True Enough For You

Check your thighs in the mirror, ma. I'm done.

Tuesday, January 31, 2006

The Anatomy of a Rainy Weekend

Ok. Here's what you need to know about the past couple days in my life. In the spirit of Cliff's Notes, I will provide you with a skeletal outline that will get you a B on the test. But you'll have to talk to me if you want to make the honor roll (which, mind you, I never missed, not once, in high school).

1. I got dumped. At a bar. While drinking a Corona . This was the jist of it.

Z: I wish you had called me earlier.
Him: I think we should stop seeing eachother.
Z: Oh. [swig of Corona, crinkled nose, frown] Ok.

I am sad about it, not even that angry. I hope that comes soon. And like going to the gym, it always hurts worst the day after the day after. One of my resolutions for Anno Domini 2006 should be to stop getting attached to transients.

2. Breakup plus copious amounts of alcohol plus fiercely loyal friends equals a bad moon rising when your new ex shows up at the same bar that you do the next night. (I have a lot of friends that are just waiting for something to get mad about.) As you might expect, I handled it with the maturity of an 8 year old and at one point started yelling something about my law school transcript. After a 62.5% lesbian dance-off/catfight, my chances of having a good night were pretty much nil.

While being pushed around by an overweight man on the dancefloor, I yelled, "What the fuck is this, Celebrity Fit Club 3?" I wish it were. Who wouldn't? I think that Tempestt Bledsoe and Countess Vaughn totally would have thrown down for me.

Aforementioned zaftig man later, I kid you not, ended up falling ON me. So, yes, Karma, I am picking up what you're putting down. It was another lovely, cosmic example of how my mouth writes checks that my cute ass can't cash.

3. I watched a special about the 20th Anniversary of the Challenger explosion and reminisced about being there. That's right. While all my sorry ass friends were having to gather in the cafeteria to watch the explosion on tv, I was in Florida with my grandparents seeing it live. Growing up in the funeral home, I was already a morbid kid, but this put me into morbid overdrive.

We sat in a Chili's parking lot and looked east to catch a glimpse. We saw the smoky trail ascend and fissure. My grandfather told me after it that it was a sensitive topic and that I shouldn't discuss it with strangers (By this point, when I was 8 years old, they had given up trying to get me to stop talking to strangers altogether. They could only hope to limit me to inoffensive topics). Upon hearing his sage advice, I talked to basically anyone that would listen to me about it. The man I sat next to on the plane on the way home from Florida probably contemplated suicide.

There are actual pictures (which I need to find) with my younger brother and me smiling and waving to the camera while the shuttle exploded behind us. It's a visual metaphor for my childhood.

4. I celebrated Baby Jessica's wedding. She, 19, allegedly married her "small town sweetheart" who is currently 32. I am no math expert, but hmmm.

Upon her 25th birthday, she will receive the benefits from a trust fund from people CNN labeled inadvertently hysterically as well-wishers.

My parents, after reading this news, began work on a time-machine so that they could go backwards in time and throw me down a well when I was 2. My parents would love nothing more than for me to be married and funded at the moment. Plus, who doesn't love to throw babies down wells?

5. I saw the 40 Year Old Virgin and it wasn't as funny as I thought it would be.

6. I am continually surpised by the levels of sheer loserdom I encounter when I attend a free poker night at a bar. I did that last night. I am then not at all surprised to lose to all of these people. I also did that last night.

The amount of time they spend thinking about poker is staggering. And each of them has advice on how I could have played my hand better. They use poker terminology. And I am guessing they rarely have sex.

7. These are my favorite people in the entire world.

Friday, January 27, 2006

True Enough for You's Unsolicited Help Line

To wrap up the work week, we here at True Enough For You are going to dole out some unsolicited advice. It's been a while since our legal department was able to do some pro-bono work, and sometimes the need to give just becomes so overwhelming, it actually feels a little tingly down there. And besides, they don't call us "Counselors" for nothing.

In order to find people who need our advice, we did not pass go or collect $200, went straight to our favorite Crazy lightning-rod, craigslist. Let's face it, it "crazy" equalled "cute," then craigslist would be a bag of kittens with rosy cheeks, eating tiny cakes pastries with mini-silverware.

Help is on the way!

To the guy painting our hallway yesterday - m4m - 37

We joked about you starting early. Didn't you notice my eyes glued to your crotch? Why don't you paint the back of my throat white?

We're all for flirting with the help. Heck, sometimes we even let the cleaning lady catch a glimpse of Senor Winkles. And don't even ask why Nando from Comcast came to "repair" our "cable box" 3 times in one week back in October. But a painter? Really?

Painters are clearly insane. First of all, most of them don't even have real jobs because they are taking time out to concentrate on their "art." They live in their parents' basement and dance at the Khyber every weekend. Sometimes they even wear messy clothes out just to let you know how "artistic" they are. Ew! That Van Gogh dude cut off his ear and sent it to his brother! You'd be much better off flirting with the dishwasher at any local restaurant, espeically one of the Starr establishments.

Anyway, if you must go through with whatever odd ritual you have planned for your painting buddy, we would be remiss if we didn't warn you about the dangers of lead poisoning. For some reason or another, you want this painter to paint the back of your throat white (not the most slimming color and it is after Labor Day, just saying). Maybe this turns you on? We once knew someone in college that liked his kneecap sucked, but we never talked to him. Please make sure that whatever paint your artiste uses is low in lead content or you may go so crazy that the next thing you know, you'll be on craigslist trying to screw a graphic designer.


I get butterflies in my stomach when I see you and talk to you. I forget about my boyfriend when I'm around you; and I was so reluctant to tell you I'm taken. I know you were disappointed to hear it too. If I weren't so against cheating, I'd love the thrill of ravaging you somewhere, anywhere, going absolutely crazy together. Please understand that I do love him, and he is one of the only great things in my life right now. Also understand, I am incredibly infatuated with you, and maybe all we need is a little more harmless flirtation...

(and if the time ever comes when I'm single again, the first person I will be thinking of is you)

Maybe next time your letter should read:

"Dear Stan,

Hold on to your hat. The universe may actually collapse on itself at this very moment because I have defied the laws of metaphysics and found a way to be a slut and cocktease all at the same damn time. If you're ever interested in dating me after I break up with my probably awesome boyfriend, so that I can write lame craigslist posts behind your back, then let me know. But until then, we should "harmlessly" flirt while I drop it Cybil-style on your ass with all of my personalities. Regardless, I look forward to being single and lonely someday and wondering how it all happened. Until then, I will concentrate on my chlamydia (you want to talk about ravaging, yikes!), since, as aforementioned, I am a whore.

Or am I?"

Don't you think that would be easier? Please update us on how it all goes.

Looking for Lisa Vincaguerra AKA Val -or- Valorie Preston

Do you know her? It's important!!

Thanks much

Isn't it funny how Lisa Vincaguerra A/K/A Val or Valorie Preston is always in the last place you look!?

Try the pantry. You might have left her in there while you were unloading your groceries.

As a last ditch effort, look behind the couch. Many who say they have "found Jesus" say that he was there the entire time!


You're cute.

It sucks that you're such a mean bitch.

Both the person who posted this gem and Janette should contact us post-haste, because I have a feeling you're both amazing and we would get on swimmingly. Call us!

Finally, to the person who posted all the lyrics to the Smiths' "Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now" and attached to it a picture of poo, give up. Even if Doctor Phil himself worked here at True Enough For You, there wouldn't be enough boundless compassion to help you. You're the thrid horseman of the Crazy-apocalypse. Just give up now.

Need help? Drop us a line at our brand spankin' new email address:

Maybe you could tell me why I can't get pictures to work today.

Wednesday, January 25, 2006

Humpday Asshole: She Ain't In My Bathroom

There's a lot I don't understand about the world. In particular, there's a lot I don't understand about professional athletes. The NBA seems to claim the title of Most Reprehensible Professional Athletes. Whether Kobe's siccing his lawyers on a hateful smear campaign against an alleged rape victim or the Indiana Pacers are beating up [stupid instigating] fans, you can always count on someone from the NBA to make you swell with pride in humanity.

Sometimes the actions of these upstanding citizens send them spending a night or two in the slammer; sometimes they just get you the Humpday Asshole (trademark pending) from my humble little site. This week's Humpday Asshole is:

The 76ers' Lee Nailon

The Talented Mr. Nailon had to miss last night's game against the Sacremento Kings because police responded to a call regarding a domestic incident at his house.

Now this should be enough to garner Lee the Asshole honors, but no he took it a step further.

The radio this morning was reporting that Nailon hit his wife in the face. She then locked herself in the bathroom and called the police. When police showed up to Nailon's home, he claimed that his wife was not home. Not smooth.

Sometimes the cops can be a donut or two short of a dozen, but it doesn't take Lenny Brisco to figure out that, um, your wife just called from the bathroom. To make it worse, your brains are a pretty consistent match to your basketball skillz as of late.

To wit, Nailon has seen action in 22 games this season and is averaging 4.2 points per outing for the Sixers. That's about as much as Kobe Bryant scored in one night last week. Seriously. You know that if you expect the public to forgive you for domestic abuse, you at least have to be good at basketball.

If you're performing well on the court, then the fans will turn a blind eye to whatever you're doing to your poor wife at home. If you're scoring like Kobe, then fans will look the other way no matter what you're doing, whether it be eating a live baby in the middle of the court or, well, rape.

What's also awesome is that you made in salary this week what I will maybe make this year. And you probably don't even tip your hookers well, after liking it rough.

So, for beating your wife, lying about her whereabouts and just basically sucking the life out of an already pretty lifeless team, I deem you ASSHOLE. And that's only because I can't nominate you for instant extermination.

Also, I am an asshole for forgetting to pack a lunch today. On the brightside, it will help me maintain my Deneuve-like cheekbones.

Tuesday, January 24, 2006

Love Child: Never Meant to Be

Sometimes I dream that I was brought up by rich, celebrity parents and celebrated for my good looks and genetic luck. Sometimes when I wake up in the morning I look like refried ass.

I went to this website to determine who my celebrity parents are. Here's some of the best combinations:

Elvis Costello & Princess Diana:

Gary Oldman & Mira Sorvino

My favorite, if I were French, Alain Delon & Catherine Deneuve:

Plus, once I walked into a Wawa and the cashier told me I looked like a cross between Beck, Kurt Cobain and Cameron Diaz. But that's just fucked up.

Monday, January 23, 2006

We Want Pie! P! E! I!

I forgot. It's National Pie Day!

Any Aryan Will Do

I don't have much time to write today, but my home computer is being shipped to me as we speak. Godspeed, little laptop.

Swex Dwarf was as fun as I thought it would be. Highlights include, but are not limited to: hearing "Kiss Them For Me" by Siouxsie and the Banshees on a dancefloor, starting a fight on the street between two fellow, law school alumnae and getting hit on by many, many people.

I am not bragging. Usually when I go out with friends, social capitalism rears its head, and I land somewhere off of the demand curve. For some reason, probably the freaky clientele, I had drinks bought for me and pelvises thrusted into me all night long. These are not necessarily great things, but you know I love attention.

One guy in particular, introduced himself as Red. He had red hair, natch, and came up to my chin. I would call him a leprachaun were he cute or carrying a pot of gold. He seemed a bit out of place, but was having enough fun that he didn't really notice. For you, I present a simulated transcipt of our conversation.

Act I, Scene 1

[Fluid dance club sets the scene, people are dancing and making out, the protagonist steps up to the bar to get a drink]

Red: You know, you must be thirsty butting in here.
Me: I dehydreate easily, sir.
Red: Ooooh, I love Irish guys.
Me: [confused] Oh, do you?
Red: Oh yes. Where are you from on the Emerald Isle? I LOVE your accent!
Me: What? I am not from Ire....(realized he won't get a free drink unless he lies). Galway. Yes, I am from Galway.
Red: Let me buy you a drink.
Me: Oh heavens! I couldn't possibly bother you like that!
Red: I insist. Tell me about why you're in America.
Me: I came here for law school. And of course, to escape the potato famine.
Red: You are too much!

Indeed, I am too much. I am not even from Ireland. My family is not at all Irish; they're mostly German and Welsh. Usually, people mistake me for being Jewish, but this Irish thing was new. Anyway, I got 2 coronas and a vodka and cranberry out of being Irish for the night. I didn't even fake an Irish accent, but I did tell him that I loved Frank McCourt. I don't.

I justified the whole episode by telling myself that I was selling a dream, furthering a fantasy, not so much fabricating my background.

I stopped getting drinks from him after he asked if I liked red bush. I told him I had nothing against red bush in general, but I probably had a problem with his red bush specifically. Ick.

It was bloddy fine while it lasted, though. You heard it here first: I highly encourage lying to procure free alcohol.

Friday, January 20, 2006

Two Different Socks!

I hope to have my computer delivered this Saturday or early next which time I will be able to add links to the side of my page and blog more frequently than whenever work gets slow. For you that means more of me in your lives.

Fourfour linked to me without my begging or pleading. He does the best recaps of Project Runway and America's Next Top Model ever. He's a big online crush for me, so it's kind of a big deal.

Just so you know, I went to a cardio/dance class at my gym last night called Madonnalicious. It's gayer than it sounds. To make up for it, I hope to play poker and watch tons of football this weekend.

Also, I am wearing two completely different socks today because I am profoundly incompetent in the morning.

Ooooh, how about that Zachary from American Idol the other night. Right? He reminds me of Tatum O'Neill in Bad News Bears. And while you are watching the Trainwreck that is La Idol, try out this drinking game. Note that however much you imbibe, you will still be more coherent than Paula Abdul. But I mean, we're just shooting fish in a barrel now.

I always knew that Barbie, with her wildly inaccurate body proportions was a bit of a skeeze. That said, when given the chance, I would almost always pick a foreign man.

This guy is more Italian than Yos or Marcello. And that's pretty fcuking Italian.

After 1+1=2, the next most logical equation is: Jews + Rappers = Lawsuit.

Tonight? Maybe Sex Dwarf at Fluid?

Thursday, January 19, 2006

Happy Birthday Crystal Princess!

You've been waiting for this day. You had to wash down your vicodin with a shot of tequila last night just to get some sleep. It took all the concentration you had not to drive your car off the road and into a telephone pole this morning.

That's right. It's Jodie Sweetin's birthday.

And how will she be celebrating this year? Probably tweaking with Tina.

How rude! Get off the junk, honey! What would Kimmy Gibbler say?

It makes me recall that time I waited in line for minutes to get a chance to talk to Stephanie from Full House at the Viewmont Mall in Scranton before finally giving up and screaming obscenities about her and her dog Comet way back before I started college. *Sniff* I promised I wouldn't cry. I got an autographed picture of Jodie Sweetin that I kept inside my mini-fridge for my entire freshman year.

Otherwise...yeah. Slow day.

Giant jellyfish are attacking Japan!

Dolly Parton turns 60 years old!

Miss Virgin Islands needs to win Miss America!

Nervous Breakdown might get sued!

Janette? She's totally the c-word!

Hey, overrated pap, now in paperback!

Ok, that's all the fake enthusiasm we can muster for the day. Wait, one more...

Get well and Happy Birthday Jodie Leanne Sweetin!!!

Wednesday, January 18, 2006

Humpday Asshole: Haterade on Brokeback Mountain

Humpday Asshole!

Today's honor goes to:

Larry H. Miller, owner of the Utah Jazz, bigot and movie theater mogul.

About a week ago, Mr. Miller decided to pull showings of Brokeback Mountain from his chain of Utah theaters. In case you've been living under a rock or hunched in the fetal position in the corner of your apartment for the past 6 months, you should know that Brokeback Mountain is a movie about cowboys who fall in love, mumble stuff and then anally sodomize under endless skies and gorgeous landscapes.

If you have not seen it, you must. It is a delight. It's won more awards than you can shake a phallus at. My only complaints about the movie are that there was not enough shirtless action and Jenn Lindley from Dawson's Creek didn't whine, "Gram!" once. However, she made lots of sad, sad faces.

But I digress.

So Larry H. Miller? He pulled the movie after being alerted about the gay content within. That's a bad thing, but it just makes him as ass.

He hasn't done anything constitutionally wrong; so, please stop your yapping about free speech, etc.

What he did is maybe worse. He's helped fire up the Christian Right:

The bigots at Utah Eagle Forum, that state's offshoot of the pro-family organization founded in 1972 by Phyllis Schlafly, were giddy over the censorship. Said President Gayle Ruzicka: "I think it sets an example for all the people in Utah and, like I said before, [Miller is] my new hero. It's such a terrible show, and it is such a horrible message. I just think (pulling the show) tells the young people especially that maybe there is something wrong with this show."

Yes, this would set a bad example for all those in Utah. I am not saying people from Utah are crazy, but pick up a copy of Under the Banner of Heaven. Plus, I made out with a Mormon once.

I just like to bring that up in conversation.

So this week, when asked about it, Mr. Miller slapped microphones away from his face like a petulant baby and bratted that he had, "already said what he needed to say."

For the sake of irony, his reiteration of intolerance occurred when a radio reporter approached him for a comment as he was entering a hotel ballroom to deliver a speech at the local NAACP’s annual Martin Luther King luncheon. Of course!

While you cannot see Brokeback Mountain at his movie theaters, you can see a movie about a group of boys being ball-gagged and dismembered, Chinese women cast to be Japanese (an Asian will do!) and Heath Ledger having sex with many, many women.

So Larry, relax. I can't think of anyone who needs a night in a tent with Jake Gyllenhaal more than you. Oh wait. Yes I can. Me.

Runner up: Dennis Quaid, actor/douchebag.

At the Golden Globe Awards the other night he said this while introducing a clip of Brokeback Mountain:

“Our last nominated drama tells the story of two young cowboys who met in the summer if 1963 and forge an unexpected, lifelong connection that proves the endurance and power of love. It’s a controversial film. It’s…let’s just say it rhymes with ‘chick flick.’”

Get it? He means dick flick!

Now, we're not upset because we think the joke was in poor taste or that it went over like a lead balloon. No, we love that shit.

We're mad because Dennis didn't ad-lib the more sophisticated alternative joke, calling the movie Bareback Mountain. Honestly, could Annie
Proulx have set you up any better?

And basically around here he's absolved for any wrongdoing around these parts for putting the liplock on his very male colleague in Far From Heaven and being near Jake in The Day After the Earth Freezes, or some shit. It's hard he's good enough of an actor to take those parts and be homophobic.

Another bad joke like that though? We won't be so forgiving.

We'll send you to Utah to catch a dick flick with Larry. And we don't mean a movie.

Tuesday, January 17, 2006

Komm Susser Todd, Maus

How did I celebrate Martin Luther King Day? Well, I threw a party for the Golden Globes, inviting everyone I knew to dress as their favorite civil rights leader. For some reason, no one else showed up, leaving me sitting alone on my couch, dressed as Rosa Parks, holding a platter of cocktail weiners.

Anyway, I made sure to sit on the front end of the couch.

It was lovely to see Reese Witherspoon and those Gay Cowboy lovers pick up some Golden Globes. And its always nice to see Scarlett Johannsen's rack. However, during the ceremony, I realized someone was watching me.

It was a mouse. I think. I don't want to say too much about it here, as I am currently coming up with ways to evict and/or kill him, and like Brian Fellow, I just don't trust animals. The Mouse, named Thurman (rhymes with vermin) may be able to read this page, bringing my readership into the double digits. So, no secrets will be spilled.

I will keep you updated on what I wanted to call Mouse Murderfest 2006, but a certain Vegetarian (G) in my life has persuaded me to try and rid myself of the problem in the most humane way possible. I think he actually wants me to build a little play pen for him and feed him some tofu or something. That means I even promised to throw away the glue traps I set out to trap the bastard. We'll see how ling that lasts. I am not usually known for my humane side. Unless I see him plaintively staring out my window and singing "Somewhere Out There," it's probably not going to surface.

In other news, watch out Hershey! Mayor Ray Nagin is calling for rebuilding a "chocolate" New Orleans. By this, I can only imagine that he is trying to dethrone Hershey, PA as the sweetest place on earth. Mr. Nagin eloquently stated, "I don't care what people are saying Uptown or wherever they are. This city will be chocolate at the end of the day," Delicious!

"How do you make chocolate? You take dark chocolate, you mix it with white milk, and it becomes a delicious drink. That is the chocolate I am talking about," he said. Sweet! or you could do this.

Oh, and then realizing he did have quite enough crazy on his face, he continued.

In his speech, Nagin also said "God is mad at America," in part because he does not approve "of us being in Iraq under false pretenses.He is sending hurricane after hurricane after hurricane, and it is destroying and putting stress on this country," Nagin said. He said God is "upset at black America also." Ray, I know Pat Robertson, and you, my friend, are no Pat Robertson.

I don't even know what all of that means, but I am totally craving a black and white milkshake now.

It's Ben Franklin's 300th Birthday! (Don't tell anyone, but I think he's dead.) Philadelphia's got Benergy! And the worst marketing campaign for a city ever. Celebrate by donning wire-rimmed glasses, flying a kite, inventing electricity and insisting that the national bird is the turkey.

John Corzine takes over as Governor of New Jersey today. However, Jim Mcgreevey will still serve as State Fruit. Zinger!

Finally, do we think this person is my distant cousin? We share a last name.

Monday, January 16, 2006

Craig Rants: Seared in the Flames of Withering Injustice

On this day that celebrates Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., we should pause for a moment and reflect on his dream. MLK had a dream that children of all colors could come together and play in a colorblind world. He dreamed that people of all backgrounds could come together and share ideas and insights.

If you slap a 100-point-maximum IQ level on that bitch, you're basically left with the Rants and Raves section of Craig's List. Then again, maybe it's just my dream to have a bunch of barely literate, functionally retarded people gather to express their oh, so valid opinions.

You see, my recall of said dream is kind of vague. My high school gave us the day of for the first day of Buck Season, rather than celebrate the King's legacy. Don't judge, how else would you be enjoying that venison kielbaba every Christmas?

Anyway, free speech is awesome/not awesome depending on which entry you read. Read on to be Free at last, free at last (from intelligence, class and proper grammar)!

Let's see what God's Children are discussing these days, furthering the dream of Martin Luther King, Jr.:

On abortion:

"If life is so precious and sacred, why not outlaw masturbation and force me to make a daily deposit into a bank? That's 'potential life,' isn't it. So are the dead skin particles in my bedsheets which we will be able to generate into life before long. Why not vacuum those guys up and stick them in a jar?"

Does anyone get the feeling that doesn't get the opportunity to potentially impregnate the ladies often?

Or how about a poem entitled: If You Can't Support It, Abort It?:

"Yo whats up!
dis yo boi raheim from fuckin two twelve knowhutimsayin.
I just wanna ring in on dis issue of abortion an'shit nah'mean.
Like on the real- i gots like 5 kids and dey wuz all accidents.
Now dees bitches want me to pay child support and buy pampers.
I mean like whut? I planted the seed Now i gots to pay?
Dats sum bullshit.
I dont even like dees women and now I still have to deal wit dem.
I hate dat shit.
Imma tell you like dis. If you can't support it- abort it.
Dem bitches be chasin' you down for duckets and I aint havin that.
Next time i knock a bitch up imma tell her to go to the free clinic.
Dat shit aint actually free- but its better than payin' long term for dem rugrats."

If only Robert Frost were able to weave his words around the topic like raheim. Johnny Cochrane would love the title.

Now you're probably wondering what people think about men in pink shirt. Cutting edge, topical, controversial, right?


"The color Pink is like dicks..
It's for chicks you silly faggots"

And the counterpoint:

"how can you say that after seeing how cute/adorable/hot jm looks in his pink shirt. with the collar popped up of course. i think he is so fucking cute. i don't drink but am thinking of going to the bayou just to meet him in person. he is lovely. so whatever your deal is.....FUCK OFF ASSCLOWN."

Ok, I can't get behind the popped collar, and pink is pretty much last season. Morevoer, I can't get behind someone who admits in public that they don't drink.

Plus, maybe it's time for the gays to take ownership of the pink once again. Thankfully, this vitally important dialogue has been set in motion.

What about racism? Oh, like Prego, it's in there.

"Google Martin Luther King....all my browser comes up with is.."Trouble makin *ig*er"

Also, "Wite People Suck." A poem which you can read here.

Horrible. There are about 40 posts like this all on the front page, which I won't dignify. I just wanted to call attention that studpity and racism go hand in hand.

What about historical facts? Craig's got them!

"When Christopher Columbus set sail today in 1493 from Hispaniola (now divided into Haiti and the Dominican Republic), he left behind a garrison of 39 Spaniards - in effect, the first true colony in the New World, predating Sir Walter Raleigh's Roanoke by 91 years. Like Raleigh's colony, however, Columbus's ended tragically. Indians massacred all 39 members before Columbus returned in 1496."

Hmm, interesting characterization of who massacred whom.

More importantly, apparently America's fattest tourists are coming to town:

"We want FRIED HOT DOGS! My wife and I saw this special about hotdogs on TV and they show a place (Ruts?) in NJ somewhere where they deep fry the dogs and I cannot believe there is no place in Philly or even PA somewhere where they do his too. Anybody got any ideas?"

They are probably coming to town in one of these amazing vehicles, pointed out to me by one of the 2 friends of mine who I know have dated a crack dealer.

Ok, fine one more. What is the dream really about?

"I have a dream....My dream is to get as much sex as possible. I can never get enough. The more cocks the better. Martin Luther King wanted equality, I want to be treated like the bad girl that I am. I need to be used & punished. Can you help a hot girl like me fulfill my dreams?

This is in or around My Thong"

Sigh. We shall overcome.

Thursday, January 12, 2006

I Am What I Am; Not A Fascist

See, family? Call me Pinko all you want, but I am not actually a socialist. However, I am close.

If you take this test, you can see which famous people you align with on a chart. And it turns out that I, like a constipated look of contempt, am smack dab in the middle of Hillary Clinton's face.

You are a

Social Liberal
(65% permissive)

and an...

Economic Liberal
(25% permissive)

You are best described as a:


Link: The Politics Test on OkCupid Free Online Dating
Also: The OkCupid Dating Persona Test

Wednesday, January 11, 2006

Jolie-Pitt Rhymes with Holy Shit

Well, it's Wednesday, and my interns just reminded me it's time for the Second Ever weekly installment of Humpday Asshole. This week's Humpday Asshole (trademark pending) was not as obvious a pick as last week's, but that does not make her any less invidious.

So, who does it suck to be this week?

Zahara Jolie-Pitt, adopted wunderkind of the stars

Oh my God, you're thinking, how can you pick on a baby? That's what you're thinking. But this is no ordinary baby. This particular baby has set into motion a series of events that could lead to chaos and disaster the likes of which Earth has not seen since the days of Napoleon.

Let me show you why.

*First you have to ask yourself why all parents decide to have babies. The answer, of course, is that the previous child just wasn't good enough. Obviously, Zahara could not live up to the hype of being America's newest sweetheart, so Angelina Jolie had to take leave of the pill and resign herself to the fact that she should just finally get around to bestowing unto this world the legitmate fruit of her loins. Were Zahara more affable, maybe a bit cuter, Angelina might have never felt this way.

*Another problem for Zahara is that her brother is super adorable and wears a Mohawk. Zahara is BALD. She can't rock a mohawk, and Cambodian orphan always trumps Ethiopian orphan. It's, like, a major rule or something that we learned in Model U.N. (Also, you might be thinking that if Maddox were a better kid, then they never would have adopted Zahara in the first place. Wrong. Maddox was so cute, that Angelina was deceived into thinking she could take the cutest kid on each continent for her very own little multi-hued Von Trapp family. Understandable. Look at his cute mohawk!)

*Zahara requires carrying, which blocks views of Angelina Jolie's pert bosoms or Brad Pitt's lithe pecs. Attention hog! Everyone is a loser here.

*Zahara's inability to live up to the hype has resulted in the creation of a super-child. Nostradomus predicted this right before his death. There are several ways this story can transpire. None of them is a happy ending for society. Let's take a look at the ramifications. This list is in no way exhaustive of the disastrous possibilities.

1. A child will be born unto Brangelina that is so beautiful, only the pure will be able to look directly at it. All others will have their corneas burned out at the very sight of the child. Does the earth really need more blind people? Those who are able to see the specimen of perfection will lose so much self-esteem that eating disorders will abound and plastic surgery will be as de rigeuer as dancefloor handjobs at Shampoo on Friday nights. Or so I have heard.

2. A child will be born that can never live up the expectations as the child of the planet's both beautiful couple. Society will lose their faith in a higher being and in each other. Wars will start. Famine will sweep the land. For more information, please see the Revelations chapter of a book called "The Holy Bible." Then a movie will be made about the dire situation that will likely star Dakota Fanning, screaming like a banshee.

3. Jennifer Aniston, justifiably depressed, that she is not Angelina Jolie will throw herself headlong into making more movies. What's your favorite Jennifer Aniston movie? I thought so. Again, wars will start. Famine will sweep the land.

Zahara had ONE JOB: being America's cutest adoptee. She was supposed to make it chic to steal a child or two from Africa. Now, we will have to listen to Bono yap about debt relief for another 10 years or so. Maybe our expectations were too high for little Zahara; maybe she did all she could.

It's not our job to think too much about that. It is our job to point fingers at others, no matter how unfairly. She may take solace in the fact that she will have a life of privilege about which you and I can only dream as super adoption lottery winner.

Thus, it is with a heavy heart and much regret that True Enough For You names Zahara Jolie-Pitt the Humpday Asshole (trademark pending).

Breaking: World's Hottest Zygote Probably Now a Fetus

Just when the Hilary Swank/ Chad What's-His-Face break up had me thinking that love was DEAD, comes this news. I guess my candle-light vigil in the name of love paid off! confirms that People Magazine online confirms that some nameless people who may or may not be the publicists of Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt claim that Angelina is expecting what is spectulated to be the world's sexiest fetus ever.

Jolie was not reported to say, "Sometimes I can't believe that I am the woman making love to Brad Pitt, but then I remember, Oh Yeah, I am Angelina Jolie."

She further did not add, "Suck it, Aniston!"

Brad Pitt uttered an intelligible, yet smoldering grunt, in what most likely meant agreement.

Rumor has it (Oh Snap!) that Jolie and Pitt were trying to become pregnant to add a white baby to their clan in an attempt to become the spokesfamily for United Colors of Benetton.

More details as they come in! But for now, in sum: Hilary and Chad, eight years, no kids. Angelina and Brad, about 6 months, 2.33 kids.

Tuesday, January 10, 2006

Awkward Moment: A One Act Play of a Family and Preferred Method of Strengthening Genitals and/or Bladder Control

Act I, Scene One

(Dad, Stepmother, Z, Brother, Sister all travel home from an Italian restaurant in a nondescrpit SUV. The air is crisp, but not bitter. Flurries fall. The heat in the car is ON, the radio is ON, slightly audible, playing the playoff football game. No one in the car has an emotional investment in the game. It is but white noise. [note: this makes it DEEP and MEANINGFUL and borderline EXISTENTIAL] The family continues a conversation that began at the dinner table, in a tone more serious than warranted, about the state of the ass of Sister's fiance.)

Sister: He's nervous it's going to get a big ass from having an office job.

Stepmom: That's called the "Secretary's Spread," honey.

Brother: I always thought it was just called OA. "Office Ass."

(giggles ensue, as much laughter as this family lets itself experience)

Z: He'll have to do those exercises you can do just sitting at your desk. What the hell are they called?

Dad: Kegel exercises.

(stunned silence for minutes)

Z: (sotto voce) Please never say that again.

(more tense silence for minutes)

Brother: I don't even think that helps the ass.

End Scene.


Monday, January 09, 2006

Jesus Gets Two Birthdays, So He's Really, Like, 4012

I successfully completed the "Go Home Hat Trick" this weekend, making it three times in the past three weeks that I made the trek to the great white north to participate in some family sanctioned activity. Hanging with the family is not too bad. I mean, my parents have never struck me with anything too heavy, and they're always good for a laugh. Last weekend my mom asked me if the female date that I was bringing to a wedding knew if I were gay. I told my mom that my date wasn't headless and probably had a good idea.

This weekend I was home for the magical "One Christmas Is Never Enough" extravaganza that those crazy Orthodox Christians fool inflict on the world just to be different. We get it; you don't follow the Pope. My Dad, when it is convenient for him, is one of those crazy Orthodoxes. So, he summons the family home to enjoy a dinner of bland pierogis, fish sticks and healthy sides of passive-aggression, conservative politics and paternal disappointment. All of which are hard to digest, especially the pierogis. Afterwards we go to church to catch a large chunk of the three hour mass which is full of also hard-to-digest incense and Russian language.

Seriously, the whole mass could be a the priest making fun of my family, and we wouldn't even know it. That's basically the perk of going.

This year was different, though. None of the kids could make it home Friday night or Saturday morning for church. Personally, I had a date friday night with a couple of pitchers of Red Sangria at El Vez. I can't speak for my siblings.

Besides missing church, my father decided to take us all out for a nice Italian dinner at his favorite restaurant. My immediate thought was that he was probably dying. It was uncharacteristic. When I arrived at his house and he made me change my shoes because he hated them, I knew he was just fine.

We got to the restuarant (a Jessup eatery whose owner is known for his delicious chicken dishes and his love of living la vida coca, if you catch my drift. Sniff, sniff.) and had to wait for seats. This did NOT make the family happy. My step mother was fit to be tied. We were finally seated and then we waited 2 hours for our food! Two hours! We tried to get answers from our waitress with the intricate floral tattoo on her wrist and hand, but she, predictably had the conversation skills of Nell.

The whole time, my family kept getting me drinks, cosmopolitans to be exact. It's almost as if, after 28 years, they've figured out how to appease me and insure the omnipresent, palpable attention could be assuaged with a little vodka. Well done!

We ate our food, and everyone got along. It was an Orthodox Christmas miracle. My family did wonder, however, if I were trying to gain weight since ever since last year's mono episode it "seems like [I] eat everything in sight." Or is "that because you can't afford to eat correctly?" Hey, they tried. I can deal with whatever insensitive comments they lob at me if there's a vodka chaser.

Later that night, I flew solo to a gay bar outside of Scranton. Yes, it was exactly as creepy as you are thinking. I was popular with the older male set. They would come up to me and almost talk to me, but instead they would just stand there. And wait for me to say something. Each of them underestimated my patience and was met with a confused glare. Someone straight up asked me for sex. Which was totally flattering. Sure, he was 60. But still, flattery is flattery.

Oh, my computer died. We had a great run together, he and I. We got through law school, the bar exam, several dates from Friendster and it helped me play with my new iPod Nano that I love so much I want to have its iPod Nano-babies. Anyway, I am looking for a new one. Any suggestions? My desired qualities in a computer are much like those that I have for people: compliant, helpful and loves to be on my lap for hours at a time.

Also, I am collecting donations for said computer. And I can only repay by getting on your lap for hours at a time.

Today is the day the "New 2006 Me" starts. More gym time, healthier food, better attitude, etc. In fact, my price just went up.

Thursday, January 05, 2006

Indian Giver

Flux capacitors must be back in, because I just got a message on Friendster from Pocahontas. It read, as such:

hey honey

Message: heyya, saw you online and just wanted to drop ya a msg. i just recently got some pictures of me online (besides here on friendster;)
u can see them at

msg me back when you get a chance

Besides the fact that girlfriend looks like Linda Rondstadt on the dollar coin, I could never engage in a truly serious relationship with anyone who spells so poorly. Plus, her pictures on her friendster profile were not very representative of the Native American Culture. However, I imagine the webcam she has set up is to offer insight into the strong traditions of the Powhatan culture. We palefaces need all the help we can get. For example, the only scalping I have done lately is with concert tickets. Zing!

At the very least I would hope her webcam experience would include a little John Rolfe, if you catch my drift. Grrr.

I have not completely dismissed the idea of getting in touch with her, as another of my New Year's resolutions was to develop a crippling gambling addiction.

And if nothing else, I follow through on my resolve.

Oh, and hey, if you're reading this...Happy Birthday KD!

Wednesday, January 04, 2006

Mine Kampf

Today is a special day, reader! This post will mark the first ever crowning of the Hump Day Asshole. Every Wednesday we will come together and celebrate the truly vile, abhorrent citizens of the world that make feel pity for humanity, but somehow simultaneously make us feel happy because we are not that bad of people after all. The Innaugural Humpday Asshole is:

Ben Hatfield, CEO of International Coal Group:

I just met my first person from West Viginia a couple weeks ago. He seems very nice, but otherwise I have no special connection to anyone from that state that would ever make me feel "emotions" like "pity or compassion." And that's part of the reason why Ben Hatfield is such an asshole. He made me feel sorry for West Virginians.

Last night before I went to bed after watching Penn State pull off an amazing Orange Bowl win, I saw that 12 of the miners had been rescued. Huzzah! A miracle in the mines. I think a tear even made its way down Anderson Cooper's face when he heard the news. The beaming CEO said they were ALIVE!

The townpeople celebrated for 3 hours in a church, ringing bells, hugging and I would guess drinking moonshine, before finding out that there was a "miscommunication."

The problem is that Mr. Hatfield allowed these bumpkins to celebrate for 3 hours about how their family members had somehow beaten the odds and survived while he knew that they were actually dead. They were practically on the phone selling the story rights to Disney when the CEO told them that actually everyone but one guy is dead. And he's in critical condition. He did not add that he didn't like the look of the surviving miner, but he was probably thinking it.

The collapse probably wasn't his fault, but Ben, you knew for 3 hours and allowed people to experience false hope before telling them.

Honestly though, I would want them to get all that happiness out of their systems before I told them any bad news, too. And really, CEO's of mining companies, if nothing else, historically have been renown the world over for their boundless compassion. I think you should have just gone the whole nine yards and set fire to the church where the townspeople were celebrating. You know, just so they, like, GOT IT.

You fucked up, Ben. And for that you are the Innaugural Humpday Asshole.

Anyhow, some other notes. Philadelphia has been chosen to host Justice Sunday Part III. says:

"Justice Sunday strives to convince us all that judicial activists - such as the Bush-appointed conservative Republican judge who recently ruled against Intelligent Design in Dover, PA - are ruining this country and have declared a de facto war on Christians. Justice Sunday III: Proclaim Liberty Throughout the Land follows Justice Sunday II: God Save the United States and this Honorable Court, Justice Sunday I: Stop the Filibuster Against People of Faith, and Police Academy 4: Citizens on Patrol. OK, maybe not that last one."

In other words, Fallwell and Santorum, among others, will be in the house, holding it down in the Illadelph. Stay tuned to see if they or any of the participants can be crowned the second ever Humpday Asshole. Check out the website to see how YOU can get your protest on.

Besides, how can you hate the gays when they when they offer public services like this handy slide show of STD's? Know your STD's.

That was a lot of negative stuff in one post. And I hate to leave you with a pout on your face. All a pout gets you around here is a pat on the head and a fistfull of peanuts. The only thing that could brighten the anyone's face today, West Virginian or not, is the fact that soon the best show in the history of television will be showed. That's right. Very soon, my friends: America's Next Muppet.

And if you have any bad news for me? Tell me in 3 hours. Now is a time for celebration.

Tuesday, January 03, 2006

2005: A Retrospective in Music

I love lists; I make lists for my lists. So, the following post will include, but may not be litited to:

1. My favorite singles of the year.
2. Albums I especially enjoyed.
3. Guilty Pleasures and Musical Moments I Embrace.

My favorite singles of the year really could be listed in any order with a few exceptions (#'s 1 and 2). They are the gems from an underwhelming year. Each one made me smile, think or sometimes, but not often, both. The arbitrary number of songs I have chosen is 16. Without further ado:

16. "The Blower's Daughter" by Damien Rice- A beautiful song that's not nearly as porny as the title might indicate. Sadly. I would highly recommend listening to it while watching Natalie Portman get run down by a bus. Something about that makes the cello more poignant.

15. "I Turn My Camera On" by Spoon- There's really not much to the song, just drums and some tinkly instrument in the background. It's a monotonous crawl that never quite comes to a climax. But that's the draw. It's haunting.

14. "Golddigger" by Kanye West feat. Jamie Foxx- Words of wisdom set to thumping beats. I am a sucker for dancing to practical advice and a Ray Charles sample. And here's the thing, he loves her anyway. Now, get that pre-nup.

13. "Brighter Than Sunshine" by Aqualung- Cute little love song by a cute little British guy who sit behind a piano that is no doubt cute. If I weren't so cynical I might be overwhelmed by cuteness.

12. "Speed of Sound" by Coldplay- I know, they're so OVER or whatever, but I think I woke up every day this summer to this song on MTV or VH1. I don't know what Chris Martin is saying half the time, but this song makes him sound like he's soaring.

11. "16 x 32 Military Wives" by the Decembrists- America can't say no. This song features a horn section and fun lyrics involving math and cheating wives. What is more fun than that?

10. "This is the First Day of My Life" by Bright Eyes- Yes, he's so incredibly earnest that it hurts, but if anyone sang this to me, I might melt. Bonus points for a great video showing couple of all ages, races and gender combinations enjoying life together.

9. "Mr. Brightside" by the Killers- Before the millionth time you heard it, you loved it, too. And if you love Mormons with eye liner, your heart probably skipped a beat when you watched the video and Brandon Flowers looked at you and repeated, "It was only a kiss." Or maybe that was just me.

8. "Signs" by Snoop Dogg feat. Justin Timberlake and Charlie Wilson- Disco funk, Snoop references Ibiza and some old guy raps while Justin and Snoop fight over women. Oh, and JT says the F word!

7. "Helicopter" by Bloc Party- This is the song I would like playing if I were being chased by hired killers in a movie. It sounds so desperate, especially when the singer, British accent in tow, gasps repeatedly, "Are you hoping for a miracle?"

6. "Galang" by M.I.A- I think this song and video almost gave Yos a seizure when I made him listen to it, but damn if it didn't stick in his head. Again, I am not so sure what she's saying, but I want to shake it like I am from Sri Lanka when I hear it.

5. "Hung Up" by Madonna- When Madonna meets ABBA, I flame out. Even the ghost of Liberace appeared (wearing sequins and a feather) and had to say, "Damn, that's really gay."

4. "Girl" by Beck- It's the only song this year that makes it seem like summer year-round. For best results, play while drinking a margarita and pretending he's not a Scientologist.

3. "One Thing" by Amerie- Something that somebody does to this chick makes her moan and groan and sing like a doorbell. Na-na-na-na-na-OH. Ding dong ding dong sing. She never says what it is, but aren't you curious?

2. "Feel Good Inc." by Gorillaz- I love really depressing songs disguised as dance music. Take away the iPod endorsements and the cackling in the background, and this is a melanholy statement about some corporation that’s going to take the entire world’s pain away.

1. "Since You Been Gone" by Kelly Clarkson- Here's the thing...Have you ever met anyone that doesn't like this song just a little bit? Me neither, and don't leave comments if you have. It's pop perfection and vindication for all those Wednesday nights in law school I skipped a trip to the library to sit and vote for Kelly.

I really enjoyed albums by a lot of people this year, but who buys albums anymore? Here's who caught my ear with their lasest magnum opera: Annie, Madonna, Spoon, Coldplay, Bloc Party, Kanye West, The Decembrists. I especially enjoyed Beck's latest. And I especially enjoyed Fiona Apple's latest.

They caused inner conflict. They made me feel good about myself and bad about myself at the same damn time. They are Guilty Pleasures for the Year.:

7. "These Words" by Natasha Bedingfield- I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you. This song was so meta-, I wanted to write a song about her writing a song about writing this song.

6. "Sugar We're Going Down" by Fall Out Boy- I often had the line "I'll be your number one with a bullet" running through my head. And I was willing to cock and pull the loaded God complex.

5. "Hollaback Girl" by Gwen Stefani- Is it weird if a song simultaneously reminds you of your days in marching band, your grandmother's funeral and a night out dancing? I thought so. Regardless, that shit was bananas.

4. "Helena" by My Chemical Romance- OMG, I'm like so goth right now! I just really respond to black-clad dancers with umbrella props at funerals.

3. "Trapped in the Closet"- by R. Kelly- It's a rock opera, song cycle, social statement and trainwreck all in one. Not to mention perfect fodder for a South Park episode. No 14 year olds were peed on in the making of this video.

2. "My Humps" by the Black Eyed Peas- Yes, I know you actually get stoopider listening to this song. Yes, I know we should be asking Fergie (courtesy JD) what she's gonna do with all that face. But I love it. And I don't care how you judge me for it.

1. "We Belong Together" by Mariah Carey- I know Mariah is crazy. The best way i can describe my feelings about this song to you is through a story. I was walking down a Street in South Philly late one cold night and I heard a girl singing this song, word for word, from her bedroom window. She couldn't have been more than 12 or 13, but, man, she just really felt it. That's how I feel when I hear Mariah say, "Wait a minute, this is too deep..." That it is, Mariah, that it is.

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

Rage, rage against the dying of the light!

Monday, January 02, 2006

Sexy New Year, Sexy New Look, Sexy New Resolve

Hi. Happy New Year. If you're observant, you'll see that this blog has a brand new look. It's light blue and boxy to match my new aura. I have also erased all my links, so they will (hopefully) be back in a jiffy.

I hope that you'll stick around and read me altough I will probably disappear for a few months again in the future. Whatever, I was in the jungles doing service work. You know, giving vaccines and encourages the savages to put down those condoms. What were YOU doing?

This year, like no other before it, will be the year of the Zach. Specifically, me. I some other Zach's, but I don't care to share this new year with them. To stop being greedy and self-absorbed is decidedly NOT one of my resolutions.

What are my resoultions, you ask? Here are a few:

1. Finally learn to smoke. I will start with something seemingly innocuous, but quite obnoxious (Capris, Marlboro 100's) and work my way up to crack by the time my birthday rolls around in November.
2. Start taking more loved ones for granted. It turns out that I have some pretty amazing friends and family members. It's about time I started using more concrete data to prioritize. This year, whoever buys me the most is my favorite.
3. Use the gym exclusively for social purposes. I won't have a naturally slim figure forever, so maybe I should spend my waning time in these salad days by making fun of those who have to work hard for it. And if I MUST go to the gym to exercise(3 blocks away), you can be sure I will be taking a cab to get there.
4. Be pretentious! This is the year I will make new friends by constantly correcting others' grammar and making them feel bad for their individual tastes in entertainment media. Yes. This is the year when I will initiate this plan. Also, wouldn't it be just smashing to start using extra letters when I spell things like the British or the Canadians? If it's good enough for the kids at DeGrassi, it's good enough for you and me. It's one of my favourite programmes. (See?!)
5. Befriend random people on friendster. I mean, some people just need the help. And it certainly wouldn't hurt some people to be seen with me. You know who you are.
6. Continue to languish at temp job while conjuring up delusions of grandeur, but doing so in a less impoverished way than a couple months ago. Do so with more, overt self-loathing but less vim and/or vigor. Delicate balance.
7. Wear more red. Yes, I know I am a winter, but don't you think red makes me seem more vibrant sometimes?
8. Hug myself every morning. Yes, euphemism.
9. Eat more food at other people's houses. Making myself a new, better person will probably make me super hungry. You've been warned.
10. Test out some new and interesting facial hair patterns.

Anyway, I hope to be posting more and worming my way back into your lives, readers. You can't even take a virtual Valtrex to suppress this love.