My ideal Super Bowl halftime show would include Britney Spears and Reba Mcentire

Britney Spears
I don't think this really needs much explanation other than the fact that she's fucking Britney Spears.

Reba Mcentire
Because I'd really like to see her do a duet of "I'm A Slave 4 U" with the abformentioned Britney Spears.

If I were a superhero, I would certainly wear tights

My name would be SONIC BOOM. My abiliities would include being the loudest motherfucker in the world, and filling the awkard pauses in conversations with obceneties.

When I realized I was a grown-up

Although I am three years over the usual standard for being an adult I still feel like I'm not quite there yet. And to be pefectly honest I kind of feel like I'll never relaly feel old.

In defense of my vice: Britney Spears

When she came out I was in the seventh grade. She immediately did a backflip into my heart and I could never stop listening to that bitch now if I wanted to.

Three overplayed songs I love anyway

Ignition Remix by R. Kelly

This song takes me back to the summer after I graduated. It was everywhere I turned, but I loved it anyway. It reminds me of going to the park and drinking Mountain Dew LiveWire and eating gummy bears.

Imagine by John Lennon

Even though this song is trotted out by some overdone artist at every event for charity/children/AIDS/poverty, I still love it even if I hear it by every other American Idol contestant every year.

Dolly Parton. by I Will Always Love You

Because it is so much more fragile and beautiful than the overwrought cover by Whitney Houston.

Disconnect

Bad things happen sometimes, it is an unavoidable situation. Girls break up with their boyfriends, and pets die. People die all the time actually. It's the natural way things are supposed to happen I guess. My Grandfather is dying. And I don't say that in a way that begs for sympathy because I honestly don't want any. I have no relationship with my maternal grandparents and haven't had one for years. It's always been an off and on kind of situation. And the only reason it's on at the currently is because he is dying. And I feel so many things mostly for my mother who is torn between her resentment of him, and the guilt she feels for not having a good relationship with him, and the underlying grief she feels. And I don't know how to make sense of it. It is an odd feeling to know that you should be sad, but know that you're not. It is an odd sensation to know that you honestly don't feel anything at all about a particular person. No bad feelings, no good feelings, just nothing. That's the exact way I feel about the situation. I thank him for having a part in bringing my mother into the world because she is an amazing person and for that I thank him. but after that I want nothing from him, and nothing to do with him. And I know that's wrong, and I know that makes me a bad person. I just can't help it. I surprise myself sometimes how disconnected I can be. I think I need help. I know this doesn't make any sense to you at all, and that's because it doesn't even make any sense to me. I'm sorry.

Things You May Not Know:

My sister signed all of her Christmas presents to me "To: Bitch Tits From: Marilyn"

I once was the victim of a run by kicking by a complete stranger at the Calcasieu Parish Public Library.

There are 479 songs by Britney Spears in my Itunes library.

I nearly named this site "Heartbreak is a Mother Fucker" but then decided that Postarita was probably a better fit.

A week ago I ate one of the best honey buns of my life. Easily in the top ten of all gas station pastries I've ever partaked in.

I am attempting to build my life's library a'la Alaska Young by going to garage sales every weekend.

I am intentionally listening to a Clay Aiken song at this very moment.

My mother got an mp3 player for Christmas. She asked me to fill it with music for her. As a joke I filled it with gangster rap, and line dances from the eighties. Oddly enough she loves it.

I can never decide if meatloaf is one word or two.

A few weeks ago me and Nicole found the entrance to Hell, and it's in Jefferson Parish.

I love writing nonsensical lists.

I do what I like and you like it

Usually my predicament is not having enough to say. Right now I'm in the position where I have a lot to say, and not enough time to sit down and say it. I had a good Christmas, and an adequate New Years. In fact, I was taking a dump at the stroke of midnight. Which I think is a good indicator of things to come in 2009. I have lots of things to tell you, updates coming soon.

Shake Up

I cleaned my bedroom today, which is not an extraordinary event worth writing about for most people. Only for me it happens bi annually at best, and never at worst. It's not that I'm too busy or anything, in fact for the most part I have absolutely nothing going on in my life. But for some reason I choose to live in filth for six months at a time. I am always amazed at the sheer amount of crap that I can accumulate in such a short span of time. It consists mostly of empty coke cans, and receipts for crap I didn't need to buy in the first place. But also I usually find a stack of notes that I write to myself in the middle of the night. For some reason I get most of greatest ideas while I'm asleep. Or at least what I think are great ideas at four in the morning. These notes usually turn out to be not so legible at best, and just doodles of what appears to be two stick figures having sex at a German carnival at the worst. These notes cover my night stand, and spill out on to the floor. They only contain stupid little things that in my sleeping state I think are critical to have down on paper. Whether it be jokes that I think are funny, or song lyrics, or ideas for a blog. Tonight, I found a note haphazardly written on the back of an old photograph that simply read: "Red headed lesbian goat farmer in Bogota, New Jersey" Apparently I believed at one time that this was relevant information.

So I guess that good news is that I can finally make my way to my bed without tripping over nineteen books in my way. The other thing I want to talk about is what I mentioned earlier that I have absolutely nothing going on in my life right now. I like to have a project, I like to have something to do at all times. I like to keep going, going, going when possible. I am my happiest when I'm busy, when there are people to see, and places to go. I can't understand why my appointment book is not filled to it's fullest extent. It makes no sense to me, I am amazing to be around. In fact I'd go as far to say that I'm the most amazing person I've ever met. And if I was another person and happened to meet myself I would do everything in my power to spend as much time with me as possible. I guess I'm just upset that I haven't been able to do anything productive as of late. In fact I'd go as far to say as the only productive thing I've done in the past month is to take a dump. And that's not even so much productive as it is filling up the sewers and polluting the ground water of Louisiana.

I guess what I'm saying is I need to meet that red headed lesbian goat farmer. I need to meet anyone, and everyone that brings some fun back to my life. I need a shake up. Yes I do.

It's Begining To Look Alot Like...

I just found this picture while doing a Christmas project for my parents. I'd like to say that I was incontestably adorable. I look really happy, but for all I know I might have been molested by the mall Santa minutes after this picture was taken. I really don't remember, so I couldn't say for sure. I'd also like to say that if anyone could find me that exact same shirt in my current size I'd greatly appreciate it.

All That Glitters

There's not a whole lot of things not to enjoy about this time of the year. Although most people redundantly refer to it as "their favorite time of the year" as if anyone out there really hates Christmas. I don't see how they could, really. This time is so special and not just because of the crowds and the forced merriment happening all around us. There's just something good in the air around this time, and it stings with a certain crispness that you won't find in July. People who sit in their homes day after day only thinking of themselves are suddenly filling their buggies and emptying their wallets for their loved ones. I swear even music sounds better during December whether it be the gentle tones of "Silent Night" even the amazing new Britney Spears album "Circus" sounds better this close to Christmas (Side Bar: Buy Yours Today!)

Sadly, I think I have finally found something to dislike about this season, and that would be glitter. It's barely big enough to see with the naked eye, but it is big enough to fuck up my entire day. I find it everywhere, on everything I own. It's on my shoe laces, and on my favorite wool peacoat. But that's only because everyone is insisting to add it to everything they touch this time of year. It truly is everywhere, on everything I see. It's on ornaments, and greeting cards, snow globes, and ceramic angels, garland, and wreaths. It is on everything.

It is almost as if the Christmas decoration creators of the world have begun to think the same way about glitter as most American chain restaurants think of chocolate. Which is: "If chocolate is good, then wouldn't more chocolate be better?" And then they answer themselves with: "Why don't we only serve deserts with approximately ninety seven different layers of chocolate? We can have a chocolate fudge cake, layered with chocolate icing, and topped with chocolate gannache! We could top it with chocolate ice cream, and pieces of chocolate candy! We could follow that up with chocolate whipped cream, and chocolate sauce with chocolate sprinkles! And then we'll serve it on a plate with ornate drippings of chocolate sauce!" You can almost see fat Americans everywhere sink to their knees and start thanking God at this proclamation.

But, it is perfect thinking, if you stop and consider it for a moment. We are a glutinous people. If we like something, we want as much of it as possible. We want it in as many different ways as we can have it. We want it all at the same time and please be quick about it. This kind of thinking only hurts those who just wish for a simple bowl of vanilla ice cream, or God forbid something with fruit in it. It is not enough to just want something simple anymore, it has to be adorned to the maximum extent. It has to be bigger, and better than what the people next door have. Whether that be with a fifteen foot high chocolate monstrosity that some waiter in a Chili's in Bogota, New Jersey is limping under the weight of. Or it could be the subtle way that neighbors silently compete over who has the most ornate Christmas decorations in their front yard. Which is all fun and games until someone brings out the airport landing strip like strobe lights to display their life size collection of wooden cartoon characters painted in their holiday finery. I'm speaking from experience as such a rivalry has broken out not two houses down from mine.

Apparently your house is not festive enough this holiday season unless every single ornament and yuletide trinket is covered with shiny fragments of metal. I cannot stand near enough to a decorated Christmas tree to admire it without coming away with it all over my face, and hands. And when I do purposefully touch something with glitter on it, I can almost see the glitter rise in a cloud above the object in question just in the wake of the gentle pads of your fingertips. I accidentally inhale it, and for the next month I am coughing and sneezing out the shiny pieces. I cannot walk down the Christmas aisle at Walmart or the stork I work in without looking like I just came from a strip club and was boobie slapped in the face by a coked out Russian stripper by the name of Charisma wearing a glitter and sequin studded g string.

I swear to God that yesterday I saw glitter in my pee. Maybe it was just a trick of the light, but I swear that's what I saw. So I guess what I'm saying is that it all has to stop. The constant war of outdoing one another, the constant slathering on of our favorite things on every thing we see. Not everything is better with chocolate shavings, or red and gold glitter. Not everything can be fixed that easily, and that's something we need to learn. It really came to a head when I woke up this morning fresh from a horrible dream I had the night before in which I somehow got a piece of it in my eye during a parade gone horribly wrong. I then had to succumb to an experimental glitterectomy in which I lost my sight. I remember the feeling of relief I had when I woke up realizing that I still had the ability to see my surroundings. I felt so lucky, and fulfilled. Then I accidentally passed to closely to our Christmas Tree on my way to the kitchen and my whole fucking day was ruined and I think you know why.

Forture teller says maybe you won't go to hell

He sounds so sure of himself. He sounds like he knows what he's talking about, and he makes me want to take his words for truth. He's in a place that is much different then than the place I find myself in on a day to day basis. He has his entire life planned out for him. He knows what he'll do, and he knows who he'll be with when he does it. He knows where he'll be and, who he wants to be. I feel completely different about the future. I feel like I have a million ideas, and a million passions, and none of the resources or knowledge to do anything with any of them. I feel like the seeds of a dandelion when you blow gently on it's petals. I'll just float in the wind until I land. And maybe I'll end up somewhere that I can flourish and finally become what I was meant to be. Or maybe I'll end up in a pile of scurrying ants (which I'm allergic to). Or maybe I'll land on someones driveway, amongst the steel framed cars and skid marks. I don't think that dandelions can grow through cement but maybe I'll be the first.

I just feel like a few years ago I had everything, and then in a matter of unconnected moments I lost it all. It's like I went to a fortune teller and there was a crack in her crystal ball. And she had no idea what to say to me about a life marred with cracks in the fragile glass surface of my life. And that scares me, but it also thrills me. I like not knowing, even though not knowing is what keeps me not sleeping. But I guess what I'm saying is that he might have it all figured out, and maybe I don't. But I guess I'm not scared at all, of the cracks in the crystal ball.

Nothing

Remember those times when I was full of funny anecdotes and maudlin tales? This is not one of those times. I am so absolutely empty in life right now that I have absolutely nothing to talk about. So sorry for the lack of updates.

Is There A Light At The End of This Road?

Yesterday I was restless as soon as I woke up. Sometimes I can't help myself, I like to be running, running, running, all of the time. No one was home, so I wouldn't have my sister as my partner in crime. It was too early for any of my regular cohorts to be awake. I had money that was burning a hole in my pocket, and a thirst to buy some books. I looked up a used book store in a small city just fifteen minutes away from my house. I grabbed my dad's TomTom, and was out the door. I got there with no problems surprisingly since I am notoriously bad about driving on interstates, and getting lost at every chance I get.

But I did get to the Second Hand Prose Book Shop. Sadly, the building did not offer what I thought was promised. Instead of pages and pages of exciting books, books that would make me laugh out loud, books that would teach me something about life, or love, or both. Instead it offered romance novels as far as the eye could see. Clearly, there was a problem here that I did not expect. But since I drove the twenty miles out, I was going to buy a book whether or not it was one I actually wanted. I found a battered copy of "The Catcher in the Rye" by J.D. Salinger sitting lonely on the only bookshelf that did not have anything with a muscled man with an open and billowing shirt on the cover. I paid the three dollars for it, and took it home.

On my way home however I ran into a snag. I misunderstood the GPS, and took a wrong on ramp and ended somewhere thirty minutes away from home before i noticed anything was wrong. My phone was dead, so I couldn't call for help. All I could do was freak out, and worry. I drove, and drove, and drove not knowing where I was or where I would end up. The TomTom was worthless at this point. There were no road signs, just miles and miles of empty highway. I don't think I've ever been so scared. I never realized how scary being lost actually is. Not knowing where you'll end up, or whether or not you'll ever make it back home. It's a frightening thought. You start to think of the people you left behind, the faces you may never see again. You could get in a wreck, and die forty miles from home and no one might ever know what happened to you. You might end up somewhere strange and not have enough money to get home. Your name becomes foreign to your loved ones, and you walk around a strange place as just another nameless face. You can fade into obscurity in a minute once you're lost.

But then I started to like the idea of getting lost. The idea that you could start over anywhere else. You could pick a new name for yourself, a new identity, even a new accent. Anything is possible when no one knows who you are. And something about that appeals to me. I haven't always been happy with the way my life is turning out, not exactly how I always thought that it would. I always thought there would be something more. Maybe it a person that's missing from my life that I haven't met yet. Maybe it's a career, or a promise for the future. Maybe it's some sense of accomplishment that I have yet to achieve. I don't know what it is exactly but maybe I could find it somewhere new. And I gave it a serious thought for a moment. I really did. Then I came to my senses and took the nearest exit and stopped to ask for directions. I guess I realized that I could live anywhere, but I can only be at home in one place. And that place is here.

We're In The City of Wonder

I spent Halloween with the kind of friend that I don't spend enough time with. The kind of friend that every few months or so I take off the shelf, dust her off and have an amazing night with. We went to a local haunted house where all of the proceeds were donated to charity. It takes a special kind of friend to go to an event that has the chance to be even slightly frightening with me. I am the biggest pussy in the entire world. Although I'd like to say that means that I'm just a six foot tall vagina walking around with a hulking clitoris flapping in the wind, but sadly that's not exactly what I mean.

I mean that I am the archetype for easily frightened people. I am the perfect audience for scary movies, because I gasp in all the expected places. When the foreboding music cues up, I hold my legs close to my body. I hide my eyes, and scream. I can't help it this is just the way I was wired to be I guess. I think I get it from my mother, who freaks out at sudden movements and ordinary noises. But anyway, I am not the kind of person you want to go with when things have the opportunity to be scary. But Nicole was up to the challenge for that and I commend her. She didn't flinch once as twenty somethings dressed as zombies attacked from across the room. She did not push me aside when I grabbed for her hand in the dark. She did not yell at me, when I stepped on her feet trying desperately to get away from the man with the chainsaw standing in the corner. She took it like a professional, and I commend her for that one. It's not easy being my friend sometimes, but I'm always willing to buy you a cherry limeade from Sonic so I would say I'm probably worth it in the long run.

After that we drove out of town, further into this part of the state than I'd ever been before. It was the kind of place where grass grows all the way up to the bottoms of houses on cinder blocks. The kind of place where coyotes roam free, and their howls fill the night. We go tout of the car, on a deserted, dusty road and looked into the sky. I wish I could say that I was a smaller town where you could see the stars as perfectly as you could there. I've never seen so many of them all at once. And right then I knew that the zombies could attack, bring them on. As long as I ot one last good look at those stars I'd be ready to join them.

I have no patience for illness

Remember how a few days ago I mentioned that I had a fever? Yeah, well that's not getting any better truth be told. For the past few days I've been surviving off of Theraflu and hope. I've been reading a lot. If you're looking for something amazing to read, try these which have kept me company for the past few days.

"Paper Towns" John Green
"The Book Thief" Markus Zuzak
"Let it Snow" John Green, Maureen Johnson, Lauren Myracle"
"We Thought You Would Be Prettier" Laurie Notaro

Fever In The Morning, Fever All Through The Night

I think I'm running a low grade fever right now. Which is fine, I've always liked the word fever because it reminds me of both sex and horrible things like sweating. But I love how many awesome things the word fever is associated with. You can have Scarlett Fever, or Yellow Fever, or maybe even Fuchsia Fever if anyone gets around to naming another disease after a color. Although now that I think of it, it mostly just sounds like a name for lip gloss but at least it's an alliteration so it has that going for it. You could also have hay fever, or Saturday Night Fever, you never know things might even come to a fever pitch. There are a lot of terms associated with the word as you can see.



I wish I could blame my fever on the movie I saw this morning. I wish I could say, "Oh, I wasn't feeling my best and wasn't able to resist." But sadly, none of that is true. I was just fine this morning when my friend called me and asked me to go to a movie with him. I was all for seeing "W" which I was hoping would be a good excuse to make fun of George Bush for two hours. Instead he decided that we would be seeing "High School Musical 3: Senior Year". At first I put up a bit of resistance. But then I figured I could just spend two hours whispering to him that anyone else in theater that was old enough to work a search engine had see Vanessa Hudgens vagina. That was enough to get me through purchasing the ticket at the very least. I also figured if nothing else I could count the times that Disney tried to subvert the minds of eight year old girls by showing Zac Efron's nipples (in case you were wondering the number is three.)



I'd like to say I hated it, but in reality it wasn't that bad. It was a sparkling look at what a cold and calculating company like Disney can turn high school into. I'm not exactly sure what there reference point for those four years was, but it was nothing like my experiences. I wish for once someone could make a movie about a high school experience that got close to getting it right. First of all no one dances and sings in the hallways (Well that wasn't exactly true for me, but I'm unpredictable like that.) But most importantly I wish someone would realize that the loserish kid never becomes attractive and fucks the hot girl. It never happens, ever. As far as I know it will never happen except for maybe after college when that loser makes his first million and that hot girl does him in hopes to get a free pair of new boobs. But I mean honestly who do they think they're kidding with this shit? They are setting up nine year olds everywhere for disappointment.



I've got to be honest my fever is really setting in now, I completely forgot where I was even going with this train of thought. Whatever.

The Google Searches for Dog Sex Are All Going to Point To This Post

I am not sure why no one ever told me that you should not donate blood on an empty stomach. I have heard of may food related rules, including but not limited to:

1. Never grocery shop on an empty stomach or you'll find yourself with twelve packs of Little Debbie snack cakes, and fourteen pounds of T.G.I.F. frozen quesadilla roll ups. Which of course is a satisfying diet for a crack addict but maybe not one for someone who could probably stand to lose a few nine hundred pounds like myself.
2. Always wait thirty minutes after eating before swimming. Otherwise you will more than likely sink to your death, and as you drown instead of having your life flash before your eyes all you will see is that roasted chicken leg with a side of mashed potatoes that you just consumed.
3. Never drink dairy products with seafood. I'm not sure if this one is actually true or if my parents just paraded it around as such because if you think of it, it really is an awful combination. And I'm sure when I'm a parent I'll say the same because there's no way I'm cleaning up fish sticks and 2% milk out of the new berber carpets me and the future wife just had installed last month. Actually come to think of it I doubt I'll ever serve my children fish sticks, because they are in fact disgusting.

But oddly enough no one ever mentioned the food rule that could potentially cause me bodily harm some two decades later when I go to donate blood for the second time in that last three months. No one said, Jordan make sure you eat a hearty meal beforehand or you will more than likely pass out. Actually, come to think of it my parents didn't say anything about me donating my platelets other than the fact that they think the thought of giving up your blood to someone else is horrible. I swear my mother acts as if instead of helping someone with my precious O positive I'm going to the LifeShare office to get free heroin.

But I digress no one told me of the unforeseen perils of donating without eating. So six hours later I'm still feeling nauseous, and dizzy. And in the haze of my low blood sugar I just cannot help but feel like something isn't right in my world. I feel like I'm always getting knocked down, and just as I pick myself up again someone throws a discarded banana peel from a 1920's vaudeville act under me, and I'm back on the ground. Sometimes it feels like the world is trying to show in dominance over me by humping my leg like an oversexed German Sheppard.

Actually that raises an interesting point right there. Have you ever actually seen two dogs have sex? First of all it's disgusting, but also it's hilarious. Because it's almost never two dogs of roughly the same size. No it's always this Rosie O' Donnell sized mammoth of a dog humping the ever living shit out of a Olsen twin sized one. But beyond that, the one doing the heavy thrusting usually always has the audacity to lose interest half way through and starts to look bored. You can almost see the motherfucker pantomime looking at his watch to check the time, it is ridiculous.

But that is exactly how I feel the universe has been treating me lately. So I just want the universe to know that yes, I get it. You are the alpha male, I don't need you to dry hump my leg or pee on me to mark your territory. I get it, you are in total control. you will decide if I have a bad day, or an amazing day, or if I die tomorrow. It is all up to you, and I am just a mere pawn in your bigger plan. I am simply a mere peasant trying to run amok in your playground and I'm sorry for that. I will try not to get in your way any longer. I will step aside and let you do your dirty to me as long as you can make me a promise that soon this will all stop. That one day soon I will be able to stand up once and for all and have no fear of being knocked back down again. So if you swear that eventually that will happen for me, you can get your rocks off on me as often as you like. Just promise not to do it on my favorite pair of jeans. I'd imagine dog semen is hard to get out of denim.


Editor's Note: I have no idea how I went from the rules of donating blood to talking about dog sex. So please just excuse me on that one, won't you?

A Warning

Tonight I saw the major motion picture "Blindness", not because I wanted to lose eight dollars to a film I had never heard of but because someone insisted that we see it. Let me just start by saying, that you should not waste your money. It was easily the worst movie I've ever seen. And though I usually kind of like bad movies, this was a complete exception. I hate using the obvious joke here, but I really would have preferred to be blind than to watch this again. Although that wouldn't even help, because even the soundtrack was horrible. Even the high points of most movies being violence and nudity, were bad in this movie. The five sex scenes were not in the least bit sexual, including the seven minute long blind orgy. Just utterly awful all around. So do me a favor, do not go to the theatre to see this. Do not buy it when it comes out on DVD, or bluray. Resist the urge to pick it up two years from now in the five dollar bin at Walmart where I know it will inevitably end up. Do not watch this movie with a mouse, do not watch this movie in a house. Just don't watch it okay? Okay. Thanks.

Someone owes me eight dollars.

This Will Be The Day That I Die

Why I'm a hot mess:

Yesterday I spent thirty two dollars on an abysmal lunch of sushi. This lunch was served by a guy whose house I once went to, where we discussed him passing out and cumming in his pants.

I spent the night with my sister discussing the getaway scene in "The Sound of Music", Reba Mcentire's dwindling vocal range, and the benefits of Tina Fey impersonating Sarah Palin.

I broke my ipod this morning, and am fighting with apple to get it replaced. From now on October the fourth will be referred to as the day the music died.

I miss my best friend something fierce-like. Sometimes you don't realize what a good thing you've got going on until it doesn't live across the street for nine months out of the year.

I am badly in need of a haircut. It's getting to the point that someone needs to physically restrain me and bring out the scissors as I writhe and scream protests.

Yesterday I went to Sonic, and didn't tip the not so attractive waitress a dime. Tonight I went to get a cherry limeade and tipped the very attractive waitress four dollars. I cannot believe I'm that guy.

Because I'm writing a list on why I'm a hot mess, instead of trying to do anything productive with my life. Goddamnit.