Category Archives: velociraptor

DMX Is In Couples Therapy.


here i sit.  it’s not 5 o’clock and i’ve polished off the last of the open bottle of champagne, painted my nails with sparkly polish, and eaten too many champagne cupcakes.

and it feels good.
like i was meant to do this.

but more importantly – everyone needs to make these goddamn cupcakes.
they’re
delicious.

i’m no professional and my process is the worst – where i destroy everything in my path until my end goal.

but they were perfection.

pink and perfect.

my attempt at decorating leaves something to be desired.

the champagne i’ve been drinking all afternoon was mediocre.  but it looked lonely – like it needed someone to drink it.  so i did.

my cuticles are gross.

here’s the recipe for those delicious fucking cupcakes.  oh, and here’s the link – so you can see how they were actually supposed to look.

champagne cupcakes

1 box betty crocker super moist white cake mix
1 1/4 c. champagne
1/3 c. vegetable oil
3 egg whites
4-5 drops of red/pink food coloring

champagne frosting

1/2 c. butter or margarine, softened
4 c. powdered sugar
1/4 c. champagne
1 tsp. vanilla
4-5 drops red or pink food coloring

heat oven to 350.  place baking cup in each of 24 regular muffin cups.  in a large bowl, mix dry cake mix and champagne.  add oil, egg whites, and food coloring.  beat with electric mixer on medium speed.  divide evenly among the muffin cups.  bake for 17-22 minutes.  cool completely.  in a medium bowl, beat frosting ingredients with a mixer until smooth.  frost cupcakes.  sprinkle with garnishes!

also i’m watching tough love and some twat just told a dude that she likes vodka in her wine.  my kind of lady. 

and seriously.  dmx is in couples therapy.  i know this because i’ve been watching vh1 all afternoon. 

and that’s how you know you’ve watched too much vh1.

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A Series In Poor Choices


i just wanted to lay in bed all day and watch bedknobs and broomsticks.  but no.  it’s wednesday.  and i had to work.  while hungover.  severely.  

so severely that i ate my lunch before 9am.  so severely that i didn’t even heat it up – just dunked a cold hamburger patty in lemon poppy seed dressing.  i’m a fucking wreck.

in my defense – it was shitler’s last night of bowling and i can’t tolerate being at that fucking place when i’m sober.  so i indulged.  and now i’m paying the price.  here’s a few ridiculous fucking pictures from last night:

me. and the wheez.

because normal pictures would be too easy.

oh, good news.  shitler is the champion of his fantasy football league.  

also, he got a trophy.

what’s that?  you don’t care?  ya, me either.

but i do like trophies.

and shoving them up people’s asses.

and apparently shitler and i can take a decent photo together:

you’ll have to excuse me.  i need more bayer advanced strength.  and another gallon of water.  if there were a contest for being the most dehydrated – i would win.

but today wasn’t all bad.  i remembered that i did hit the eight ball in to win a game of pool last night.  i only won because b was my partner and he got every other ball in.   i’m not even joking.

and then my friend the super fox sent me the best text in the world.  seriously.  it was this and only this:

but now i’m concerned.  does jeff have cancer?  and why is his hair like that?

also – i would post a picture of the super fox and me but i don’t have one.  and upon thinking about it – i don’t know if i do want one.  because she’s infinitely gorgeous and i am infinitely not.  

also – my hand smells.  that is all.

I Peed


because these three things made me constantly lol today:

who doesn't love a good palindrome?

only one of those claims is true.

i'd never turn down a taco.

ok, 4 things.  because this came in the mail:

now i'm just impatiently waiting for the goddamn book.

i just want her book in my paws.

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Thank You, Mrs. Seinfeld


seriously.

thank you, mrs. seinfeld – for these fucking cookies.  because they’re delicious.  deceptively so.  check out her site here.

just ask shitler – who balked when he saw me dump a can of these into the mixer:

so, you should totally make them.  and then eat enough to make you want to kill yourself because your stomach hurts so bad.

ingredients:

  • nonstick cooking spray
  • 1 c. firmly packed light brown sugar
  • 3/4 margarine spread
  • 2 large egg whites
  • 2 teaspoons vanilla extract
  • 1 (15 oz) can chickpeas, drained and rinsed
  • 2 c. semisweet chocolate chips
  • 2 c. flour
  • 1/2 c. old-fashioned oats
  • 1 teaspoon baking soda
  • 1/4 teaspoon salt

directions:

1. preheat the oven to 350 degrees.  coat a baking sheet with cooking spray.
2. in a large bowl or mixer bowl, beat the sugar and margarine until smooth.  beat in the egg whites and vanilla, then the chickpeas and chocolate chips.  add the flour, oats, baking soda, and salt, and mix on low speed until thick dough forms.
3. drop the dough by the tablespoon onto the baking sheet, spacing the cookies about 2 inches apart.  press gently with a fork to flatten.  bake until the cookies are golden brown, 11-13 minutes (i did mine for 13).  transfer to a rack to cool.

this creep stared at the whole time.  while shitler watched HIMYM.

and then we had fucking chicken patty sandwiches like we were back in high school.

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here’s my problem.  i’m generally a very lazy person (just ask shitler).  my laziness includes cleaning, laundry, being productive and also caring about arguments or other people’s opinions.  

this post started out being about some knobs on facebook that pissed me off last night.  but then my hangover and laziness (see, i told you) got the better of me

here’s the link in case you actually want to read it the article that they posted and then insulted my state with.

but more importantly – my day can be summed up in three pictures:

god i love pickles.

—–

me:  i don’t want to work ever again.  i just want to blog all day.

b: i could read your blog all day then.  what a team.

me: we’d both be living the dream.

b: yep, while being judged by shitler.

me: we’d have vodka.  so we’d be good.

b: what a stellar business plan you’ve come up with.

me: there won’t be many expenses.  just vodka and food.

b: exactly.  very little overhead.  we could survive on vodka and pizza rolls.

so in all seriousness, if you’re vodka, call me.

also, i forgot about my finger and ran my fingers through my hair.  which resulted in getting strands of hair caught in the flap of skin that’s hanging loose from my finger.

and now i have blood in my hair.

Textual Feeling: I Wish Vodka Was My Sponsor

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Textual Feeling: B’s B-Day!


in trying to honor b on the day of his birth and his cursed existence in my life since i encountered him however many years ago – i give you these:

***

me: i had asparagus with dinner last night and my pee has smelled alllll day.
b: i love when that happens.

***

b: why aren’t we supposed to cry over spilled milk?  if not cleaned up properly, spilled milk can get pretty nasty.  that seems like something to cry over.

—— (this is me ignoring him)

b

—— (this is me ignoring him again)

b:

—— (me ignoring him)

b: EVENTUALLY YOU WILL RESPOND TO ME.
me: those are old news bitch.
b: la dee da.  i just had them sent to me.  sorry for thinking you’d enjoy them too.  now answer my question.
me: i guess my answer would be that i wouldn’t give a shit because a dog or cat would lick it up and it wouldn’t be my fucking problem anymore.
b: why are you so bitchy today?
me: i need a drink.

***

b: well, it’s what she wants.
me: all that she wants?
b: you got it.
me: what about another baby?
b: that’s me.  duh.
me: quit being obtuse and acknowledge my ace of base reference.
b: nope.  i refuse to give you that satisfaction.

***

so here’s to b.  on his fucking bday.  

here’s to many more times we get hammered and make poor choices while shitler judges us, to hours spent watching “my cat from hell,” and to discussing books and how much we love them in front of shitler till his head explodes.  

to vodka presses (with lime -because if you prefer them without – odds are you’re a fucking communist) and john daly’s, and ranch dressing on the thighs of hot girls.

to daring me to steal shit when i get drunk out of my skull, to encouraging you to drunk dial people and leave embarrassing messages, and most importantly – here’s to poor-decision making (especially on your bday).

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An Afternoon With Jeff Goldblum


as a rule – i don’t make good use of my time.

please see below:

someone dial that number.

these last two are clearly my favorite:

next item on the agenda – did dinosaurs menstruate?

please stay tuned.

I. AM. SHITLER.


the beast has awakened.

Tumor Muffin Cometh.


here i stand.  i can do no other.
martin luther said that.

but i’m not standing.  i’m sitting.

because i’m weak. 
this weekend was hard on my mind, body, and soul.

it began with this:

nom nom nom

i got so excited when my entrée came that i immediately shoveled it into my mouth without taking a picture. 
i make no apologies.  that shrimp and crab cannelloni was orgasmic.
nothing got too out of hand, thank god, which is surprising considered i packed in 5 drinks and 3 shots.

B is photo bombing.

i’m currently in a food and alcohol comatose state.
monday i resume my diet and i could not be more excited for that.
in the meantime i’ve managed to pack in the following:

tumor muffin.

BACON.

beyond.

it looks like i’m obsessed with breakfast foods.
but in reality – i’m just obsessed with all food.

like this:

cock cake.

or inappropriate things like these:

i wish.

kinky pussy.

b and i are working on murdering this:

sinner.

well, with that, i must bid thee farewell.
i have a lot of drinking and bad decisions to fit into a single afternoon.

wish me luck.

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Game Changer? Vibrator Necklace.


i went to one of those filthy sex toy parties this afternoon.
it felt like i’d finally come home.  finally made that trip to the holy land.

nothing like a table full of vibrators and lube to really brighten someone’s day.

i tried to be nice and ask lincoln if he wanted me to get him anything.  so i sent him this picture of some options:

he didn't want any of them.

that’s fine.  that’s just the last time i’ll offer to ever get him anything.

i got some tingly balm for your lips and nipples:

i tested it first.

and this.  my new necklace:

relax. i haven't used it yet.

and in the spirit of all things phallic shaped – i’m going to go eat another brat.

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