Bland, unoffensive lesbians unite!

So I'm walking around the Capitol grounds at lunch today, and I pass these two women making out. Well, not just making out--it was more like they were taking blenders to each other's face. But they both these anorexic, Calista Flockhart-types wearing Oprah-esque power suits, as if they had just come from some Congressional hearing.

I was reminded of a Newsweek cover story from last year, which, as Ellen insightfully pointed out back then, featured America's two most inconspicuous and pasty bland people.

Which is fine and all, except that they were kissing in this voracious matter, like each others lips were popcorn you'd chomp down during a movie. It was as if they were trying to shock everyone. I dunno, I'm just an inert asexual sport, but the whole thing just reeked of misguided effort.

You know you're gay when...

...you walk down Sherman Ave in downtown Evanston and hear someone blasting Tina Turner's "What's Love Got to do with It?" and you think to yourself "hell yeah!"

Revelation

So after watching Dave Atell and naked men wearing only blue paint on their penises get freaky with the locals at a topless bar during an episode of Insomniac in Key West, it hit me:

"Nate would like that."

So after much brain-wracking, I've decided that the lovely Key West will be the destination for his "not as good as his fiancee's" bachelor party. I was drawing up a plan of attack tonight, and the plan is rough. Actually, so far it looks like this:

1) Get Nate drunk in Miami.
2) Handcuff and blindfold him.
3) Drive to Key West.
4) Let hilarity ensue.

As a virtual Floridian nubie, I'm making an appearance in the blog (a.k.a. the world's biggest virtual cocktail party or the den of debauchery) to seek help from those who know the area better than I (Cleo! hint, hint).

Envision it: You've got unlimited funds, women wearing bras that look like Lite-Brites, fine cigars, overpriced rum and one horny man on his last night of bachelordom. Plan YOUR itinerary.

"Republicans use Yahoo to find trophy wives."

I love Al Franken, and I love his new TV spot for Y! Life.

Opa!

Well folks, it's been one year of blogging for the Unfocus Group. I'll prepare a best of this weekend, but right now I'm drowning under a massive workload. In the meantime, enjoy the incident that started it all.

http://www.johnkerryisadouchebagbutimvotingforhimanyway.com/

So, exactly how big of a dumbass are you?

I'm not terribly proud of this, but here goes...

Late last night, I was hanging out at Moxie. An ex-boyfriend of a friend of mine strolled in with his posse, one of whom proceeded to taunt and sexually harass one of the barmaids. Because I was drunk and wanted to--how you say, ah yes--"rumble", I went to the bar to fetch a drink.

Ass Clown (between comments on the barmaid's breasts): What do you have to do to get a drink around here? I've been waiting for 10 minutes!
Me: Maybe if you showed some respect for the lady--
Ass Clown (looking me over): You need to have tits to get a drink around here.
Me: Um, she's a WOMAN.
Ass Clown: Or you need to have money.
Me: Yeah. I guess you're trashy and poor.

After this exchange, the ex-boyfriend came by to say his greetings. The Ass Clown complained to the ex, no doubt, since the barmaid served me then the ladies who came to the bar after me. The posse then left the bar.

I don't normally get off on being mean to dumbasses--wait, yes I do.

Meet my husband

As seen in Boystown

Wine-o

As seen at Kafka in Boystown.

Martha Stewart Redux

The Brini Maxwell Show

Watch the video. You'll thank me.

You don't say

Tickle just informed me that I should pursue a career in either writing/journalism, the fine arts, or business relations. I find this very surprising.

What's even more surprising is that I just shelled out $9.95 for the full report, the equivalent of nearly five glasses of Sangria at Sopo.

Some of the People I Work with Really are Cool

My co-worker and I were talking about a conference in June, but he e-mailed saying he could only go for part of the time and asked if I could go on the last day. I responded that I could and asked if we should both register (and have to pay $800 for each of us) or if I should just be him for a day. His response: "I'll just register and then you can use [my namebadge] on the 18th. Better be nice to the ladies."

Hee hee. I guess he didn't get the memo.

Overheard at one of the local bars tonight:
"Yo, I have to wash my underwear tonight... You don't want to smell my ass at the office tomorrow morning..."

Mediahoin'

You know you've hit it big time when your entire state gets an ass kicking.

In other news, I just got myself a Gmail account. Let the ad whoring commence! I'm thinking of all sorts of nefarious ways to max out my 1000 MB limit. Send me mail at mediaho @ gmail.com

You know you've hit the big time when...

Your town makes The Onion!

You go, grandpa!

Anyone who knows me knows that my mother was conceived when Pat Buchanan got loaded and rolled in the hay with Margaret Thatcher. Or, so it would seem. Yet again, my grandpa has left me wondering how the hell my mom could've been raised by such a card-carrying liberal. In response to a recent article in the NY Times Magazine by Hillary Clinton, Dr. Grandpa writes:

We support the notion of universal health coverage especially after seeing many of our patients having difficulty in covering health costs. We thought the original plan done by her in the first year's of the Clinton presidency was excellent. But it took on too many sacred cows at the same time and was effectivly shot down by the lobbies. I am concerned about provisions in the recently passed Medicare drug plan, especially the restriction that the gov't won't be able to negotiate lower prices with the drug companies and the gov't not blocking huge price increases on drugs (did you see that the leading AIDS drug was trippled in price because overseas the company couldn't raise prices to improve profit. And this was a drug whose development was wholely paid for by our gov't. And yet the company claims they need the extra profits to pay for R and D). Sorry. Didn't mean to get on my soapbox. Again!

Dumb Criminal Of The Day

Felony, To Go.

blatantly stolen from Dave Barry

What gives?

I ran across the Facebook today, and it seems like a cute (albeit, already done) idea. Why the hell isn't NU included?

Deep drunk thoughts

While all of you are out getting even further drunk, I'm at home. It seems kind of inhumane that the Iron Chef is tearing apart live lobsters.

The Apprentice, redux

By now, everyone knows that Chicago's affable Bill was hired by The Trump last night. Here's what people were thinking at my firm, a.k.a. "big bad evil corporation," yesterday.

We're all in this together.

Dykes, Wood Elves, Grannies, Combat Veterans, Middle Class White Guys, and Suburban Soccer Moms (and many, many more!) - they're all against Bush (and you can buy the bumper sticker to prove it!)

Hot child in the city

Definitely one of the top five best. nights. ever.

Brina and me. Sunday 2 a.m. @ Transit.

Also, would you date any of these delicate flowers? Would you?

Ugh....

Wrigleyvillains

Eliina and I hung out at Wrigleyville bars last night, starting at Guthries and ending at Barleycorn's, where we sang a karaoke version of Bon Jovi's "You Give Love a Bad Name". (How appropriate.) A cute PWC gentleman we befriended at the bar took pictures of our performance, but I think I'm going to keep those to myself. He also entertained us with the ever-popular "Ice Ice Baby". (He's classy like that.)

What they didn't tell you is her last name is Caesar

Mexican Woman Performs Own Caesarean to Save Baby

Fun with California

For those of you who remember the "Fun with Teaching Magazine" instant messages...
Cleo: hung out in burbank. saw where i was born. woo woo.
Patrick: do they have a plaque up?
Cleo: no, sadly
Patrick: BIRTHPLACE OF CLEO
Patrick: you should've hung one
Patrick: they'd be like, "who's cleo?"
Patrick: and you'd be like "me, motherfucker!"

All the "I"s in this post are dotted with hearts

I'm not the slightest bit embarrassed to say I was a Tiger Beat and BOP devotee back in the day. I read it for the latest gossip on my favorite show at the time, Beverly Hills, 90210. Such a publication was contraband in my house growing up, which made savoring the delicious hotties therein even sweeter.

Now, I'm researching jobs for my upcoming move to sunny California. My inner 11-year old squealed in delight when I ran across a job at the best magazine ever!!!!!!!

Do I really have that kind of a reputation?

Instant message from a colleague at work
Colleague: Do you have a min for a quick question?
Colleague: Where can I find a stripper?
Colleague: I need a male one. Where do you go?