1. What's in your wallet?

Credit cards, those bonus saving cards from select stores, a few Sheckles left from my most recent trip to Israel that are pointless to exchange 'cause they equate to a total of $12.00 I think. Oh, and I have a single, lone, lonely, dollar. Poor little guy.

The same two condoms that have been there since junior high. They still haven't expired!

2.What's under your bed?

Probably my cat, and that black halter top with a white lace peack-a-boo lining that seemed to have magically disappeared. Hmmmmmmm.

My desk. I live in the human equivalent of a sardin can.

3.What's on that way top shelf or in the very far back of your closet?

I live in an apartment, so I'm not sure what "very far back" means, but the answer is clothes. All four of the closets my apartment comes with are filled with my clothes, as is the south wall of my bedroom which I had to convert into a make-shift closet to accomodate the remaining clothes those four closets can't. Yes, I have a lot of clothes.

Probably that Dr. Suess style giant vibrator B-rad got me when Ryan was being a douche and I told him I had lost my hetero-lifemate.

4.What's in your underwear drawer?

Underwear drawer? Hah. Like I have drawers. I rarely wear underwear anyway.

Boxer briefs. When you got abs like mine, they just look mighty fine! Hallelujah hollaback!

5.What's in the trunk of your car?

My PA system. I'm tired of carrying it up four flights up stairs and back down again every few days.

I live in NYC, my mode of transporation is bus number 11. If you don't get that, think about it.

6. What color is the underwear you're wearing at this moment?

I'm wearing shaved cooter style. I already said I don't usually wear undies.

Dark grey. They match my socks, how much do I rock?

7. Do you have a super-secret hiding place and what's in it?

Yes, and I hide the bulk of the snide, bitchy, shitty, totally churlish things I am dying to say but don't. Sad, huh? I'm even worse than I let on.

Why don't you come over to my sardine box and take a look around, then you can tell me where a good place to hide shit would be.

8. Do you feel guilty about something right now, if yes what?

Eating a piece of ice cream cake for breakfast. I love being female!

I'm Jewish. When don't I feel extreme pangs of guilt for absolutely no apparent reason?

9. What is the most embarrassing thing in your room right now?

The surfing bunny, which the dude I'm fucking got me so I had something to play with while he's away for two weeks. Least it's about the same size as him.

I have a whole slew of girls toys all over my apartment thanks to baby sitting my "daughter" this past weekend. The most embarassing is Butterscotch. The philly freaks me out, but what baby wants baby gets!

10. Have you done something recently you hope no one finds out about?

I downloaded the most recent Kelly Clarkson song. I'm so ashamed.

I jacked it at Eitan's mom's house. Don't give me that look. It was either crank one out, or walk around with a raging boner. His sister-in-law is hot, so I blame her.

11. What is your last thought before you fall asleep?

Christ, I have to be up in three hours and play lawyer. Damn insomnia!

My dick looks so big, even in my own hands!

12.How long have those leftovers been in the fridge?

My fridge has only liquids in it, and by liquids I mean a wide assortment of beer and alcohol.

Less than 24 hours. Chinky never lasts long in my cassssssaaaa.

13. If I confiscated your computer and took a look around....what would I find?

A lot of music and random shit I've written. Oh, and probably a few things I've had to do for work, seeing as this is my work computer.

I ain't gonna lie. Porn, porn, porn, and more porn.

14. Do you sleep with anything?

Hot guys only.

Lovely ladies! If they aren't lovely, just pass me a bottle of tequila and it's easily taken care of.

15. What is your midnight snack weakness?

Fruit Roll-Ups. Don't ask.

Midnight snack? Puhlease! If I'm awake and not fucking, I'm always eating something. Ask anyone who knows me and they'll tell you I'm a black hole for food.

16. Have you ever you shop lifted?

Yes. I love to walk on the wild side. WOOT!

How else do you get condoms in your younger years?

17.Have you ever vandalized anything?

Define vandalized.

Oh man! Remember when we flour and feathered Matt's car? Damn, we should do that again.

18. Ever danced with the devil in the pale moonlight?

Whatever you're smoking, please pass it my way.

I bust a move at all times. Ain't nobody who can out sprinkler me!

19. What do you wait until no one is looking to do?

Blow my nose. I can't do it in front of people.

Fart, 'cause when you eat as much as me and you're as big as me you best believe that there's going to be some wind tunnel action in your posterior when you let it rip.

kitty kat spoke at 7:05 AM and 2 people united to combat the evil fucking care bear stare

Monday, November 20, 2006

Is This Thing On? *taps microphone*

My, haven't we neglected this place? For like two fucking weeks, at that. For shame on us! For shame! In my own defense I've been working, and in Kitty's non-defense she's been on vacation for nearly two weeks. Blame her. Perhaps she should fulfill her responsibilities as a devoted blogger first, and then go surfing for hours a day!

Regardless, seeing as she's been home for a while and MIA on the internet front, I've taken it upon myself to completely embarrass her with a drunken photo of her on the beach, courtesy of Ranen, her little brother. Cell phones are awesome, aren't they?

That's right, drinking is bad.

Thank the lord almighty I had Ranen delete all the photos of me from her laptop and memory stick. I think this means war.

good'n'very plenty spoke at 10:13 AM and 1 people united to combat the evil fucking care bear stare

Tuesday, November 07, 2006

Hookahlakaniki You Know You Want To Lay Me

If you're an idiot, don't pay attention, or just have never read this blog before, I will repeat for the sake of glorious repetition that I'm Hawaiian.

Yup. I come from the islands, and no I don't wear grass skirts unless I'm provoked. Regardless, it dawned on me that I've been a rather shitty blog host, in that I haven't invited you in to see the culture of mah peepz. Thus, I have assembled a few choice phrases that may come in handy should you find yourself traveling to the islands. Enjoy!

On The Plane:

I am filled with admiration for my in-flight meal.

Kahaha ko'u na'au i ke 'ano o ka mea 'ai ma keia mokulele.

Baby, Severe Turbulance is my middle name.

E ku'u kumu e, mai hopohopo, ua kapa 'ia ko'u inoa waena, 'o ia 'o Severe Turbulance.

Customs:

Yes I have something to declare, "I need a shower!"

'Ae, he mea ko'u e ho'ike aku ai, "He pono no ka ho'i ke 'au'au kililau!"

Hold me, I am feeling faint.

E pa'a puliki mai, 'ane'ane ko'u maka i ka poniuniu.

At The Hotel:

This is a wonderful room for a dwarf.

He lumi maika'i keia e ku pololei ana i ke kanaka peke.

Thank you for this bed that will fit my leg.

Mahalo nui loa ia 'oe, ua loa'a mai kahi moe kupono o ka nui no ko'u wawae 'akau wale no!

This view of your parking lot is incredible!

He kuikawa ka 'ikena o kela wahi ho'oku ka'a e waiho kala'e ihola ma 'o!

It's a lovely gift, now please unwrap the toilet seat.

A 'o ia, he makana maika'i loa keia; aka, nau no e ho'ohemo i ka wahi pepa ma luna o ka noho lua la, ke 'olu'olu.

Fine Dining:

These really nice napkins seem to match my underclothing.

Ku maika'i keia mau kawele pepa i ke 'ano o ko'u 'a'ahu palema'i.

This Merlot is an ungrateful bitch.

He kanapapiki mahalo 'ole keia mea inu Merlot ia'u.

Waiter, my papaya has been previously fondled.

E ke kuene, ua milimili 'e 'ia neia mikana!

The busboy has cursed me and I am ashamed.

Ua ho'ohalahala 'ia mai nei au na ke kuene, a hilahila ihola au.

For The Doctor:

Can wearing a thong and running on the beach cause a rash like this?

Ua pili anei keia 'ohune i ke komo hawele li a me ka holo wawae ma kahakai?

Dammit man, what the hell kind of a doctor are you anyway?

E ke kamipulu, pehea la kou 'ano kauka 'ana mai?

There you have it. Happy travels!

kitty kat spoke at 9:06 PM and 3 people united to combat the evil fucking care bear stare

Friday, October 20, 2006

I'm Hungry. Someone Bring Me A Danish.

Alright. Aliecat asked for a new post on the grounds that seeing the word Vagisil has the affect of making a Sahara out of a moist fun time, and seeing as I can't really argue with that I am going to take one for the team, and post. Even though I have absolutely nothing to post about because I've been going insane at work trying to finish up three contracts, get a patent application finalized, and some other crap that's not really worth bitching about.

I guess I could talk about the most lowly creature in this world: men.

Basically, this week I've fallen off the face of the earth and have literally moved into my office on account of all the shit I have to do. Shockingly, when one falls off the face of the earth they pretty much no longer have contact with people who are merrily prancing upon the earth; however, that fact is so easily overlooked when you're prancing along enjoying the scenery.

I haven't been to practice in a week and a half, and yet that is totally fine. I haven't talked to the guy I've been pseudo half-assedly seeing [or in my words, hanging out with] for that entire week and a half either, and that is not cool at all. Rather than be like "Yo, bitch. What the fuck?" two days into my sabbatical from existence, he waited until last night to pull out the big guns:

"I don't know what I did, or anything, but I just wanted to apologize." To which I said, "Huh?" "Well, I sent you an e-card last Thursday, a text message last Friday, a text message last Monday afternoon, and I heard nothing for 6 days. If you don't want to talk to me anymore, that's cool."

Men. I'm only going to give you this nugget of awesome information once, so put down your dick any pay attention.

YOU CANNOT PULL THE PASSIVE AGGRESSIVE GUILT FACTOR WITH A WOMAN.

Did you get that? Did you internalize it? Put it on a piece of paper. Tattoo it on your fucking forehead, do whatever you have to do, just DO NOT! forget that. You will never, ever, ever, be able to get a straight answer from a woman if you pull that passive aggressive bullshit with us. Why? Because unless we did something egregiously wrong, there's no way in hell we'll take such action as anything other than you being a spineless, needy, fucker. Why? Because that's how we women folk roll, and that's how we get what we want from you men folk; therefore, we are more hip to your little "game" than you ever could possibly be and you won't beat us at the game we have not only perfected, but have made into an art such that the passive aggressive guilt we seed in your head is seemingly nothing more than your own ideas.

Bottom line: Don't play mind games with a Jedi mind fucking master. Women are the Jedi mind fucking masters, so just don't even bother men.

kitty kat spoke at 7:00 AM and 7 people united to combat the evil fucking care bear stare

Sunday, October 15, 2006

Vagisil. Yea. I Said It.

Praise fucking Moses, yo. My girlfriend and the little stink nugget are out of my life until next Sunday. I feel like a kid on Christmas, or what I imagine a kid feels like on Christmas. It's not that I don't love having my girlfriend around, cooking and cleaning up after me, and the little stink nugget is kind of cute in that I think I've dropped a deuce that weights more than you kind of way, but it's nice to have my place to myself for a little while.

It's rather interesting that when you enter into a relationship, someone's living quarters becomes communal in the sense that it becomes a little less yours and little more ours. I have no idea how the place is selected because if I knew I would make sure that my place was never up to selection par, but it's pretty much inevitable that before you know it, you find yourself always at your place and them never at theirs. It's not the same as having a roommate, because even your bed is the subject of invasion.

My place has been invaded by a 5'10'' Aphrodite and her little stink nugget, and I didn't really have an issue with it until I went into the bathroom cabinet below my sink and found a whole shit load of her shit and my shit no where to be found. Tampons, make-up, hair products, a blow dryer, a curling iron, more moisturizers than I thought any human could possibly need, a funky heating contraption for her eyelashes, I even found a tube of Vagisil which quite frankly scares me. I didn't find extra can of shaving cream I keep down there for when the original runs out. That was no where to be found. I also have no clue

I'm fine with her adding things to my laundry, I'm fine with her staking out a section of my closet for her crap, I'm fine with keeping my lone four pairs of shoes in the linen closet so she can keep her shoe "options" open, and I'm even find with her keeping shit-even Tampons and Vagisil-in my bathroom, but that's the logical side of me. The non logical side of me feels like I'm being phased out of my own apartment which I pay for, along with my roommate. I've been on the other end of the communal living spectrum and I can't ever remember bringing over an arsenal of shit with me and leaving it there. I can't even remember my girlfriend who lived with me in college having this much crap in our place.

Kitty says to talk to her about it, decide if I see this relationship evolving into something more than hanging out and sex, or stop bitching about it. Unfortunately, Kitty is also the first Jewish nun (because she gets none and hasn't in a while) in existence and that's all attributable to the fact she's one blunt little girl who doesn't understand the meaning of walking on egg shells. Thus, I throw this out there to blogland for suggestions because while little Ms. Kitty can't understand it, I don't want the sexin' to stop along with the Vagisil collection growth.

good'n'very plenty spoke at 3:53 PM and 14 people united to combat the evil fucking care bear stare

Tuesday, October 10, 2006

Friendships are Painful

I think GNVP's story pretty much illustrates that too a tee, afterall, not only did he get worked like a part time job, but he got worked like a part time job by A GIRL!

Right, so back to my point, which has nothing to do with GNVP getting his ass beat by A GIRL, friendships can be rather painful. I'm not talking in the sense that they make you feel pain in an emotional way, but in a physical way.

"But Kitty!" I hear you say, "violence is never the answer, especially amongst friends." And, in response I say "No fucking shit; however, when one is addicted to the magical art of getting objects permanently placed into their skin, friendship turns into much more than a field of flowers. It turns into a force to be reckoned with and bad, bad, bad decisions."

The first tattoo I ever got was the result of not my own volition, but accompanying a friend to get his, and from that moment [at the tender age of 18] on a trend and tradition hath commenced. I cannot walk into a tattoo shop without getting something. It's horrible. I exceeded the white trash tattoo limit before I even hit 21.

When Noah picked me up from the airport and told me that he was planning on getting another tat, he knew exactly what he was doing, the asshole! Nothing says gay like:

His and hers

star tattoos.

And now I go back to figuring out why the fucking javascript that makes pretty little champagne bubbles appear on the page isn't working.

kitty kat spoke at 5:54 PM and 15 people united to combat the evil fucking care bear stare

Sunday, October 08, 2006

I Really Should Be The Walrus.

Goo Goo Gajoob Yo.

First and foremost, I'd like to allow you the opportunity to formally welcome me to this lovely little world we entitle blogland. Go ahead. Make it rather speedy, and make sure you mention how awesome I am at least twice. Got it? Excellent.

Next, I'd like to extend a heartfelt middle finger to Kitty for picking a most homosexual picture of me to post on the site. As pay back it was my initial idea to tell a rather embarrassing story of Ms. Kitty. Perhaps the one about drunkenly stripping on a bar at a frat party and being caught by an older brother at the tender age of 14, or maybe I could delve into that one time when she totally fell flat on her face as she smiled, took her diploma, and turned towards the camera at our high school graduation. I could talk about how she got ditched three times in one night by three separate guys, and had to call me at 2am to pick her up, or about the numerous times I've had to roll on down to the county jail and pick her ass up because drunk tank seems to be her best drinking buddy.

But then I realized she took time out of her surfing and sun bathing to comply with my wish for a less homotastic template. It's a bit slap dash, but I think it's rather awesome for a rough go. The bubbles make me tingle. So, I'm really left with nothing to talk about and have opted, instead, to write a story. Get comfty, boys and girls.

She stood there. Rather pissed off, rather unsure of what to do, and completely enraged. She could not understand why this scrawny little boy would not comply with her wishes. It was simple enough: Get out of the swing. The repercussions where simple enough, too: Pain. Yet, there he was, swingingly gaily and freely without so much as a care in the world. Afterall, who listens to girls, let alone girls who just moved into town.

So there they were. Him, swinging with the greatest of ease. Her, standing with her hands on her hips staring at him with the now dubbed "non-look death stare," absolutely fuming over the situation. And there was entire elementary school, standing around Him and Her awaiting and hoping for confrontation.

"That's my swing!"
"Not right now it's not. It's my swing now."
"Well get your disgusting scrawny butt out of my swing. It's mine, and I want to use it now."
"No."
"I'm not asking you to do it, I'm telling you to get OFF. OF. MY. SWING!"

And then he said those two words that has passed everyone's lips at one point or another, either in sarcasm or expected confrontation. He looked down at her from the swing as he glided up into the air and said "Make me!"

She did. With the precision of Mr. Miagi's fly catching chop sticks, she stared at him while he went up into the air and back, watching his motion for about two minutes, and then she leaped. She leaped straight onto him. She knocked him right out of the swing, had him on the ground and was sitting on his chest and punching him in the face. Immediately, a few of the onlooking children ran to the surrounding play grounds to round up her brothers, and as brother number one, two, three, and four arrived to witness her giving the thrashing of a lifetime, they all stood back smiling and said "That's my baby sister." It wasn't long before a teacher saw what was going on and split the two apart.

She walked away with an in-school suspension, he walked away with a broken nose and an in-school suspension. What other end result could there be, other than to have two kids who just had an altercation spend an entire week in the same room for eight hours a day?

She walked away with a reputation for being a bad ass, he walked away with an understanding of what it means to be humble, and they both walked away with a friendship that knows no limits, no bounds, and no time frame.

And for those who didn't get it, that's how I met Kitty. Luckily for her I had a deviated septum and had to get my nose done anyway, otherwise my godly and awesome profile may have come between us.

good'n'very plenty spoke at 3:21 AM and 12 people united to combat the evil fucking care bear stare