Blues is Back

I should have known that swearing off blogging would suddenly bring me something to blog about.

This week my ass has been Rasslefied, big time. She still has rights to my blog, and could attack at any time still, declaring a coup over my header or posting Japanese dwarf porn, like she did over at Praying to Darwin.

But since thanksgiving is tomorrow, and I know some of you eat your weight in deviled eggs and green bean casserole, I felt the need to post and to give you advice as your diet guru so you can keep those pesky holiday pounds from adding up.

I am on a roll here, dropping serious poundage.

Unfortunately, my weight loss is not the Oh-Cool-I´m-So-Glad-My-Arms-Arent-Goliath-Satisfying-Salamis-Anymore weight loss, but rather the Holy-Fuck-What-Happened-To-My-Tits-And-Why-Are-My-Eyes-All-Sunken-Into-My-Head-N-Shit weight loss.

But for you more proportional types, you may benefit from knowing all about my new diet, guaranteed to drop pounds like "Galileo dropped the orange."

It´s really quite simple. You don´t have to keep an extensive diet journal, or measure proportions or even step on the scale, because frankly, you don´t give rat´s ass when you´re on this diet.

You just follow this simple recipe. The trick is, you have to eat this meal every day for every meal. But don´t worry, you won´t even want to eat anything else.

Bluestreak Delight

½ lb. Self-centered Materialism
¼ cup Unemployment
¼ cup Homesickness
2 cups Self-Loathing
2 ¼ tbsp. Disappointment extract
½ cup minced Guilt
1 Bad Auspice, peeled (alright, I admit I threw this in cause it sounds like allspice)
½ tsp. Existential Instability

To make:

Put the ½ lb of Self-Centered Materialism into a non-microwave safe dish, wrap in tin foil, and microwave on high until the whole mess explodes and turns into the Realization That You Have Become A Shallow MuthaFucka Who Doesn´t Contribute Dick To Society. If it didn´t electrocute you and you are still standing there, excoriate that shit out of the microwave with an ice scraper and slop it all into a blender. Add the ¼ cup Unemployment, the ¼ cup Homesickness, the 2 cups Self-Loathing, and the 2 ¼ tbsp Disappointment extract. Blend on high until thoroughly mixed. Add the ½ cup minced Guilt and the peeled Bad Auspice and blend for another 2 minutes or until it reaches a ripe, shit-brown color. Sprinkle with Existential Instability.

Drink the whole slimey Bluestreak Delight in one gulp, and choke on it too. Enjoy with Salty Tears of Self-Pity, and perhaps a Jack Daniels and Ginger Ale if you´re feeling antsy, and a pack of Marlboro Lights.

The duration of the diet is until you wake the fuck up and become a balanced human being again or until you completely emaciate.

Everyone will be all, "Dude, you´re so skinny".

It rocks.

Happy Thanksgiving Ya´ll. Food is for pussies.

-Bluestreak

I might regret this...prolly not

Since my voice is muted with weirdness these days and my dirty fingernails cannot type a single word I´m happy with, I´ve decided to let Rassles loose on my blog this week with but a few misguidelines. She did, afterall, draw a picture of me.

Check out what she did over at Ginny´s house while she was away on vacation.

Girl cannot be trusted with a password.

So stay tuned.

-Bluestreak

Cardilicious escapism

"And you may find yourself

living in a shotgun shack
And you may find yourself

in another part of the world
And you may find yourself

behind the wheel of a large automobile
And you may find yourself

in a beautiful house, with a beautiful Wife
And you may ask yourself-

well...how did I get here?"

This is a question I ask myself constantly, but especially when I find myself, like this last weekend, in a village with population 324 in the middle of Don Quixoteland eating, I kid you not, brain, tripe, and pig ears for dinner.

I´ve always thought the fact that I can easily tune Spanish out and shut off all the shit-talking noise around me was a plus, but I´m realizing this might be a disadvantage when your organ-indulging, culinarily derranged in-laws, are ordering your dinner for you.

"And you may ask yourself

What is that beautiful house?

And you may ask yourself

Where does that highway go?

And you may ask yourself

Am I right? ...am I wrong?

And you may tell yourself:

This is the precise moment when you close your eyes and suddenly your brothers in-law convert into Lollypop Guild members and Glenda, the good witch appears in her pink bubble and hooks you up with some rockin ruby slippers that you click together and say:

"There´s no place like home, there´s no place like home"

And then you open your eyes and you find yourself here instead (I´ll be the blonde):

And all this Don Quixoteland, organ-eating madness was just part of a really long dream that was sometimes an adventure, sometimes erotic, but sometimes a tooth-spitting, naked-in-public nightmare.

And someone hands you a margarita on the rocks and a salty tear drips into it, but it´s okay, cause you like your margaritas with lots of salt.

And someone is roasting hot dogs. Yummmm.

But then you realize what hot dogs are made of.

"Same as it ever was...
same as it ever was...
same as it ever was...
Same as it ever was...
same as it ever was...
same as it ever was...
Same as it ever was...
same as it ever was..."

And then you open your eyes and you snap back to surreality and say, fuck it, "Please pass the ears".

-Bluestreak

Modern Outdoor Dining by Spacepotatoe from Flickr.

Italicized are lyrics from Once in a Lifetime by Talking Heads.

Less Elitism Please.

Am I on acid right now? Thoughts and words be flowy melty collidy happy rollercoastery flowery...oops I´m all forgetty-sprinkled.

Dumb it down for me, girlfriend (is that sexist?), I’m not following. When you speak it’s like this guy:




This elistism must be stopped.


Dear Senator John McCain,

I am writing to urge you to rethink your choice for V.P. running mate. I’m a regular American, a Main Street American, if you will. I find that Sarah Palin exists on such a superior intellectual plane that her nuanced thought bytes convolute in such a way as to surpass any normal person’s ability to comprehend such highly complex analytical theses. Her interview with Katie Couric was more difficult to understand than Kierkegaard and Heidegger´s Ontology of Existence.

Maybe this is because my dumb-ass received its formal education in YOUR STATE. Yeah, you remember, the one that ranks 50 in the nation "on factors including expenditures for instruction, pupil-teacher ratios, high school graduation and dropout rates, and reading, writing and math proficiency".

Please can you choose someone else or ask her to please dumb it down so the non-elite can follow her highly complex thought processes? Or you could just ask her not to drop acid before her next interview.


Yours Truly,

Bluestreak

P.S. Eat shit.

Dumb. Just dumb. And funny.

Tobi got me all worked up with her awesome post about the housing market.

I try to avoid thinking about this stuff because I like to keep my faith in humanity and the spectacular brain-power demonstrated when we pull all of our collective neurons together to create the phenomenon we call Economics. Um, not really. I´m a cynical bitch and a sociologist that can´t fucking figure society out. For instance, I´m slightly puzzled by the fact that when we all put our heads together the only thing we can manage to do is take a steaming dump of stupidity on ourselves.

Then, we expect the President Of Whatever Freaking Country You Live In to solve the problem we ourselves created in our own greed and imbecility. That´s like going to see your general practitioner and expecting him to cure AIDS while you´re sitting in the waiting room about to get your colon fingered.

Enough of my rant. I´m in a bad mood and need someone to make me laugh. Or to buy me a house.

I leave you with a funny anecdote that I found originally here (specific to Spain but is applicable everywhere I think) that I posted before, but in Spanish, and maybe some of my readers would be able to laugh at it a little if I translated it (it´s probably a sucky translation but whatever). It made me laugh. I promise, those are tears of laughter. Maybe.


“Well, no, housing prices never drop. Here is what a time traveller from the future explains:

I decided to take a ride in my time machine and explain to all of you how things are going in the future:

Fortunately, the predictions of so many Bubble Theorists have never come to pass regarding the housing market in Spain and housing prices have continued to rise annually at 17% for the last 50 years. As such, we have become the richest country in the world, because for example, an Attic on the Castellana in Madrid costs more than the state of California and the Tokyo Imperial Palace together. Sure, no one lives on the Castellana anymore or in any other place in Madrid, because those houses are for investing, not for living.

Although I, for example, work in Madrid, I bought an awesome 430 square foot flat, just 150 miles away, that with the highway is just a quick trip. In order to pay the mortgage we have brought together three families; a notary public married to a university professor, an IRS inspector married to a public attorney and a federal judge married to an architect. So, we put five of the salaries toward the mortgage and one to live on. We´re so happy with the purchase because although in the beginning it was difficult to make ends meet, I´m sure that further down the line we won´t even notice it. Besides, since the purchase a year ago, the flat has gone up in value 17%, and if that weren´t enough, the notary public´s wife is hot as shit.

Although professionally things are going well (I´m the CEO of a multinational corporation), the truth is that the inflation we are suffering in this country due to the fact that we are the richest in the world is making it so we have to tighten our belts a little. But it´s just a matter of getting used to being frugal. When we first started having to eat Spam made out of lizards, we complained a bit, but now it´s just two quick flips on the grill and it´s tasty as can be. In any case, we´ll take advantage of the fact that labor laws have changed and now children that are 10 years old can work, so I think I´ll pull the little one out of school and put him to work. The extra income will help to go towards the mortgage.

My salary is 2.000 net Tochos. The Tocho is the currency that substituted the Euro when they drop-kicked us out of the EU (envy can be so ugly), and it is equivalent to one euro cent. In the safety deposit boxes of the Central Bank of Spain, they don´t keep gold slabs anymore, they keep bricks. Because bricks have shown themselves to be a much safer and more profitable investment than gold.

After the Atomic Wars brought on by the owners of the government funded housing projects in Southern Spain, the population has been reduced to 5 million Spanish people and 50 million Ecuadorians working their asses off, constructing 800.000 houses annually (Construction is 98% of the GDP). So it looks as though there are 20 houses per inhabitant (they are almost all empty because as I said before, houses are meant for investing, not for living in).
90% of the land has been developed and now we are thinking of developing under the sea (you can´t live under the sea, so these housing developments will be just for investment).

This is what is known in the world and admired as the “Spanish miracle” and it is the subject of numerous studies and doctoral theses in the field of Psychiatry. Every year thousands of scholars of the human mind visit from all over the world. I wouldn´t be surprised if many of those scholars stayed here to live, because you can´t live anywhere in the world like you live in Spain.

Well, that´s all I can tell you about what is awaiting you in the future. I´ve got to run so I can hunt some lizards for dinner.”

-Time Traveler."


Hope you laughed a little.

-Bluestreak

The Olympics bores me to tears. Come on, world, let´s do something I care about.

Alright, I get it. These people are crazy machines and they deserve semi-deity status. But why is this so important? How did the entire world get together and decide unanimously that people running and jumping over hurdles and doing crazy shit with sticks would be the main thing that would unite humanity? I thought sex, alcohol, and food united humanity. Oh, and religion, but that´s no fun.

Is the Olympics supposed to give me hope? In what? In the fact that there are super-humans among us and I´m not one of them? In human potential? In dream achievement? Does it remind us of that great idea we had that there are winners and losers and the winners are there cause they deserve it? Aaaaaaaa, fuck this.

Rassles got me thinking about some missing activities from the Olympics, so here are some of my ideas of what we could do every four years as a world with various representatives from different countries (I´ll volunteer if necessary):

1). Play drinking games and then vote on which country handled themselves the best, acted the dumbest, were the funniest, made the biggest asses out of themselves, lost all their money, etc. Losers get to be drunk and stupid.

2). Make a bunch of food and then vote on which meal was the yummiest, which was the sickest, etc. The losers have to eat their sick ass food.

3). Watch representatives from different countries have sex (OK, I´m not volunteering anymore) and then vote on who was the sexiest, kinkiest, sickest, etc. I don´t think there are any real losers in this case.

4). Every country gets to play music and then we vote on who ruled the most (this is NOT EUROVISION) Kill me, Eurovision.



If the Olympics had these activities, I would watch them happily and it would give me way more faith in humanity than watching a superhuman do weird-ass flips on a balance beam, cause then I would begin to identify with the human race again.



-Bluestreak



"Yay for the Olympics" by kk+ courtesy of Flickr.

Lice, Flamenquines....camp.

I have been a little distracted lately and have not been able to post. Ok, very distracted. VERY.

Somehow, someone thought it was a good idea to put me in charge of 53 pre-teens for a two week, lice-filled summer camp. So I have been a tad busy. By some miracle I escaped unscathed and lice-free, but much more addicted to cigarettes.

Camp has made me realize that I need to be around people more, even if they are dwarf-shaped and completely insane (i.e. children). It is good to be out of my cave.

Camp also made me realize that I have a limit to the number of flamenquines I can consume in one lifetime, despite my uncanny ability to eat almost anything that is put in front of me. If you do not know what flamenquines are, imagine a corn-dog without the stick. I know that does not sound good, but now, imagine you are eating the corn-dog and everyone around you is trying to convince you it is some kind of fucking delicacy. Believe me, I am all for fried phallic food, that is, if I am at the Idaho State Fair talking to some dude with a mullet and missing teeth. Flamenquines are stickless, glorified corn-dogs, whose only missing element is the fair ride that allows you to vomit the thing up afterwards with ease.

Yesterday was the last day of summer camp. Once all the kiddies were with their respective parents, we headed to in-law land to pay a visit. Requests to eat out at a restaurant that was mildly non-cateto were ignored as usual. I whispered to my husband upon entering the restaurant of choice, "If they serve us one of those fucking corn-dogs I´m outta here" (empty threats, of course).

Luckily, by the time the famous flamenquines had arrived I had downed the precise number of beers which allow me to surpass the bitch threshold and no longer cared what dish I was about to eat nor which health codes had been violated in its preparation.

I ate the flamenquin.

Then I sat silent while everyone talked about how fucking great flamenquines are and how in Cordoba they are the size of a kids arm and are sometimes filled with shellfish. I closed my eyes, controlled my vomit reflex out of politeness, while really wishing for a Tilt-A-Whirl, a Yo-Yo, or a Gravitron.


Yessssssss.

-Bluestreak

P.S. I´m quitting smoking today. Fer reals.

Photos from Flickr:

On On The The Yo Yo by base10

The-Claw-III by thephotoholic