sent my angel off to her first year of college. it didn’t come cheap, punkers. i had to blow my wad at bed, bath and beyond, target, staples and the iStore or apple store or whatever the fuck it’s called. here’s a breakdown for those of you who have to plan for college/dorm room in the future:

bed, bath and beyond (comforter, pillows, xtra long sheets, towels, storage units, bed risers, robe, shower caddy, hangers, iron, ironing board, hamper, adhesive shit for cement walls, lamps, bulletin board, trash can, fan, etc.) $1,000

target (bathroom shit, hair shit, makeup, medicines, first aid shit, coffee maker, commuter cup, picture frames, laundry liquids, tissues, snacks, water, etc.) $500

staples (desk supplies and school supplies) $200

iStore (macbook, printer, iHome clock stereo thingy, ethernet cable) $1500

thank god she bought her own clothes and jeans.

these are london circa the 60s. they are fucking cool.

so i say now it’s my turn for some back-to-school shopping. cuz i’m selfish like that. i love fall clothes. not winter clothes, bitches, but fall clothes. for one i love when it’s time to reboot. boots rock and allow you to express your inner badass like nothing else.

here’s one new pair i bought recently.

i do my best shopping with a hangover. you might think, fuck no, i don’t have the energy to shop when i have a hangover. you think wrong. i don’t have the energy (or the head) to do anything else but shop. shopping is an instant hangover cure. like hangover sex, it just sends the headache packing.

plus when i have a hangover, i have an i-don’t-give-a-shit attitude, which means i can spend money i don’t have without thinking twice. hell, i don’t think at all with a hangover. because i can’t. because there is an elephant stepping on my head or some shit.

the other way to shop (i guess this post is turning into the punker’s guide to shopping) is to avoid those ginormous discount stores. marshalls, ross, tj maxx. i say this not because i’m a snob. well, i am a snob, but i don’t mean to be. i’d much rather be one of these salt of the earth types, but it didn’t turn out that way. fuck it.

the reason i avoid these stores is because they hurt my hangover head. it’s like sensory overload. first of all there are women’s, men’s and children’s clothes, house wares, outdoor furniture, etc. all in one store. what the fuck mr. merchandiser. the clothes aren’t organized properly. there is winter and summer shit, dresses, tanks, skirts, slacks, all on one football field length rack. the sizes are all mixed up. i hate this most with the shoes. and what happens is i find something i like, i realize it’s not my size even though it was in my size area, then i can’t find another in my size.

what an epic waste of time.

another epic waste of time–shopping for clothes online without trying them on. my dove girl ass is hard to fit so i’m not a perfect size 6. mostly cuz i’m not a size 6. but there’s nothing worse than having to return online clothes and being out the shipping money to and fro with nothing to show for it.

so what i do is go to banana republic, the gap or express, where all the shit is displayed neatly and arranged in color and size order. some of it is hung and some folded on a table. the hangers all face the same direction and they even have people who fold the clothes with a folding board. so you never find things strewn about haphazardly like you do at the discount stores. plus there are styled mannequins offering you layered outfit and accessory ideas. this is better than garanimals and quite like a bloody mary for my hangover.

when i can’t find the article of clothing in my size some uber helpful salesperson, who treats me like julia roberts was treated after richard gere ripped the sales skank a new one, will check the backroom and the other stores near me for my size. (run-on sentence much?) they will even check online and let me order right then and there. then it’s shipped to my home for free. ain’t that the shiznet?

i’ll answer for you. it is the shiznet and it makes my hangover head swirl with the happy thoughts.

grab your protective eye wear. i’m about to dazzle you with brilliance. i’ve finally figured out how to monetize my blog. no, i’m not selling my soul to the man. in fact, my plan actually circumvents that quite spectacularly. read on.

see i went to this session at blogher10 on monetizing your blog and i learned things like “just tell a good story and then tailor the message to that of the brand,”  “know your audience,” “go for a local mom and pop shop,” “approach the PR people as well as the marketing people,” “make your proposal interesting, don’t lead with visitor stats,” and “don’t be above product reviews, giveaways, contests, etc.”

no, silly bitches i didn’t learn that stuff there. i didn’t just fall off the turnip truck. but it was advice like this that sent me and my afuckingdorable friend ellyto hit the southwest porch bar in bryant park for more than our fair share of watermelonade vodka drinks.

anyhussy, a couple of days after the session, i thought to myself, “self, you know how this stuff works. there are total nimrods out there making money off their blogs . . . and you’re a total nimrod so you should be able to score, too.”

i thought about how my new friend sandy from toy with me was at blogher10 handing out we vibes to her biggest fans. yes, i’m one of her biggest fans so yes i landed that crazy couples device. yay me! and i said that’s how having a brand sponsor works. toy with me is fully sponsored by we vibe and lelo among other brands. 

that’s when it hit me! i’ll approach the warm, fuzzy people of franzia! why YESSSSS! franzia is something i am passionate about. something i believe in. something i enjoy on a nightlyoccasional basis without anyone twisting my arm. i even enjoy franzia while my arm is being twisted. and while playing twister. and over a good tongue twister. that’s how much i enjoy franzia!  i already unwittingly promote their wine by writing about my happy experiences with it here.

franzia needs me to help them take advantage of web 2.0 to get the word out.  i mean look at this sorry excuse of a wikipedia definition for the world’s most popular wine.  it states that it needs attention from an expert on the subject! that could be me, obvs. and i would happily do that for them, when sponsored.

then there’s the urban dictionary definition. only 4 entries for the world’s most popular wine! that’s just wrong. why i’d be delighted to enter a fantastic definition, blog and tweet about it, and send thousands of punkers (ok dozens, but that’s just until i become the majestic punk of franzia) to give my definition a thumbs up, when sponsored. (though i kind of like that first entry on urban dictionary. i gave it a thumbs up at no cost to franzia.)

and franzia doesn’t even have an official facebook page. there is some lame ass community page out there, but it’s not singing franzia’s praises. and no twitter account. i could run both of these for franzia, when sponsored. (or hired)

when i talk to franzia, i will propose that we do contests like the franzia box halloween costume contest. dress as your favorite franzia box for halloween. send in your pictures to the franzia box costume contest. entries will be judged on creativity, originality, scariness and/or funniness. the winner will receive one each of franzia’s 16 boxed varietials.

(i’m a vintner’s select chard girl myself. it’s a crisp white wine with apple and pear flavors and a clean finish. i’m not a fan of buttery chards. franzia is smart to offer a citrusey chard.  it pairs well with cheese, chicken and seafood.)

another thing i’ll suggest to franzia is that we have people submit a video of themself singing, dancing or rocking out about how franzia makes them feel good.  we’ll post the best video on youtube and make it go viral by facebooking, tweeting and blogging about it. and of course, anyone with a good video will post it on youtube anyway.

i’ll also propose a giveaway where people write in the comments the reason they love franzia and we’ll email them a $1 off coupon. that might not seem like a lot of money off on wine, but franzia is soooo affordable to begin with. and quite quaffable! and once we have their email address, well we’ll hit them with our direct email marketing campaigns.

so now you’re probably wondering why i love franzia. don’t pretend you’re not. well i’ll tell you and i’ll even make it interesting and interactive. interesting by writing tag lines (they currently use “world’s most popular wine” and “bringing joy to everyday life”) and interactive by letting you vote on your favorite below.

so do you think my plan will work? will franzia sponsor me? (check out my sidebar. i even opened up a space for franzia.)

follow my tweets about franzia on twitter. i wear my handle on my neck compliments of this girl.

i’ve received another blogger award. this one is called the end of days award and it’s from this dick who knows how to insult a bitch and crack her up all at the same time — with gusto. it’s pretty awesome.

there are no rules for this award. the only thing i have to do is post a short summation of what i would do if  the mayans were right about 12.21.2012.

i can do this. why the hell not. i don’t have anything else to talk about. oh except maybe this blogher10 conference i attended in nyc this weekend. essentially, it just confirmed for me that i don’t have anything to talk about. i obviously don’t take my blog seriously. fuck, i didn’t even have blogger business cards to pass out.

there are so many bloggers out there who are way more talented.  i don’t even know what i’m doing in the blogosphere.

i don’t have an original bone in my body. i’ve never even coined a word/phrase. i don’t mean like sarah palin (aka shakespeare) who coined “refudiate.”  but actual usable terms like fucktard, crapstorm, cock knuckle or lame sauce.

the homeless people on the street have more words than me. and they’re not even degreed in this shit. and they sure as shit don’t do it for a living where they might stand a chance of having the discipline beaten into them.  and i’ll be a monkey’s uncle if they can’t throw an f bomb way more poignantly.

hell, i can’t even monetize my blog properly. i don’t know how to tell a brilliant story and then tie it to the brand’s needs like one famous blogger (who shall remain unnamed). sure, i figured out how to use google ad sense but that brings in about .000000006 cents per day. however, i think after attending the blogher10 conference i have a blockbuster idea for raking in the ad dollars. just you wait and see! i may reveal it in my next post. if you’re lucky.

i did meet these awesome chicks who can blog like nobody’s business. even though i was my shy and typically socially awkard self especially upon meeting people i adore and admire for the first time, i had a blast partying like rock stars with them.

bugginword and absence of alternatives

a vapid blonde, brilliant sulk, bugginword, for the birds blog, me (who cares)

shy girl wishes she could be a fly girl or spy girl, brilliant sulk, dufmanno

once upon a time (last week) i dreamt that i flew away to a utopian world by the sea. it was a visually transendental trip and i saw the most fantastic things. (it was not unlike the kind of trip i had the first time i put acid blotter under my tongue in high school and saw floating M&Ms and could read my BFF’s thoughts from the other room. and music sounded more intense than ever. every instrument was like a string attached to my body and mind making my arms and legs dance and my brain pop. only this trip was much more real.)

there was a magnificent sea castle with an ocean view.

and the sirens of atlantis appeared before my very eyes.

then a cranky sea witch who always hated having her picture taken in a bikini emerged from the sea and i saw that her frozen strawberry potion had melted which may or may not have accounted for the reason she was not smiling.

but there were water ninjas determined to make the sea witch smile because they knew she shared their need for speed and non-stop exhilaration.

the sea witch lived in the tower of the doom where thunder and lightning sparks constantly shot out into the sky even amongst the bright sunshine and deep blue sea.

despite having to live in the tower of doom with the evil nunzilla,

the sea witch was made very happy by the beauty and adorned bodies of the nereids who surrounded her.

one night amphitrite (the tall sea nymph) was celebrating her 18th birthday so a handsome black knight brought his chariot to take the sea nymphs and their worshippers to a lively party.

that evening there was merriment and libations

and swings that made one giddy.

even the sea witch was so taken with all of the revelry, she broke out into some form of bohemian dancing (this is a euphemism because it’s hard to classify exactly what she was doing or explain why she had no makeup on).

and voila the birthday mermaid was presented with an abundance of decadent chocolate. (so the sea witch must have been doing a chocolate dance, obvs.)

the next day the sea witch decided to take the nymphs out on a boat to a place where the sea witch could share the wonder of her sea underworld.

the sea witch led them on a guided tour.

there were magical coral reefs,

blue angel fish,*

butterfly fish,*

and moon jelly fairies.*

it was a spectacular adventure and led the sea witch to feel very proud of her marine world. she decided she never wanted to return to the evil tower of doom or the harsh reality that she had known. so they all lived happily ever after amongst the nymphaeaceae.

the end.

*i know nothing of fish species so i made these names up.  fuck it, it’s my fairy tale so i can.

isn’t that a clever title? you know it is.

i’ve been frazzled punkers. just two days to my bahamian vacay and work is in superthrottledeluxe mode so i haven’t had much time to get my social media on. including writing a post. but i did take a picture for y’all.  i’m like the motherfucking giving tree, aren’t i?

people collect shit like stamps, coins, trading cards, star wars action figures, silly bandz, hummels, bunnykins, comics, precious moments, pez dispensers, lunchboxes, tea sets, christmas villages, music boxes, snow globes, ww2 memorabilia, clocks, watches, key chains, advertisements, magazines and salt and pepper shakers.

but i’m a punk so i needed to collect something unconventional. i collect rubber ducks. awesomeness, right? today i’ve brought them out of their natural habitat (the jacuzzi tub in the master bath) and arranged them ever so orderly for your viewing pleasure. does it get anymore benevolent?

click to enlarge. you need to see these BAMFs in their full splendor.

okay so one is a rubber buddha. but how could i resist adding a rubber buddha with coffee and a cellphone to my collection? besides he fits. he’s a budda for christ sake. he fits everywhere cuz he’s all peaceable and pacifisty. poetic license. shutup.

so some i really cherish. like the soccer ball duck (back row left) my daughter, my angel bought for me. she’s a stud goalie so i thought that was tres cute. or the easter egg/bunny/lamb ones (scattered) that i had to hunt for, or the cleopatra one (front row right) that i just got during a trip to the franklin institute in philly to see the cleopatra exhibit, or the chelsea soccer duck (back row center) that mr. punker got me because it’s his favorite team.

what, you think being sappy over rubber ducks is foolish? well, it’s not. it’s cool. and not at all creepy like this:

is it a boy? a girl? a goy? what's with the scary sad eyes?

what do you collect?

time for me go into my cage punkers. don’t be concerned. it’s a self-imposed imprisonment. i shouldn’t be near people right now cuz i’m all ragey and hormonal.

and angsty.

and angsty ragey hormonal.

when i enter my cage, i look like an untamed bush woman with dilated pupils, and sticks, leaves and dirt in my dreadlocky hair.

when i’m in this condition, primping and grooming take a back seat to wanting to closed-fist punch a baby bunny.

the cage is good for me. it’s full of oversized cushions. but also with knives and small feather pillows that i can mad stab the fuck out of.

it’s stocked with potions like pitchers of sangria and franzia boxes laced with xanax for soothing my savage beast.

the cage is also replete with lotions for softening my skin, conditioning my hair, calming my nerves, relaxing my muscles, and inducing deep rem sleep.

there is a life size voodoo doll that i can jab with chopstick sized needles to circumvent the irritating behavior of:

• slow walkers (stick in the hips)
• loud talkers (stick in the throat)
• ego-maniacal corporate bosses (stick in the gut)
• douchey drivers (stick in the eyes)
• mean girls (stick in the back)
• catholic priests (stick in the scrotum)
• people who eat up all of my time by talking incessantly about all of the minutiae in their lives (stick in the neck).

i have a pretty young thing who comes to shampoo my hair, massage my scalp and give me a blowout. she brushes my hair for hours, does foot reflexology and applies lotions where i can’t.

there is triumphant music piped in like beethoven’s ode to joy when i need to jump up and feverishly conduct. and tender lullabies like asleep by the smiths when i want someone to sing me to sleep (for the last time).

or i may choose to partake in the magical poppy garden.

it is sunny, 80 and breezy in the cage. there are splendorous butterflies and an eccentric lepidopterist who explains how the butterflies got their brightly-colored and complex-patterned wings. he also teaches me how to catch and hold a butterfly. the always curious look in his eyes and his baritone voice pacify me.

there is copious fresh fruit and delectable cheeses.

no shoes.

only sundresses and warm skin.

and what cage wouldn’t be home to my inner barbarian without the perfect social anxiety drug (no side effects, no half-life grogginess, no calories). in abundance.

the bars on the cage are there so i don’t try to leave. sometimes i’m a glutton for punishment and feel the need to leave my protected environment to go out tilting at windmills.

enter again the untamed bush woman.

won’t you join me in my cage? my guests must be careful not to overwhelm or overstimulate me. and do not think it possible to enter unless you can amuse me with fantastic tales or braid my hair.

who doesn’t like a bad boy? but way more bad ass is the wicked girl. and i got one in my corner. her name is wicked shawn because she is wicked in all the right ways. recently (okay, awhile ago but i’ve been in a time cluster fuck) shawn presented me with this awesome award:

it made me blush and all giddy like a school girl. and who doesn’t like that feeling? no one doesn’t like that feeling, that’s who. so thank you my wicked goddess.

here are the rules:

1. i love polka dots. everything looks good with polka dots. shirts, sweaters, skirts, dresses, bikinis, thongs, scarves, hats … it’s just the happiest fashion detail around.

2. i’m obsessed with hot fries. if i’m going to consume all those calories and fat, and enjoy every second of it, my fries must be hot. cold fries are unacceptable. i will send back the fries even if they’re lukewarm. if you’re thinking i’m high maintenance, you’re right. what’s your point, bitches?

3. a long time ago in a galaxy far far away, i used to have short spiky annie lennox hair. and my grandma would say to me, “trishy trish, why don’t you grow your hair? you don’t look feminine with that short hair.”  i thought i was the bomb-diggety. but turns out grandma was right. when i look back at pictures of me with my punk do, i realized i could mimic annie lennox’s hair but i didn’t have her face. and short hair requires that you give good face.

4. i’ve always wanted to use the phrase ”… can suck my dick!” suck my dick has punch. i like punch. verbal punch, rum punch, punch buggies, punch and judy, punching bags, junk punch. suck my lady bits doesn’t have quite the same ring.

5. i live in nj and i don’t like bon jovi. especially that living on a prayer song. yeah i said it. it’s bubble gum rock. jbj is a better actor than a rocker. now keith richards, he’s a rocker. jbj is, well, cute and cuddly with tight jeans. but keith won’t remember your name and can’t keep his jeans from falling off his heroine-hot ass. after a night of debauchery jbj would say, “we regret the disturbance and apologize to the hotel guests and administration. we intend to provide full restitution for any damages.” keith would say “those bloody pigs can suck my dick.”

6. beignets and chicory coffee from the cafe du monde in new orleans is the perfect breakfast.

7. this song makes me swirl with emotion. it’s melancholy and celebratory all at once. it stirs pathos in me. it’s got crescendo. and it moves me to shout-sing. play it now and play it loud, people!

The Only Living Boy In New York

and if i mentioned music twice in my list of seven, it’s because i fucking love music. for some this is nothing new. for others, this is a bonus list item. and for those who don’t like music, you can suck my dick.

now here are the five bloggers i’m presenting with this award:

1. A Vapid Blonde
2. Absence of Alternatives
3. Annah Banana
4. Midwestern Mamah
5. Dufmanno

hi ho hi ho
at work i cannot go
fuck fuckity fuck
work bathrooms suck

what douche canoe decided we should share bodily waste in the same room with coworkers?

by we, i mean others. not me. because i don’t do this. because i can’t. because the work bathroom is just the most fucked up place in the world.

i mean you attend meetings with these people for fuck’s sake. you shouldn’t be distracted by thoughts of the monstrous odor that was created by one of them in the bathroom. and you shouldn’t have to share a bathroom with your boss, your boss’s boss or direct reports. how can you respect anyone when you know their bizarre bathroom habits?

take my boss, for example. she flushes the toilet every time she’s about to drop a deuce. so she’ll be in there flushing 3, 4, 5 times in a row. so stupid. she’s a super smart woman but a total fucktard in the bathroom. does she really think it’s any less apparent that she is pooping? 

then there’s my one direct report who doesn’t wash her hands. she’s always speeding her ass off from caffeine and cigarettes. apparently always being in a hurry applies in the bathroom, too. she won’t take the extra 40 seconds to wash her hands. don’t touch my motherfucking mouse, you freak!

another one of my favorites is the sr. director of hr systems. he does the walk of shame to the men’s room with the fucking wall street journal in his hand. he might as well be waving a flag to the entire floor that says, “off to pinch a loaf. don’t get caught in my wake.” this is TMI at its worst. for the love of all that is good and holy, how did he get to be a senior director? he has zero dignity.

of course, that’s a little more dignified than the old spinster who i would have sworn had entered mental pause except that she carries her maxi pad in her hand to the bathroom. conceal your weapon for fuck’s sake. and a maxi pad?  a tampon won’t deflower you.

the vp’s admin likes to spray that peach air freshener after she drops the kids off at the pool. like profusely. and nothing makes me want to hurl more than the peach and poop smell combined. bleccccchhhh. now i can’t smell peaches without conjuring up that smell and gagging. thanks for ruining jersey fresh peaches for me, asshole.

then there’s the customer support supervisor who, get this, grunts. are you a fucking animal? there is no need to verbalize anything while on the toilet. especially not struggle. but i don’t want to hear sighs, humming, or singing either. what the fuck, you’re not alone in here.

and i really feel for you men. how can you stand next to your colleague with your dick in your hand? seriously, how is this accepted as normal? do you gossip about the head honcho being a ‘grower not a shower’? (i would cuz i’m mature like that.) i mean what if we chicks all sat around with our legs spread showing each other some gaping vag and peeing into a hole. then giving ourselves a little flick to free the last drop. exactly.

but there is something worse than all of this and it’s the ridiculous number of office farters. work stress must make people gassy. why oh why oh why do I have to be in the same room as somebody releasing toxic gas from their bunghole? it’s so dehumanizing. and it fucking stinks. and bathrooms have an echo so it sounds like an anal volcano. just what i fucking need when I get up from my desk for a quick break is amplified butt tuba and animal grunt sounds.

although that is the perfect soundtrack for work. cuz work is fucking awesome.

today i would like to sell out to the man. well more like the anti-man. not in a gender kind of way. but in an anti-establishment way. i’m using this post to pimp the latest paintings of my dear friend and personal inspiration, david brooks, a starving artist.

actually he’s not starving at all. he made a fuckton of money in the ad biz as a creative director and copywriter. in his 40s he decided to semi-retire and teach himself to paint. ain’t that the shit! it is in my book.

anyhussy, i say starving artist because he doesn’t make a living off his painting yet, but
it’s only a matter of time because he’s on to
something with this recent series.

and i say anti-establishment because david is an outsider artist. outsider art is raw and untaught, and illustrates extreme mental states, unconventional ideas, or elaborate fantasy worlds. it often has nothing to with the mainstream art world or institutions.

david has painted things that sum up america like sports figures, musicians, farms, cows, jet fighters, strange characters and hustlers. his paintings have sold at the prestigious outsider art fair in new york (which we have attended with him many times and where he turned me on to one of my favorite outsider
artists, henry darger), the montreal gallery,
and gallery bourbon-lally.

his paintings have hung in galleries in kansas city, columbus and portland.  a number of paintings are in private collections in oregon, los angeles, las vegas, and cherry hill, nj. one of these new paintings better make it to my private collection for doing this post.

david grew up in cherry hill, nj. he became one of the mad men in the chicago ad world where he met his lovely wife, farmgirl or kathy if you’re not family. he also worked in advertising in portland, seattle, and san francisco.  he has a voracious appetite for music and experiences live music on average
3 times a week. once a huge dead head, he named his first born son, jerry. he also has a darling daughter named lily bell.

david is a huge fan of a good hallucinogenic and many of his paintings are based on visions from some of his religious hallucinations. he’s just the coolest. i love when recreational drugs are put to good use and used to feed the creative genius.

to inquire about one of the new pieces shown here or to see david’s other work, go to his website. and let me know in the comments which one of these new visual
spectacles you think i should choose for my house.

you’ll never catch me complaining about the heat. i don’t care if it’s 90 degrees and humid. i love summer. it’s the weight of winter i loathe with every bone in my body. but summer puts a spring in my step and lightens my spirit. the warmth of my skin, longer hours of daylight and ease of summer clothes all make me feel like doing a round of motherfucking cartwheels. 

so much so, i made a word cloud about all the things i love about summer. so check me out and make sure to tell me how impressed you are with my mad technical/graphics skillz in the comments. yes, i’m joking. of course i realize it doesn’t get anymore amateurish than this. still, it’s about summer so it sure as shit rocks! and it’s an easy read. you’re welcome.