i’ve done a very bad thing, punkers. i went to mcdonalds today. boy, was it fucking good. normally i try to hide my guilty little pleasure because most people i know would be appalled to learn that i like to eat mcdonalds. “i’d never put that shit in my body.“  but you’d drink a coors lite?

so not only was that shit tasty, it was cheap. i’m a quarter pounder with cheese girl (although i recently discovered i like the angus bacon and cheese snack wrap when i just need a little something). a QPC extra value meal is only $5.79 and includes the world famous fries and an icy cold soda. now if i went to a pub or a fancy steak place for a burger and fries, we’re talking $10-$20 plus tipping some wait person with too much flare.

and the calories would be like doubled. here’s a breakdown of my meal:

quarter pounder with cheese: 510 calories

medium fries: 380 calories

bottled water: 0 calories (i get the water because soda is too many calories and it’s only good the first couple sips, unlike franzia, which is well worth the calories. see that’s the thing about my calories…i’m all for racking em up as long as there’s flavor involved. nothing worse than consuming calories on something that doesn’t taste great.)

back to the math. if i ate a fancy burger and fries at 2x as many calories, that’s over 1700 calories. so i get my fix and don’t do too much damage. you say whatever, i say brilliant.

let’s talk fries. i add salt that comes out too fast from those little packets they give you. yeah i add salt to that shit. you eat chinese food. druthers. i like to eat my mcdonald’s fries one at a time. this way you really savor the flavor. eating them a bunch at a time is like chugging a good tequila. protocol. now truth be told mcdonald’s fries actually used to taste better awhile ago when they fried them in a mixture of about 7% cottonseed oil and 93% beef tallow (you come here for the thorough research, don’t ya?). but then all the people who really want to eat them but torture themselves by not complained about the high cholesterol in the fries so MickeyDs switched to pure vegetable oil. sacrilege.

and before y’all go asking me if saw supersize me or fast food nation, no i purposefully did not see these movies. why would i take my own grease sunshine away? i don’t want to know what ingredients are used, or to examine the meat packing industry, or any such nonsense. you say irresponsible. i say lighten the fuck up. i’m not eating 3 meals a day at the golden arches for 30 days in a row and consuming over 5000 calories a day without exercising. so stupid.

i get that there are better foods for you that taste just as good, and even mcdonalds offers healthy food options (although i don’t konw why anyone would go to mcdonalds for a salad when there are burgers, nuggets and fries on the menu. besides that’s what saladworks is for.) but i think a little self-indulgence is healthy. denial will be the death of you. if you’re down with this premise, you might also want to read my diets are dumb post.

i’m tired of doing the walk of shame from my beamer into a mcdonalds hoping no one will see me. (oh btw i dine in because, i forgot to mention above, my world famous fries must be hot.) from now on i’m going to hold my head up high, get my QPC on and hope mcdonalds is doing the monopoly game. it’s back by the way and 1 in 4 wins!

how do you eat your fries?

do you dine-in or drive-through?

what are you ashamed of?

do you also eat at yo quiero taco bell?

ps: you can blame this silly post on denny delvecchio who commanded i write a new post. bet you’re wishing you hadn’t, huh denny? anyway, thanks for the encouragement.

i’m upset about this weiner business. not because tweeting a photo of your moose knuckle to a hot chick is all sleazy and salacious and the dude is married.

that shit happens all the time and the emotional repercussions are between him and his wife. and hilary clinton probably. besides relationship stuff is thick, layered and very complicated. that kind of analysis is best left for someone with credentials. or credibility. neither of which i have.

now don’t get me wrong if anthony weiner used any official resources to talk dirtay with his dianas, i think he should be lynched. (and i really hope john edwards goes down in a flame of silicone lube for soliciting and secretly spending more than $925,000 to hide his mistress and their baby during his campaign. fucker!)

what i am upset about is that no one ever tweets pics of their package to me.

don’t get all excited. this isn’t an open invitation or a “tweet your meat” contest announcement (although that’s not a half bad idea, i think the contest would be huge – TWSS), but it’s just the idea of it.

i like junk.

i embrace technology and new media.

i adore pop culture. (damn i’m punny)

i want in!

yet no one is sexting me, sending me dirty pics, leaking sex videos of me, or tweeting me their massive male muscle.

what am I chopped tuna?

hear this men: the 20 somethings, college students and nubile porny stars aren’t the only chicks wanting men to flex for them. in fact, they may well be among the least engaged in your brand promise. you’re missing targeting your message to a key market segment. that is, over 40 with a hungry, open mind and discretionary time for play (our children are grown and our careers are established).

campaign fail!

well we all know this was a big power trip and men in power pull these kind of shenanigans because they think they are getting away with something and are reaping satisfaction by imagining some trophy girl will perceive them as hip, badass and well-endowed. so silly. try to impress a woman who is savvy, has discriminating taste and sophistication. a woman who can’t be bought and sold. in other words, take on a real challenge, ya numbnut. then it might be impressive.

the other reason i’m upset about this weiner stuff is because he tried to delete the tweet. i feel his pain here. i can’t tell you how many time i’ve  responded to a twitter message notification text on my iphone thinking i was responding as a direct message only to have my response appear as a tweet for all of my followers to see.

when i would delete the tweet, it would disappear from my timeline, but it wasn’t getting removed from everyone else’s timeline! this is from the twitter help center on deleting a tweet:

“Hover your mouse over the message (as shown below), and click the “Delete” option that appears. Voila! Gone forever… almost. Deleted updates sometimes hang out in Twitter search. They will clear with time.”

almost? sometimes hang out? clear with time?

twitter has no real delete mechanism. this poor sap thought he would flash his physique to just one chick and it went to everyone. there is no way to save your ass (or your dick as it be) on twitter!

now that’s evil.

i’ve become absolutely desperate with this pain that remains in my ass. i haven’t been talking about it because BORING.  but it is tearing me up and turning me into some kind of obsessive nut job.

the more interesting news is that i’ve started seeing an acupuncturist for it. and i’m now taking chinese herbs. the herbs i have are called ossifex extract (jian bu hu qian wan). they’re for nourishing yin and purging fire, enriching blood, and strengthening tendons. guess what this ancient recipe translates to in english?

Vigorous Walk as Stealthy Tiger Pill; Health Step and Hidden Tiger Pill

i’m taking a tiger pill, y’all!!! how fucking cool is that? i’ll tell you how cool it is: totally fucking awesome supercalifragilistic cool.

i’m gonna be all stealth like crouching tiger, hidden dragon.

i’m gonna be like the hunk of burning love, bradley cooper, in limitless after taking NZT.

mostly, i’m going to be a modern day myth like charlie sheen.

so it’s only fitting that i have my own phrase of empowerment in place of “winning.” i gave it some thought and do believe i’ve got it.

are you ready?

puissance!

ok so it probably wasn’t much of a surprise after i put it in the title.  anyhussy, it’s a blast to say. i like to do a raised power fist when i declare it.

puissance, motherfucker!

and yes, you can use it, too. it has punch. i think cuz it’s derived from french and was probably used by those gnarly underground french resistance people or some shit.

this accupunturist has taught me some other things. like never drink cold water. only warm. warm water flushes out the kidneys, keeps your digestive system healthy, wards off diseases, and improves performance. yeah, try working out with warm water.

speaking of working out, apparently the western way is pointless. we try to expend energy, burn fat. the right way to exercise is tai chi. it’s meant to conserve energy, renew vitality and promote calmness and a feeling of emotional security.

i have my own ancient formula for that. it’s called franzia and xanax extract. plus there’s no way in hell those slow tai chi movements are going to burn off my franzia and pizza belly.

then she told me no stretching unless it’s backward stretching. so no doing any of the exercises the physical therapist gave me. no forward bending at all. walking is good. especially if it’s backward walking. can you see me backward walking in the city?

so much conflicting information. do i go with a western or eastern approach? i definitely think i’ll stick with the tiger blood pills. then again, i’ve always said yes to pills when it came to western medicine, too. but i’m not sure i’ll be able to take my herbs with warm franzia.

ps: i love puissance! so much i created some tshirts. you can even in get it on this action. (yes, i shamelessly promote my blog on the back of the adult shirts, but they’re still badass. i think.)

Puissance! by PattyPunker
Use Zazzle’s t shirt designer

click here for the Patty Punker store.

some people are real scholarly bloggers like absence of alternatives, for the birds, or 20prospect. they use descriptive language and make compelling arguments. i’d like to be sophisticated like that, but you’ve probably noticed i’m not that fancy.

i try to make my goals realistic. i’d be happy even if i could write as good as missy elliot in this work it song:

If you a fly gal get your nails done
Get a pedicure, get your hair did
Boy, lift it up, let’s make a toast-a
Let’s get drunk, that’s gonna’ bring us closer
Don’t I look like a Halle Berry poster
See the Belvedere playin’ tricks on you
Girlfriend wanna be like me, never
You won’t find a bitch that’s even better
I make you hot as Las Vegas weather
Listen up close while I take it backwards
I’m not a prostitute, but I could give you what you want
I love your braids and your mouth full of floss
Love the way my ass go bum-bum-bum-bum
Keep your eyes on my bum-bum-bum-bum-bum
And think you can handle this gadonk-a-donk-donk
Take my thong off and my ass go boom

take my thong off and my ass go boom? that is some powerful imagery. you agree right?

i’m totally phoning this post in because holy tanuki balls i’m slammed at work. by the way that was a reference to the tom robbins book, villa incognito. you have to respect a book which opens with:

 ”It has been reported that Tanuki fell from the sky using his scrotum as a parachute.”

see tanuki’s scrotum is proportionately larger than the scrota of elephants, whales, and the jolly green giant.

so i declare that reference makes me literary and some shit.

i’m also trying to plan a trip to the carribean. which doesn’t exactly make me a starving and tortured writer person, but i can always drink excessively and take some happy pills to simulate the agony.

speaking of agony, fucking pms. it’s killing me this week.  and why doesn’t anybody tell you not to go to the grocery store with pms? they tell you not to go hungry but it’s much worse to go with pms. guess what i ended up with in my cart?

pepperoni and cheese stromboli
cheesy scalloped potatoes
tater tots
strawberry toaster strudel

there is something wrong with me.

actually four of them in two weeks! but who’s counting. fuck yeah, i’m counting. but only because i can. i’m not one of these superbloggers who receives a bajillion awards. i can count the awards i’ve received on one hand. so, i’m school girl giddy over these awards because i am cursed with the ”seeks approval of others” neurosis. i blame my mother. and before you label me as having a victim mentality, you should know even my therapist said i can blame her. 

so here they are and you should definitely click on them because they gave me an award. no, click on them because they’ll like me more for sending traffic their way. oh alright, click on them because they’re cuddly, lovable and full of the awesome. 

from brahm at alfred lives here

from sandi at being peachy

from nikki at my cyber house rules

from sister merry hellish at inside out and backwards

it seems that the raw power of my writing (and by raw power, i just mean raw, as in uncultivated) isn’t enough for me to earn these awards. there are rules. i’m pretty sure we all know how i feel about rules, but i’m willing to suck up and play along, because in this case i happen to respect the proverbial man.

to a point.

three awards means three sets of rules and i sure as shit can’t keep them all straight. there was something about listing things you don’t know about me, answering a set of questions and pimping out other bodacious bloggers.

so you’ll get what i give. (in other words i want to pick and choose which ones i do.)

If you blog anonymously, are you happy doing this? If you aren’t anonymous, do you wish you’d started out anonymously, so that you could be anonymous now?

yes, i’m anonymous for the most part. despite the title of this post, my mother should never see this blog. she’d spend the rest of her days crying. and criticizing me like she’s so wont to do:

“karen johnson is always friendly and smiling. why don’t you smile more?”
“what do you call that color in your dining room? that’s um different.”
“john and i don’t eat fatty foods like that.”
“don’t you feel exposed without any window treatments?”
“you spent how much on dinner? you’re just going to shit it out the next day.” 
“why don’t you dress more feminine like claire mcdonnell?”

Describe an incident that shows your inner stubborn side. 

so ma, you want me to dress better? how’s this “too drunk to fuck” dead kennedys tshirt? i think it’s stellar.

What do you see when you really look at yourself in the mirror?

my mother. now get me a fucking sledgehammer.

Is there something that you still want to accomplish in life?

i want to grow an emotional on/off switch so i can assimilate in the world of fucking robots aka corporate america. or else, i want to work for someecards.

If you had the choice to sit down and read a book or talk on the phone, which would you do and why?

email or read blogs. my A.D.D. makes reading books hard. unless they’re mini books, which i collect just for this reason. (chalk up one thing you didn’t know about me). 

or unless it’s this book by elly which is about to be picked up by a publisher any second. when you read the first chapter, you’ll know why–you won’t be able to take your eyes off the screen.  

and no way do i want to talk on the phone. talking on the phone reminds me of my mother.   

another thing you didn’t know about me is that i like my betty crocker cheesy scalloped potatoes cooked 10 minutes extra so that they are plenty tender and a layer of crispy brown cheese forms on the top and sides of the casserole dish.   

i recently discovered this sauce at the local vietnamese restuarant. it’s my new fave:   

if you recently began a diet as your new year’s resolution, i’m not apologizing for this post. i’m telling you to stop. you’re welcome.

am i in any way qualified to talk about this? fuck no.

i’m not fat. i’m not thin.

i’m not a doctor and i don’t play one on the oprah network or infomercials.

i don’t read self, shape, women’s health or prevention magazines unless they’re the only choice other than time, sports illustrated or parents magazines in the doctor’s waiting room.

i have no idea what gluten-free, pro-biotics, pre-biotics, omega 3s, superfruits, and night shade foods are.

i’ve  never dieted except that once i tried atkins 20 years ago and almost passed out on day 3 because i was only eating bacon or maybe it was from my halitosis that resulted from the low carb ketosis. (i agree, that’s too many -sis words.) 

i just know what i see.

diets don’t work. if they work at all and the person doesn’t give up after the first week or month, they don’t work over the long run. maybe a successful dieter will keep the weight off for a year to two, but then the old habits creep back and BAM the dieter turns into a yo-yo dieter. i have seen it eleventy billion times over. show me one hard core dieter that hasn’t tried a dozen diets throughout his or her lifetime? all yielding the same results: weight loss. happiness. weight gain. depression. new diet eventually.

why don’t they work? self-denial. it causes a perverse obsession with that which the person denying him/herself is renouncing. it’s a fucking mental thing. (this is the synopsis for my new book but i’m guessing my book editor will probably want to revise my adjectives somewhat.)

as soon as you can’t have something, you’re going to crave it hard. then do something completely neurotic like binge on that shit as though you were a mountain lion that hasn’t eaten in days and has fresh kill in your claws. then you’re going to be all “fuck it, i suck” and eat everything that isn’t nailed down or you’re going to starve yourself which is going to cause real physical cravings because your body needs regular fuel in varieties like dark leafy greens, franzia, imported cheese and crusty baguette.

it’s the same concept as celibate catholic priests denying themselves the sex and then getting a perverse obsession with it and resorting to the wrongest, most mentally ill behavior out there: pedophilia.  now you might say pedophilia is more complex than this. so is weight and body image. but i’m here to break it down for you, remember? you might also say that it’s not celibacy that makes priests pedophiles, but that pedophiles just gravitate to professions where there are children around. but then i have to ask why the same high percentage of pedophiles isn’t found in the teaching profession. maybe i’ll leave this part out of my book.

self-denial. it’s not good for the human soul.

and you know another reason diets don’t work: portion control. i love this time of year when all of these jenny craig and nutrisystems people start advertising their programs by promoting a week of free meals. oh sure their menus consist of “all the food you love and chef-inspired creations–prepared by registered dietitians.” first of all, the meals are fucking tiny. denial! you’ll be hungry all the fucking time. second of all, they’re frozen foods. again, not qualified, but i thought one of the tenets of healthy eating was to avoid processed foods and eat fresh foods, not “fresh-tasting frozen foods.”

what does work? i’d have to say probably those stomach rubber bands. they remove the mental from the equation. they actually make it so you can’t eat too much. so if you’re craving a greasy pub burger, probably the most you can get down without getting sick is the snack-size burger in the mcdonald’s kid’s meal. which is a fucking tease.

if you’re not obese and don’t really qualify for the surgery or wouldn’t risk the possible complications, here’s what will really work, or the advice i plan to put in my book:

eat whatever the hell you want. 

don’t skip meals. not even breakfast. feel full and satisfied.

you like a giant blueberry muffin for breakfast? eat it.

you like a roast beef special and ruffles with ridges for lunch? eat them.

you like a cowboy rib eye and loaded baked potato for dinner? eat them.

when the dessert is chocolate gateau? you better motherfucking eat it.

when you stop denying yourself, you’ll stop binging and overeating. you’ll start to realize you don’t need this shit all the time. you won’t eat like this everyday. and even if you do, just throw in a salad the next day. whatever you do, don’t beat yourself up or that dirty little cycle will start all over again. avoid the mental thing.

oh yeah and get off your motherfucking ass once in awhile.

ps: i promise to do real research for my book but not to offer any qualified advice.

pps: don’t you dare steal this book idea. i mean the outline and sample chapters are practically jumping off the page.

ppps: if you’re a book agent, i’m sure you’re interested already. you can email me at pattypunker at gmail dot com.

pppps: what should the title be: “diets are dumb” or ”the punker’s guide to losing weight” or something else?

we all know how treating my sacroiliac joint injury holistically turned out. if you’re new here, you can catch up on this epic fail here. so tomorrow i’m going all western medicine on this shit and having an injection into my joint. or as my daughter succinctly put it “a shot in the ass.” provided it doesn’t fucking snow too much that it gets cancelled or the roads are impassable. fucking snow is ruining my life. in preparation for the injection i’ve had to stop taking my prescription anti-inflammatory and all medicines that affect blood clotting. this hasn’t made patty a happy girl.

imagine no advil after a friday or saturday night.

and i’ve had increased joint paint.

if i’ve made these sacrifices for nothing and this thing is cancelled due to snow, i’m going to go ballistic.

to say i’m a bit anxious is an understatement. i’ve had weeks of anticipation since this was the first appointment i could get due to the holidays and my doctor’s two week trip to italy.

plus, i have to get this thing done while awake. read: aware.

a big ass needle into my ass and i won’t be sedated!

the doc has to use x-ray guidance to direct the needle into the joint. like this:

except this patient has a nicer ass than me

then BAM! she injects a contrast dye to make sure that the medication only goes into the joint. what if she motherfucking misses?

she better not have been drinking the night before or had too much coffee. i'll drop kick the bitch if she brings a shakey hand to the table.

after that she injects a small mixture of anesthetic and cortisone into my ass. small mixture? she clearly has no idea of my tolerance for medication. i’m conditioned, punkers. shoot me up hard. i don’t want to go through this again.

so the question isn’t whether i take a xanax before the procedure. the question is do i take a .25, .5, or 1 mg xanax. (when stockpiling, it’s important to keep different dosages for every occasion.) mr. punker has to drive me home after the procedure, so i’m pretty sure tomorrow will be 5 mg xanax afternoon.

i’d much rather have a little twilight anesthesia in my IV, but still . . . don’t ya love a girl who can self-sedate?

are they over yet?

them, the holidays. they over?

no, of course not. we of excess and gluttony need one more round of overindulgence and self-destruction. motherfucking awesome.

i’d like to tell you that i’m all resolved, absolved and involved in the new year. but, i’m still looking out at all of you wondering how you have it in you to remain spirited, social, and drug-free.

i always wonder what those of you with faith do when things seem dark and hopeless? i mean isn’t that why you have faith, so things don’t seem all dark and hopeless? at least being an atheist, i’m not pissed at god for feeling low and estranged. one less person to be mad at and blame is kind of a win, don’t ya think? unless of course god is within, so god is me; therefore, i’m just feeling more wrath with myself. that actually sounds about right.

oh i know i should be all ”to every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.“

turn, turn, turn.

but i don’t fucking get it. every time should be a time to laugh, embrace, and dance. fuck the times to weep, mourn, break down, hate, lose, etc. are they really necessary? i’m done with those times, just like i’m over the ass sore that is the holidays.

so i wont talk about those times in 2010 that were supposed to provide some kind of ‘leveling,’ ya know to keep us all humble. like the bp oil spill, teabaggers election wins, jessie james’ infidelity, arizona’s anti-immigration law, bristol palin’s psa, prop 8 supporters, bill donahue blaming the gays for pedophilia, etc.

thrash, thrash, thrash.

this ain’t no grammys, no oscars, no disco, no fooling around, this is just the shit i like from 2010 presented in categories i like:

indie album: high violet by the national (it’s my new testament. their album, alligator, is my 13 commandments. hey, i’m very religious — god is within me, remember — so 10 commandments weren’t enough.)

pop song i couldn’t resist: love the way you lie by eminem and rhianna. (shut up, it’s like a punk pop song. ‘sides, bitch got pipes and i totally sound like her when i wail in the car.)

ukele song: http://bugginword.com/2010/09/24/uke-me-away/ (ok, i may be self-absorbed, but i still suffer.)

breaththrough movie: the kids are alright (color me a lezzy cuz i have the hots for annette bening and juliane moore. then again there’s mark ruffalo. so color me bi-curious.)

salacious sex scene in a movie: casey affleck and jessica alba in killer inside me (not for the faint-hearted and really sick to like any part of this ultra violent film. but my dreams don’t lie.)

rocker tshirt: tie between “it’s motherfucking booze time” (check it here) and “i think i brained my damage” (here).

caught on tape: joe biden to president obama on the passage of health care reform, “it’s a big fucking deal” (vp with a dirty mouth = hawt.)

commercial worth watching: tie between the kia hamsters doing the black sheep and kevin bacon talking about kevin bacon. (i don’t know what product this latter one is for, but who doesn’t love kevin bacon crossing his fingers wishing he could turn into kevin bacon.)

actual comedy: modern family (lmao every week. should be on hbo for added irreverence.)

dramedy: nurse jackie (girl likes herself some narcotics. why didn’t i consider nursing?)

real drama: tie between dexter and mad men (serial killer who slays serial killers vs. stylistic ad biz show. that’s a toughie, right?)

useful technology: ipad (internet on the train with a large screen for my over 40 eyes + name jokes = no brainer.)

memorable talk show moment: conan obrien doing freebird on his farewell show. (dude can rock out with his sub-woofer out. and he tickles my funny bone.)

depraved blog: vodka and ground beef (i’d link you to it but for some reason it’s like gone. without notice. wtf!)

intriguing blog commenter: tie between bugginword and dufmanno. (both make me feel like i’m swirling in some kind of an imaginarium. that’s a good thing, btw.)

awesome gift giver: three way tie between subwow, wicked shawn and a vapid blonde. (i retire my tiara to these sexy, amazing girls who all blew my mind this year.)

rad nail polish design: fuck u on lindsay lohan’s middle finger (how much do i want to wear this in the corporate conference room!)

book without flowery language: tie between squirrel seeks chipmunk by david sedaris and life by keith richards (each of these artists are iconic and the fiercest in their respective crafts: satirist and rock star.)

and since i’m still wallowing in my suckdom, i’d like to end on bad note. why jimmy choo, why?

uggs aren't pretty to begin with, why bedazzle them?

kibosh is a weird word. so is kielbasa. but this post isn’t about sausage. sausage just isn’t as worthy as bacon. bacon is king.

back to kibosh.

know what you can put the kibosh on? i’ll tell you what because it’s my blog and i’ll kibosh if i want to.

you can put the kibosh on low back pain. that’s an imperative and not an auxiliary verb in case you were wondering. so, who can i count on here? (auxiliary)

i somehow injured my lower back and have a constant burning and radiating pain.  it’s got me all in a funk because i’m pretty sure it’s going to hurt for a year and a half. maybe two. which means i won’t be able to ever work out or play tennis. and then i’ll become fatty patty. i just know this is how it’s going to play out.

i sit at a desk and write for a living so it tightens up and gets worse everyday.  it’s got me so depressed, i’m losing it.

how do i know i’m losing it? i’ve been obsessively:

• picking the scab on my heel which means my boot blister is now open and raw again.
• clenching the steering wheel of my car like i’m choking it to death.
• twirling my hair like a school girl into an alfalfa like horn and tugging on that shit.

one thing i like about blogging is that you never know what may show up in your posts

i wonder what you’ve done for low back pain. keep in mind, i live near and work in a northeastern city so i need the remedy to be fast. i also can’t afford to get fatter. unless it all goes to my boobs. which it won’t.

by the by, i’d also put the kibosh on arm swingers. especially the ones walking slow, holding a cigarette or carrying an umbrella.

and hipsters. they’re so smug and unethusiastic. enthusiasm and passion are way more hip. besides they all look alike making them conformists and not really hipsters.

and boy scout popcorn. at $9 a bag it should have crack in it, like the girl scout cookies. i’m all for supporting the troops, but gimme a little buzz for my money.

i’m patty punker and i approve this message.

i’ve been on a bender lately punkers. last weekend there was nyc and last thursday a late-night concert with four bands (rogue wave, midlake, peter wolf crier and philadelphia’s own, restorations). then a pretty heavy weaning period this weekend. i realize i need to dial it down a notch. i’ve been partying like lilo. which made me think, i wonder what goes through her mind when she has fallen down the rabbit hole and is all tripped out from the crazy binging.

it was easy to channel lilo in my recent state which felt like something created by oliver stone with freaky angles, hallucinatory sequences, and a vaguely surreal feeling. i shared lindsay’s thoughts on twitter with the hashtag #thingslindsaylohansays. only one fun girl played along. i can always count on wicked shawn when it comes to an ingenious hashtag. she’s the diva of them.

well, it’s sunday, i’m in detox mode and feeling lazy, so here’s a quickie. things i imagine lilo says:

really, a white bra, lindsay? i thought you knew better.

my mug shot is kinda bangin’

they tried to make me go to rehab, i said ‘no, no, no’

my publicist told me the betty ford center is where you go to audition for dancing with the stars.

i thought those were pop rocks, how was i supposed to know it was crack? (wicked shawn’s cameo)

partying like a rock star is for pansies.

i blame the slammer for my being a lezzy come lately.

can i bedazzle my alcohol-detecting ankle bracelet?

feeding the homeless is a good deed because i might be one of them someday.

not bathing is my body’s natural way of masking the smell of alcohol.

sometimes the coke causes the sinus infection. sometimes it clears it up.

i don’t want my mom or dad as my conservator. i choose paris hilton.

what’s a conservator?

i plan to tell the judge this was all research for my role as linda lovelace.

it’s only right that i play her in my next film because her nickname is lilo too.

feel free to play along in the comments . . .