her usual diet consists of Science Diet dog food Highfalutin, huh. The girl won’t eat grocery store brands. She also gets Greenies, and what ever Mr. Man* is eating at the time because he is hard-headed and can’t understand that she needs to avoid all human food. She also ate $65 cash money two weeks ago, but I really can't go into that right now. The wound is still fresh.]
Not one to tell half-truths, but Nibbler totally takes after her human mother. We’re both incredibly stank and we both gain weight if we even think about food. And with her petite 9 pound frame, just one chicken leg can put her in the 10 pound range. And that is not cute. On the other hand, thick women (note, women are not fat they are THICK) are few and far between. They should be cherished and put upon pedestals and worshipped. I can say I have little bit of experience in that area. Not much though… I am so full of it.
On yet another side note, isn’t it amazing how much rambling I do? I am so A.D.D. that one topic always leads to another and the next thing you know I’m running down my street flagging down only green cars. And listen, nobody said that the stuff I write has to be intelligible, ok. If you ever have a question about what the heck I’m talking about just ask me. I’m always willing to answer questions, just not stupid ones.
Back to my original story. Hold on, I got to reread what I wrote because I forget what I was going to tell you. Oh, ok. Yeah, I was going to tell you about a really short incident with Nibbler this afternoon. But yet again, I have to give some more background info. Nibbler always follows me wherever I go…even to the bathroom. And since I’m a sucker for a sad-eyed puppy, I usually leave the bathroom door while I’m peeing so she doesn’t freak out and start looking all over for me. She likes this and usually sits and waits patiently while I finish my business and wash my hands. Then we’re off. I used to be freaked out by having her watch me, but I’m cool with it now. Mr. Man thinks it’s gross, but I don’t care. As long as my puppy is happy, right?
It’s important to know that Nibbler is NOT allowed in the bathroom. And although she tries to sneak in every once in a while when no one is looking, she knows to stay her cute little tush out of there or Human Mama, aka me, will put the smack down.
So today, I made myself some kielbasa for lunch. I like kielbasa, you got a problem with that? After doing some random stuff I went back over and took a few more pieces of kielbasa straight out of the pan. Then I went into the bathroom to take a slash. As is her custom, here comes Miss Thing sitting outside the door keeping watch to make sure I don't escape. So, I’m looking to the right of me into a little mirror I keep on the window ledge next to the toilet and peeing at the same time. (If you must know, I was admiring my new haircut.) All of a sudden I feel a lick on the left side of my backside. I’m not much of a freak, so I’ve never really had my boo-tay licked before. Yeah, I should probably get out more. Naturally, I was quite shocked. As I shrieked and turned to see if it was really Nibbler, she took the opportunity to lick my kielbasa juice laden fingers. In her quest to get her greedy little doggie self some kielbasa residue, she missed and licked my bottom as I was on the pot. What in the monkey heck was all of that? I shrieked so loudly that Mr. Man came running up the stairs as I laughed hysterically (and was still on the pot). Needless to say he wasn’t as amused as I was…like I give a toot. (I’ve always had the unique ability to laugh at the stupidest stuff. I’m quite good at amusing myself. Probably why I love my blog and the rest of you are like,"What the heck is this?"
So, after reading this extra long post, you now know a bit about my puppy and perhaps you even laughed a bit or shook your head in disgust. I’m off to go eat some more kielbasa while Nibbs is still asleep.
Monkeyingly Yours, M.M. Misfit (Aren't you proud of me for not swearing? Maybe I can make it next year's New Years Resolution.)
*Mr. Man is my husband. If I ever mention him by name or tell ANYTHING he deems too embarrassing about him, I am sure to suffer a quick and painless disembowelment.
Yeah, I know he's an orangutan. But listen, if it swings from trees, eats nits and other shit off of its brethren, gets up to all kinds of simian shenanigans, and is generally cute, it's a monkey in my book. So, check out this clip and then try telling me that you didn't get a little warm fuzzy feeling in that cold black heart of yours. Good day. -M.M. Misfit
that I'm going to suck it up and invite more people to read my blog. If they don't like it then they can just kiss my grits. Keep your fingers and your toes crossed for happy prospects for this blog. And for monkey's sake, please people...PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE leave a comment to let me know I'm not alone in all of this.*
No more of this shit until at least tomorrow. Really, I mean it this time. I got naps to take and pop-tarts to eat. Life is too short to spend all of my time on this damn blog. When you're hot shit you gotta live your life like you're hot shit. Know what I mean, jellybean? (Yeah, you probably don't have a clue as to what I'm babbling about. That's on you, not me.)
-M.M. Misfit
*Please no profanity in the comment section. We don't go for that kind of shit around here.
Hola! Me again. Just had a random thought and had enough sense to quickly blog it down. (This blog thingie is great. I'm really digging it.) Before the random thought dribbled out of my ear and onto the floor (unfortunately, this happens more often than not), I thought I'd quickly blog it out.
I would like to shout out my favorite blogger in the whole wide world. Well, he's definitely my favorite gossip blogger. [Curly Nikki is my other favorite blogger, but her blog is about natural hair. Check it out if you need help taming your beast, aka hair.] My favorite gossip blogger goes by the name of Michael K and he writes the blog, Dlisted.com. Not only is he my daily source of laughter, he's always up on the latest and greatest gossip. (What y'all really need to do is stop supporting that heifer, Perez Hilton. Don't get me started on that bitch.)
Anyhoo, Dlisted is the BOMB! But let me suggest that you don't visit the site if you can't handle anything NSFW (Not Safe For Work)or anything NSFL (Not Safe For Life). Michael K is just completely irreverent and he will post anything funny. Yes, the content of the blog is often less than tasteful and can be quite juvenile, but really, who gives a fuck? As long as Dlisted makes me laugh, I will continue to support Michael K. (I usually find myself laughing hysterically while I'm cringing on the inside.)
So cheers to you Michael K! You continually surprise me and make me laugh. Although you have made me gag a few times and throw up in my mouth a little, I forgive you. Such is life and I'm sure that some of the shit I've written has made a few people fall down and have seizures. Whatevs. If you worried about other people having seizures and shit, you wouldn't have any time for your self OR your blog. So fuck 'em if they can't handle their blog intake. But back to you, Mike K (I feel I can call you Mike now). As long as you promise to always make me laugh and gag, you will have my undying blog loyalty. Stray from the formula, and I will quit that bitch faster than you can say "Hot Jism!" All my Blog Love, M.M. Misfit
Until next time my bevy* of loyal readers, M.M. Misfit
Three readers comprise a bevy, right? Yeah, I thought so. My dog Nibbler says I'm always right, and I'm coming to grips with that. You know, it's not easy being cheesy.
If you're reading this I'm assuming that you're interested in me as a monkey misfit or you're drunk. Whatever. I hope you'll enjoy reading this stuff. But I'm already aware that you may not like it. To each his own. But if you're the ones who don't like my special blog, well you can just blow it out your ear. (Ma taught me that one. She's no joke. And she'll come after you if you don't like this blog, so RUN!)
Which misadventure to start with? I had a great one yesterday, but the wound is still fresh. It's not yet far enough away for me to blog about it without getting tired. But you'll hear about it soon enough. To start I think that I will go old-school on you. Give you some of my favorite misadventures a few at a time.
College was probably one of my most definitive life experiences. I literally partook (is that a word) in some of the zaniest shit. And my misadventures just quadrupled, no octdrupled (you know, 8 fold whatever), going from a few incidents a month to multiple incidents each day. But I'm glad to say that I gained much more than an academic education. I was totally schooled on life. And I was tested continuously on how well I knew myself. Of course, I didn't know jackshit about life or myself but I managed to fumble through each day. And I learned many an important lesson.
Here's an example of a lesson I learned at the school of hard knocks, aka college. I learned that if you place a chocolate chip muffin on a park bench or let's say the ground for a second (obviously you have no concept of hygiene or you prefer the kiss it up to God/10 second rule *), and you're in a relatively busy city, your muffin or bagel or crackpipe or whatever, is going to get jacked by either a lone squirrel or a pack of squirrels.
More than likely this squirrel/s won't be carrying a gun or a knife. More than likely they'll be hanging around your general vicinity, chasing one another in the grass, racing up a tree, doing whatever those small evil creatures do while they're waiting to gank your food. AnyHOO, the millisecond that that food touches the ground, one squirrel will run up on you as stealthily as he pleases. And boom, just like that, your food is GONE. And you may look around to see where your stuff went. You were probably busy chatting to a roommate or avoiding the professor whose class you skipped because you felt like jumping double dutch with your dormmates instead of learning about Structures and Systems.
Whatever you were up to, you look around and there that squirrel is. Didn't even have the decency to leave the scene of the crime with the evidence. Just sitting a few feet away gnawing on your muffin and looking dead into your eyes. (Squirrel's thinking -Do it, bitch. Step to me. I'ma fuck you up if you keep staring at me. You don't know me like that. Me and my homies, we handle ours.) As you stare into his rat-ass, beady little eyes you will see that he's doesn't care that he's been caught. Most of the time you could be walking around your city of choice and a city squirrel is just waiting for you to even think about making a move. He and his fellow ratbag brethren will be on you like white on rice. And they will not hesitate to handle their squirrel business.
Here's the moral of the story, the lesson I learned: When in a squirrelly part of town, keep your food in your mouth. If any of it drops on the ground keep your ass moving and kiss that whatever-it-is good-bye. And if you were nasty enough to think about picking it up and eating it off the ground, because you're starving because you blew this month's allowance on shoes or a new piercing or a new tattoo and you are broke as a joke, take a minute and think on this. You are a nasty motherfucker for even thinking about eating that shit and you need to check yourself...such loose morals. Geez. And if you do manage to put the nasty, nasty dirty piece of offensive germ-ridden piece of food in your mouth, you better pray to god that he does not strike you dead with squirrel pox. Not that you don't deserve it, you nasty fuck. the end.
*Not once did I mention that this never really happened to me. BUT I did actually witness this squirrel thievery. Once with a muffin and once with a slice of pizza. I also failed to mention that I TOTALLY would have stopped, kissed my food up to God, and continued walking and cramming my dirty, nasty food into my mouth as quickly as I could. Food is food and when you're hungry YOU'RE HUNGRY! I would have dealt with the squirrel pox later and my belly would have been full.
I'm a 30-something married mother of two small dogs. I like long walks on the beach and short airplane rides. Most days I'd say I'm about 35% business, 45% pleasure, and at least 10% confused. I don't know about the rest. But know this, I am 100% silly and 150% sure that YOU are NOT the FATHER!
