Work it girl!

So my high end drag store is slowly unfolding.  I really want to open a drag queen store in Manhattan in the Village somewhere.  I think it would do really well.  There is nothing like it in Manhattan at the moment, which I find crazy.  There are drag queens all over that place.  My store is going to be high end fashion at an affordable price, so any diva may look fabulous without breaking the weave bank.  There will be a fashion show every Saturday so you may showcase your style to the world before you buy your outfit for the next week.  Get an opinion before you buy.  The kicker of it all is that there will be a full bar in the back of the store for a casual drag encounter over drinks.  A gossip corner, if you will of the goings-on in the drag scene.  Nothing catty, for I hate the drama, but it's hard to go dramaless in the world of fabulous dye jobs and lifts.

I really still have a hard time believing there is no place to shop for drag queens besides Payless for shoes or a porn store for a shitty pair of pleather pumps that fall apart in 2 weeks.  Last Halloween I looked all over Manhattan for a shop that housed all of a confused boy's needs in becoming a classy lady.  Nothing.  It was impossible to find anything in my size, number one, 15 is a hard shoe to heel!  Not to mention finding the dress that needs to ride up these 42" clidesdales!  I shall make this store a one stop shop for every sized queen roaming the city that never sleeps.  And don't think the selection will go down when the size goes up.  We will be stocked to the hills with yum.  Then hop on back to the bar and shoot the shit with the other girls.  Prizes will be awarded to the best outfit, best in show, best hair and make-up and of course, most fashionable icon.  That may have to be a monthly prize, or maybe even yearly.  I need to iron out all of the other details.  It's too damn early in the morning for me to be thinking.  Nighters.

Tweet this bitch.

I just started a twitter account, well like 3 weeks ago, and I still have no idea why people use it.  It's the dumbest thing in the world.  I mean, you only have 140 characters to use when tweeting so it's not like you can get any kind of point across.  And if you do manage to intrigue someones interest on a matter, you have no way of knowing they tweeted you back unless you scroll through the thousands of tweets that happened after you tweeted in the first place.  I am totally done using the word tweet, for shit's sake.   I do like the fact that you can see what celebrities are up to in their everyday lives.  Jim Carrey is pretty cool.  He doesn't try too hard to get people to laugh on twitter, he is just normal.  I hate the celebrities that are still acting online.  Noone cares about you when we are not looking at you move on screen and if you do then you need a life.  I do have to say that if Kate Winslet did start to message me I would probably eat shit and die because I love her, but other than that, nope.  I probably still don't care that she is cooking lamb for dinner, though.  My point is I tweeted, sorry, yesterday that Axe deoderant is to Men like the skinny jean is to fucking douche bags.  I tried to start a twitter battle against all of the angsty teeny emo kids out there like Sunny With A Chance did on the Disney channel last week.  I didn't feel like scrolling through the tweets, sorry, all night, though.  So I say fuck twitter.  And fuck Axe.  And especially fuck all those little pre-teen boys that forget that others can actually smell them when they walk into a room and need to stop showering in Axe.  It turns noone on.  A little goes a hell of a long way more than a lot in this case, baby.  Not to mention, it is supposed to be applied onto the skin, not onto your clothing.  The washing machine takes care of the clothes.  Soap takes care of the body but I understand if you need a little boost when it comes to the smell good department.  Just put it on the skin.  That's where the pheremones come from that mix with the cologne.  Not the cotton from china.  We should force feed Home Alone to all the teens boys in the world...AHHHHHH!!!   I fell into the gap, though the other day.  I bought Axe deoderant.  I did it.  It smelled half way decent in the store.  I'm usually a fresh meadow, cut flowers, cool breeze, fresh air scent, shower clean type of guy but this one didn't smell retchid.  I still hate the smell.  I smell like a man...bleh!  Miranda says it turns her on, but I don't think I'll stick with this.  Give me back my Secret.

Anyone up for chopped suey?

Nope.  I am very excitied about the upcoming, day's of my life.  Wednesday is of course Los Gallos day and night!  Thursday is my first time to karaoke in like a decade at Rush Hour in Twinsburg and Saturday is going to be a fun filled day of walking for a cause and eating with a passion in downtown Cleveland!

The MS walk is how I shall start off my Saturday morning.  It begins at the Cleveland Brown's Stadium and ends at probably the same spot.  Not sure how it is working out but I do know it's for a good cause.  After the walk I am spending the day downtown with the sis enjoying the West Side Market in Ohio City and then to kill some poor duck in the Asian Plaza.  It never knew what hit it.  It was probably mass produce at one point anyway.  I saved it's hard life by ending it.  That's a bit sad.  But I've never had duck so suck it.  It always reminds me of A Christmas Story when I think of eating duck.  You know, the famous scene of the man chopping it's head off on the table in the Chinese restaurant.  I think that's probably how this whole idea came to play out...maybe.  I'm excited for walking around downtown, though.  We will probably have the whole city to ourselves, it is Cleveland after all.  I hope we stop off at the Bier Market or to the crazy psychic lady that helped me "out" to my sister.  Maybe we'll stop over to Union Hall, Bar? Club?  What ever the name of the ajoining bar to Bounce is.  I like it in there.  Not so much Bounce.  We could even hit up the Balto exhibit at the Natural History Museum, but I heard it was butt crackers.  The world is our oyster and we have yet to slurp it down.  God, my feet reak...I have been smelling something burning for the past hour and just realized it's my feet.  Damn things are fucking rank, man! 

Anyway.  Saturday=fun.  Feet=9-1-1.

I have a bunch more to say but I'm losing focus.  So I think I'll just brush my nuts and head to bed.  Oh, hey, I'd like to reorganize those files but "I'm Drunk"!

Paragraphs can be awkward.

Have you ever walked into a conversation at the wrong part of an important summary?  I'm sure we all have had that awkward moment when you can't really be sure to excuse yourself or to ask what the previous statements were.  If it is rude to involve yourself in a conversation that was started without you or if it would be more rude to just walk away.  The best moments are when something is said that can be taken way out of context and needs to be summed up for the integruity of the speaker.  Like the moment I just had at this overly priced shoe store.  I mean they're running shoes for god's sake.  But that not's the issue.  It happened when the man helping my sister with her shoes was explaining the goings-on of what makes a good running shoe a good running shoe.  I walked in on the moment he was explaining the importants of having an acurate measurement for the shape of her toe box.  He was happy to tell her that her toe box was a nice size and shape even though it wasn't symetrical.  Hmmm...what are you doing with my sister's box and why is her foot up in the air with her pants rolled up to her knees and coat off with a measuring device attached to it?  Sir, let my sister's toe box go.  He explained that the shape of your toe box was very important in picking your shoes, especially for running.  It determines the placement of the shoe on your foot for each step.  It could mean the difference of 10 miles instead of only 5.  That is a good discovery for the marathonians in all of us.  So, even though the shoes are far over priced it's the information that is provided and the one-on-one care that you are truly paying for.  So let us all be aware of our toe boxes.  Be well with running.  Treat your feet to a comfortable pair of shoes.  I guess the point is that you should indeed ask for the information that you missed in the previous section of the conversation.  No matter how awkward you may feel in asking, what?  It is probably more awkward explaining why you beat the gut off the asshole feeling your sister up.   Toe box.  Nice.

Get your drag on!

So, I totally got my drag-on last night.  No, I did not Ru Paul myself to the high heavens.  I screened How To Train Your Dragon last night after work.  It was really cute.  I normally don't like DreamWorks movies because they all suck hard, but Dragon was not bad at all.  So come on ladies and gentlemen, get your drag-on!  Mainly just see a movie at the Aurora theatre.  We are slower than shit-cycles thawing in Antartica.  I normally wouldn't mind the lack of business..I'm lazy as shit, but due to the lack of the peeps it is easier to notice all the stupid ass children running around the lobby of the theatre.  I know these kids don't really mean to be so annoying.  They are all just wishing mommy and daddy actually loved them and didn't procreate due to some, "keeping up with the Jones'", type ritual.  Hey, here's $50.  We'll pick you up in 12 hours.  Don't get raped.  Mommy needs some wine to settle her marriage to the neglectfully business oriented, big-wig husband look-a-like.  Kisses.  I sorta feel bad for the upper middle class children of the day.  They act out with drugs and alcohol by the age of 14 because they think that will bring the attention they are so lacking back to the foreground.  Little do they know, it won't.  It seems to just push the issues in deeper until the resentment kicks in and the kid is forced to move out by 18 or die by hanging.  I love you guys, even though I absolutely hate you.

But yes, see How To Train Your Dragon.

Interviews with a robotic mortal.

Today at work is going to blow hard.  I need to do 8 or so interviews today for 3 available positions.  This in itself isn't all bad, it's the adding that with working upstairs in the projection booth that is going to suck the nutters.  I hate the booth, you see.  It is so lonesome and loud.  You could loose your mind up there if it wasn't already mashed to shit from American Idol.  Which, by the way, I absolutely hate that Ryan Seacrest.  Please, Ryan, "out" already!  We have had enough.  And according to my sister he hates himself too.  So why not do everyone a favor, including yourself, and die.  Well, at least get your soul back from the corporate machines...and then die. 

Back to the booth.  It is a place where sacrificial babies would be taken and slaughtered if we still did that sort of thing.  Why have we stopped that, by the way?  I'm all for the weeding out of the socially or mentally inept.  Nothing against stupid people or wallflowers, but if it makes the corn grow faster and thicker and the tides come in at a regular pace why not crucify some mother fuckers!?  I have just the alter to do it on.  The top platter of the projector's system would work just fine.  And best of all, we could totally watch a movie after to take our minds off of the gruesome murder we just committed.  Nothing like How To Trian Your Dragon after pulling some blonde bitch up the stairs by her hair kicking and screaming.  It'll keep us sane.

I really hope one of the other managers does come in and help with the interviews.  I'm supposed to be shadowing an employee upstairs so she doesn't F-bomb something up.  That would be quite impossible if I'm downstairs talking at people trying to "get to know a little something about you" so they may be the correct choice in picking up a popcorn scoop and shoveling in lard for the consumer.  It sounds easy, but I tell you what, people are dumb!  Real dumb.  So I hope she joins me for at least one or two. 

Ok, bye!

The clock stuck two.

I wanted to take a moment to speak seriously to you for a moment, for moment's sake.  Let's start over.  I would like this moment to be given to you in all seriousness.  I like to pair up when I shit.

That is all.

Nope.

I really do like to have a shit buddy.  Not in that gross yet kind of intriguing scat way, but in the let's hold hands and share a squirt together type way.  Let's be real, how good do you need to know a friend in order to openly fumagate their surroundings?  Pretty, darn, good.  Plus, it has the added bonus of, not being the one who dealt it, feeling.  Like if there happens to be someone else in the bathroom when you both arrive to drop your goodies.  You have the comfort of letting loose freely for the fact that it can be blamed on your friend next door.  No longer shall we sit in constipatic pain while waiting for that old mutha bitch to shake his junk.  No more fear of the high pitched squeel coming from a clenched check trying to save you from the inconstitutional embarrassment of the swinging stall door and the eye contact of all the pissers by.  Head held high you look to the stall next to you and glance, it was him.  We all should have shit buddies.  Let me be the first to say I am here for all of you.  My colon is open for business and I'm looking for the tenant of my dreams...oh, that seems to be a different subject.  Well, one in the same.  The kids are at the edge of the pool and I'll be the one to drop them in for you. 

Aren't we all?

In the immortal song by Sister Sledge:  "We are family....so please pull your dick out of me".  Well, a tweeked version of it anyway.  It's an inside joke.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jmJjD33eKDU&feature=related

On the "World Tour" of Cleveland Mexican I traveled to Strongsville yesterday.  There was a "nice" little Tex-Mex restaurant/bar on Pearl road called Mad Cactus.  It claims to have the best margaritas in the Cleveland area. The best ribs in the strongsville area. And the best fajitas in Ohio.  Now, I did manage to taste the margaritas, I'll have to go for the fajitas on wednesday when they are half price...bitches were 16 dollars regular, fuck you!  Anyway, the margaritas were actually really good.  They weren't the normal salty, strong tequilla kick in that shit hole that we are used to.  They had a lot of flavor and something I couldn't pick my finger in, uh...on.  It wasn't the sexy ass bus boy's jizz-cycles either, I asked him in the bathroom inbetween strokes.  It was almost like a sprite flavor and bubbly goodness.  Which for all intensive purposes did manage to taste like his jizz-cycles, weird.  They had something there that I will have to say was pretty amazing and will probably never be topped on this Tour.  It was their version of artichoke dip.  A little glob of spicey, white-ish green dollop of Jesus himself in a cute little brown glazed bowl.  Scooping a chip into this cream-in-pants making concoction was as good as blowing that dirty little buss boy in the stall would have been if I had.  It had a cheesey tang, a greensy tart and a sour cream after thought that brought it all together in a garliciously delicious goodness.  That, is worth going to the Mad Cactus for.  Might have a jumbo mango margarita while you're there.
9175 Pearl RD. Cleveland Ohio, 44136.
Enjoy.

Movie theatre meltdown

Holy twinks and apple sauce!

Moments are gone in the word.

I have nothing to say tonight.  This post will be the moment of silence that a great man deserves when his life has ended.  To you Mr. Gedeon.  You are my forever pretend grandfather and a neighbor for life (NFL).  There is nothing in the definition of the word missed that can describe how I will feel now without you next to me in house and spirit.  All my love Monster!















All my love.

Somebody call 911.

So it turns out that I'm a felon in the great country of Canada.  Because of my stupid run in with the check point 6 months ago I have a DUI on my record for life.  If that wasn't enough in it's self, I owed a stank load of money that I'm now slowly but surely paying off.  Now the kicker of the whole deal is that Canada won't allow me into their country for fear that I'll go on a binging rampage and take out all their finely manicured sidewalks and light fixtures.  Not to mention run down all their french speaking pop stars and overly dressed, in a completely unsuitable for action, uniformed and steed riding police officers, eh!  I understand that it was wrong of me to be influensed by the liquid gods and get behind the wheel but I thought the cash and hotel jail was the punishment for that...not to mention the embarrassment and shifty eye contact from the parents.  I want in, Canada!  They claim after 5 years of time served from the punishment date that I may file for an over the border appeal.  Not saying they'll allow you in just saying you can give a good reason why you should be allowed and that you are so very, very sorry for the crimes committed.  They then take in consideration your credit, job, financial situation, height/weight appropriate body type, length of hair and nails, penis size and the correct use of the word about, mix it all up in their very fine judicial system and do what all wanna be American countries would do...ask for the money!  Help me out.  Throw a dog a bone, ya?  I haven't seen Toronto yet and I really, really want to, damn it!  Although, Canada, this is putting a bit of a damper on the sight seeing tour disposition.

Look to the stars, and I'm not talkin Brittany!

There has been an obssesion of all things astrological with the times it seems lately.  I was first acquainted with the mole people about 3 years ago when looking for an apartment in New York.  One of the first questions out of his mouth was "what's your sign?".  I am actually happy it was, turns out, because I think that's why I was given the room.  After that day and after I moved to NYC I noticed the trend of that question was following me everywhere.  Into bars, chat rooms, on the street corners..that was the main friend builder, it seemed.  I had never heard of anyone ask that question before that time.  I found it incredibly strange that one would fixate on such a part of your make-up as your sign to gauge the amount of time spent with you.  Or how quickly a relationship could flurish, or in turn, be destroyed.  They are quite simple words, they are indeed.  "Oh, I'm a Cancer".  In?  Nope.  But I'm on the Cancer/Leo cusp...in now?  It might actually be a dating thing?  Or maybe just a gay thing.  Because I don't hear it much anymore now that I'm in Ohio again and sort of out of the gay scene.  You see, my roommate was gay.  And he used that sign as a portal to all things knowlegdable about me.  It was like we were twins seperated at birth...better yet, like he was actually me and I'd forgotten to get back in the box of which I had been unwrapped.  He thought he could paint the rest of my life by looking to the moon and the stars.  He was always wrong about his predictions but I didn't have the heart to tell him he was full of shit and his false gods were wrong.  I did always think it was funny when he said he was on the cusp as well.  His birthday is July 17th.  I only remember this because he would bring it up everyday when starting a conversation with me..."you know, we are pretty much the same people, you and I are"..."we are both cusp babies so I know exactly how your feeling"...I hate you!  Feel that, bitch.  By the way, the cusp is just that, the cusp.  Cancer ends on the 22nd and Leo begins on the 23rd.  Your birthday is the 17th.  How is that remotely close to the cusp?  regardless, maybe it was just a crazy person trend.  Who knows.  But it was always annoying.  

The time we save.

Why is it that hot beverages when they cool to room tempature feel colder than cold beverages warming to room tempeture?  Is it an actual difference in genetics of the two types of liquid?  Or is it mainly in our heads?  I'll leave that up to the quantum machanical type people.

Today was the crazy Lick a titty for St. Patty's day festival-ala-my sister and I at the Annex in Solon.  We are not allowed to be around each other when there is a never ending supply of beer and green eggs.  Well, minus the eggs.  We should have had more eggs due to our low tolerance today of everything Barrlied and Hopped!  We started the festivities at the ripe old hour of 8:30am and manged our way home at 3:00pm, I think.  I don't really remember the happening's on after 10:00.  I know we played this card game, Hockey.  It's easy enough to catch on to but also easy enough to puke up eggs over.  Neither one of us puked over the cards, thank goodness.  The sis, however, couldn't hold the porcelain thrown quick enough when we did get home.  The other sister was sent from God to pick us up at exactly the right time.  Who called her?  Who cares!  We're alive.  The walls in the bathroom are slightly tinted with the happiness of times passed that evening...uh, morning.  Needless to say my earlier blog about prejectile orange juice vomit and missing the toilet came to play out in the later hours of my sister's binge fest.  Too bad it wasn't orange juice, though.  That would have been a pretty splash of color added to the wall as opposed to brown.  Lesson learned.

I due remember the bacon on my pizza.  So good.

My brain hurts.

So, everyone is talking about this hump day.  Leave it to me to not understand the harmless meaning and instead find my mother's leg and go at it.  Awkward!

Nope.  I understand the hump.  It is never on Wednesday for me, however.  For you see, working at a place that has it's most business on the weekends, I have never actually had a weekend.  My hump day is non-existent.  Rather I not have two days off in a row or they fall on a Tuesday and Wednesday.  My weekend is just about over for this week.  So hump-it-up all you whiners of industry, you babies of the grind.  And suck it!

Someone texted me today about hump day and I read my sister's blog about hump day and I thought there was an actual holiday forming today.  I was very disappointed to learn it was just the normal hump day, Wednesday.  So I put away all my collected shot glasses and set down the bottle.  It is still Wednesday, though.  Los Gallos monster margaritas, here I come!  Speaking of those guys.  I went yesterday to meet a friend for dinner and there was a new waitor that sat us.  He was sorta cute in the younger-than-the-others way, but nothing you'd text yo mamma about.  He politly asked what we were having as the beverage.  I of course said the monster, he replied, I.D.  OH HELL NO MOTHA FUCKA!!!  Don't you know who I am?  What gives you the right, the nerve to ask such a question...I have been coming here for--months, or so...damn.  Nope.  He was cool.  I don't have my I.D. however, so that was a bummer!  The best part of the evening was when he kept coming over and asking if I was alright.  Not in the server way of good service, but in the lost puppy without a bone type of way.  Like he could sence my alcoholic blood pressure rising since I wasn't with my baby.  It's cool, sir.  I'll survive...just barely!

The ties that blind

I'm walking to the post office today...how'm I doin?  I need to return some DVD's that sucked the right ball off to mock the left.  I ordered these DVD's on line from Amazon.com, right?  Now, I have been told by many that this is a very safe and reliable sorce to get all used and new material.  Amazon.com has their own website that you may purchase off of or from and also has linked sites that people use to sell their shit on their own.  Not affiliated with Amazon but housed by it.  They garantee that the people on their site are legit and are fully confident in the service and quality of the products being sold by them.  I don't think they are intentionally lying to us but it may turn out to be one of those swept under the carpet, don't ask don't tell, policies.  Needless to say the DVD's I had received were unable to be read by my DVD player.  This could have just been a fluke, but in my ten or so odd years of owning a DVD player, this has never happened before.  It's a gay thing!  Pretty sure! HA.

Nope.  The guy who sold it to me is very nice and is going to give me my full refund for the damaged shhtankaloohoo so it's no big deal.  I just wanted to piss for awhile about nothing.  Holla!

But my real story is how I want to be completely hammered while walking to this post office.  I want to just float there on an Irish Car Bomb cloud.  You know, the way the Jamie and Baley's hits the dark Guiness beer and starts to swirl and cream-afy?  Like my brain after 6 of them.  I want to be on that cloud.  But seriously...I love Kate Winslet. 

Bye!

Seasons may change...

But I love you. 

Words that can echo for eternity.  Have you ever said those three words to someone that you didn't actually love?  Who hasn't, right?  But is there a person that you most regret saying it to?  Do you regret ever saying it to anyone?  Have you ever been so truly ingrossed with someone that you couldn't say it for fear it would ruin what you had?

Let's discuss all the possiblities of love and the ones we give it to, willing recipients or not.

I personally have never been in "true" love.  I've thought I have but it turns out, with the help of some wise words from a friend, I have not.  He said that true love can only happen when it is felt in both hearts for one another.  I have been "in" love with 3 boys in my life.  None of which loved me back.  So I guess I have never really been, in love.  My emotional side bursts out of me when I'm caught in these desperate situations.   Which is what I'm considering my life up unto this point, one desperate situation after another.  They get the better of me and I use my heart rather than my brain to solve lifes great puzzles.  I do believe in love at first sight...I believe more in lust at first sight, however.  I confuse the two, you see.  My heart pukes emotional bagage on this subject and my brain is forced to clean up the mess.  I fall deep into peoples eyes and their personalities once the initial lust over their body wears off.  I get caught in my own traps of belief  that there could possibly be a spark happening and I'm then powerless to end the infatuation before it blooms into a poisonous flower.  The saddest part about it is, the other boy doesn't ever feel the same about me.  I'm always in the same relationship with the mirror.  I'm standing alone on the reflective side trying to see through my depressious eyes to the (straight, most likely) boy scratching his head.  I've come to the conclussion that I like guys that couldn't possibly like me back.  It's my wall of self presurvation that has a weak foundation.  If you don't love me you can't hurt me later.  Through the cracked mortar holding my emotional bricks together, I look into my future and realize that I'm alone.  If not for the fact that i literally haven't found someone who loves me back, then for the fact that I'm so emotionally damaged by my own doing that I cannot feel the words, I love you, sinch there way into my soul.  I push people away from me hard.  I say and do things that I don't mean to garantee the fact that they will end it before it began.  Have you ever felt so deeply alone that your body rejects even tears?  It's the mocking act of irony that keeps me going...even just for the evening.

Smooches!

P.S. I'm going to start cataloging the words I make up.  Todays post is brought to you by the word, depressious.  Depressious: The ability to hold something so dear to your heart that it becomes impossible to scrape from your character.  Mostly in a negative way.  Pass it on.

The cords that Minor.

Taking a brief moment to discuss the world and the music that floats it.

I love how we as humans can create something so beautiful with objects never before looked upon as anything but, this goldish lookin thang, who dat?!  Instruments that we create to make sound that birds can do naturally have always amazed me.  The french horn for instence.  It is a beautifully mastered piece of metal fantasticness.  It spews out a sound that, when played well, gets into your soul and warms it with feelings of love and care-free pleasure.  The oboe: a tube that makes your ears curdle when screached along in symphonic band but made to hear hope and understanding when mastered.  BLAH!  I've become a bit hooky for a minute.  But they are amazing instruments.  So my point...

My new favorite thing to do is sit in front of my computer and youtube things.  I've mentioned this before.  My latest venture is searching for boys that kiss...nope, searching for all music that has a strong emphasis on the cord D in Minor.  It is quite a beautiful combination of pitch and harmony.  The mood of the arangements are easy to spot and pick up.  They are always pushing you forward in a deep relaxation and a bit of anticipation.  Of course, Pachelbel's Canon in D minor is famous for it's compilations of everything gorgeous, but little known works that are pushed under the gay-dar ring loudly when uncovered.  My newest venture is to lift the shag.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sWZrm6guXuA

The above selection of my latest searches is quite pretty.  Dragging a bit at the ending, it still doesn't lose it's mood and feeling of what could be a great compisition.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HW41wYqmeJw

Another selection in quest of all things D-Minor.  I think this piano piece is the definition of D-Minor.  The way the cords mix together to create a sense of growing anticipation and what could be love-lost.  Heart strings to be pulled.  But like with any great writer, you should take the last third of your work and toss it out!  (Shout out).  It could be considered a little long and repititious.  It is still a nice compisition.  Minus the flubbed key hits!  And the poor sound quality.

I think I'm done with this latest venture.  That didn't take long.

Anyway, I'm off to Melt today.  Just so happens to be the best sandwich place in the world.  IN THE WORLD!!!  I dare anyone to challenge this.  Hey, all you T.V. chef's and wanna be critics.  Here's the test, guurl.  Pick up you spoons and napkins and throw them on the floor.  You won't need them here.  The only utensils needed are you fingers, your mouth and your stomach acids.  If your main utensil becomes dirty, lick off your fingers, bitch.  Those juices are there for a reason, it's called flavor.  Your napkin doesn't have the taste buds, girl!  And if you're like me and eat boneless chicken wings because you don't want to get your fingers dirty...fuck you!  Ha, no.  Make an exception for these sandwiches.  Sooo good.  I'll let you know what I've ingested later!

Oh...P.S. The Surface of the Sun from the Sunshine soundtrack...you know the one that i'm currently obsessed with, is in D-Minor!!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_QahzbgUVwk

Boo-yea!!

28) Cover Girl!

Let's take it back to a time when men were men and women were Ru Paul!  Get that shit, guuuurl!!

At work today I was reminded of a little ditty we all grew up on and cherished called, Supermodel.  One of the best songs ever created.  Ru Paul: A successful spout of delicious femaninity.  The go to girl for any cosmetic or wardrobe question.  The mirror of all gay men in a busty blonde wig.  Ode to you my sweet.  Keep it real, or at least bought fresh!

I guess the point of that memory trail was to bring me to two points; one: Ru Paul's Drag Race is a hot damn mess that I can't seem to stop watching and I think I've gotten my sister addicted to and two: The Surface of The Sun is a beautiful song composed by John Murphy for the Sunshine soundtrack.  Two works of art brought together by the newest form, Youtube.com.  It is pretty amazing what you can discover on youtube.  I've fallen in love with "Boys That Dance" to "Learning a New Hobby-A-Go-Go".  Type anything into the search bar and you instantly have a new topic of conversation for the next day.  Fuck the weather, kids.  Let's talk about "50 Jokes in Less Than 4 Minutes"!  My point is that I've been searching for the "Best of's" on youtube.  My latest has been movie soundtracks.  Two of my all time favorite soundtracks, voted and posted by Amazon.com are of course The Last of The Mohicans and Finding Neverland.  They were #12 and #7 respectively.  However, my real point...GOD...was that Sunshine's movie soundtrack was also on there.  A little known movie for the most part, but the soundtrack speaks volumes...literally!  It is quite beautiful and to tie it all together, so is Ru Paul!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_QahzbgUVwk <-----Bring the tissues for this one!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1OH25Lty8gE  <----- Ru Paul that shit up, guuurl!

Forgotten Oveture: My loaf of the Finding Neverland soundtrack. Oboe=understanding, French Horn= love...SO GOOD!!

Almost forgot this one from The Last of the Mohicans...Elk Hunt: Beautiful!

And who could forget Requiem for a Dream? MMMMMM.....
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SmijKjosplM&feature=related

Enjoy!

Oh...make sure you're keeping up with the pages above.  I'm not posting new things everyday but I do keep it up, sorta!  Give me feed back!

27) It is possible

So, on the news today I just heard their latest story about how people are now sleep texting.  I don't know about that, but I do know about blacked out drunk texing!  Which in my eyes is pretty much the same thing.  I have had some experiences in the matter.  My sister can vouch for at least two of the incidents ending in losing my phone in a cab, twice--in the same month.  Oops!  Thank you to the second man who actually found the phone and called her letting me know where I may pick it up.  The first time I was not so lucky.  I had just bought the new Google phone when it came out and only had it for a good solid month before my inner demons sprung their very beautiful in repition, heads up.  The alcohol that flowed that evening was to be entered into the book of wonders.  I at first thought I had been date raped drugged by the bartender who was obviously in love with, ALL OF THEEEEEAAAAHS!  Nope.  Just a lot of Jack.  Needless to say I never found the phone again.  Some cabbie is very happy with their new find.  Anyway, the texting that happens to all of us when we have had a smidge to drink should have it's own blogger spot.  It would be quite interesting to follow.  All the Incoherent Ramblings (shout out) of our fellow human beings at their finest...not to be missed.  Maybe after my "World Tour" of Cleveland's finest Mexican I'll start a new section of Blitzed Texting. 

My most exciting, day after drinking, activity is going through all my sent texts and seeing just how big of an ass I made myself out to be.  You all know you do it too.  Mine are always to my straight guy friends asking if I could come over and fondle their things that hang.  It's like clock work my friends.  They need to invent the app that restricts texting or calling when the blood alcohol limit has been reached.  Maybe go in with law enforcement and have a breath-a-lizer on the receiver.  That could possibly be used on the world net to stop drunk driving.  It'll send a red flag to all the hotspots you are near to stop serving you and or go to the nearest police station and alert the piggies.  We would need a lot more po-po's!  And that would leave a lot less people at the bar.  Better safe than sorry, as I was recently made aware of.  Erase all those sent texts, make amends to all you have insulted and blame it on the a-a-aa-aa-a-alcohol!

So, I am not aware of the effects of sleep texting.  If they are anything like the above stated hot mess of it all drunk texting-deep sleepers beware.  

26) Or is this 25?...

Have you ever gone into a library to read a book or do a little research for a project and ended up staring at all the weird, ghetto fabulous happenings going on, with a book in your hand?

I think I'm going to start a new adventure in my life.  It is going to be, "The Best of the Mexican World Tour"  right here in Cleveland, Ohio.  My tour of everything Mexican is going to start at a little known Bedford hotspot...Los Gallos.  This restaurant/ hotspot, that is little known.  Hmmm...is that an oxymoron?  I'm not sure.  It is the best thing to grace this small town since the fire of the 1890's.  I'm not morbid, but it is when the new regime took over in Bedford and a new class of thinkers moved in to rebuild and unitize the town.  It's when the famous house that held the Underground Railroad was built and the towns people really felt a sense of togetherness.  Not to mention Abraham Lincoln's casket was brought through Bedford' newly remodeled and now famous for it, train station.  Anyhooooo, hoooo!  Los Gallos has the best margaritas in town and I feel, the best fajitas.  I've mentioned both of them before in earlier blogs.  They are the inspiration behind the new Tour, actually.  I am going around all of the northeast Ohioian, Mexican restaurants/bars to discover the best of all things Mexican. 

My next stop is a place I can't remember the name to.  It is right next door to Case.  I'll google it and get back to you.  I may add some recipes to my Favorite Recipes page, so keep an eye open for that.