Sunday, March 23, 2008
Christ is risen like a honey first thing in the morning
Happy Jesus Resurrection Day, everyone! My Easter wasn't as great as last year's, in which I missed church because I was brutally, paralyzingly hung over from LL Cool Jew's epic wedding, then I ate a Easter dinner of pepperoni pizza, beer, and pussy. This Easter was a little more traditional. I went to Mass, ate some bacon and eggs, and then watched some basketball and drank beers with some grad school peeps, including my go-to Catholic pals SisterChristian and G-Cat. SisterChristian is much better at being Catholic than I am, since I'm a total CEO (Christmas-Easter only). She even went to the Easter Vigil the night before, something I avoid like the plague on account of it being longer than an extended edition Lord of the Rings movie, and way less exciting on account of its lacking epic battles, the horse-lords of the Riddermark, or Gimli son of Gloin. There's usually an hour and a half of random baptisms alone during the Easter Vigil, but SisterChristian isn't deterred in her quest to have a good church attendance record.
Luckily, she's not so devout that she gets annoyed when I make wisecracks about the liturgical proceedings. In fact, she giggles at them. She told me that when G-Cat and I started snickering about the hymn lyrics from "Victimae Paschali Laude" (specifically, "angelicos testes") she had to determinedly look away to avoid laughing uncontrollably through the renewal of baptismal vows. She's perfected the skill of averting her gaze at religious events, because she spent some of her childhood in the Philippines, where they actually crucify people to celebrate Holy Week. I think she's glad to be able to look away to avoid laughing about her church buddies' sacrilegious commentary rather than seeing the horrifying sight of some extremely pious volunteer getting nailed to a cross. When G-Cat started making jokes about how the priest sprinkled us with holy water with what appeared to be a bunch of arugula and I stage-whispered "IT BURNS!" upon getting splashed, she couldn't hold back any longer. Mass was a rollicking good time.
I need to make irreverent jokes during church to keep it fresh and fun. Every year it's pretty much the same story: Mary Magdalene goes to the tomb while it's still dark to spray JC's body with spices or something, the tomb's empty, and the VIP apostles stand around scratching their heads being amazed. I wish the Catholics would mix it up once in awhile with something besides John 20: 1-9. For example, this interpretation of Christ's resurrection:
Anyway, happy Easter! Alle-fucking-lulia! Christ is risen! WOOOO HOOOO!
Labels: Catholicism, Dear God, SisterChristian
Wednesday, December 05, 2007
Daily Douchebag: Plum Pomidor
DOB: 2005
Occupation: getting grad students staggeringly drunk on a Tuesday night
Douchebaggery: Yesterday afternoon, I remembered that it was Tuesday, and that on Tuesdays, Parrilla, this steakhouse down the street from work, has $2 beers during happy hour. So I dragged SisterChristian over there after lab, and then convinced J-Sexy that she should swing by after she finished giving inspirational speeches to junior high kids about STDs and careers in science, or whatever do-gooder stuff she does Tuesday evenings. At 7, when the $2 beer supply dried up, SisterChristian wisely decided to go home. I was not quite ready to be responsible, however, so I convinced J-Sexy that we should go to Plum Pomidor, this bar/restaurant up the street, for one cocktail.
Last week, we did this and had two drinks...nothing serious. J-Sexy, however, swore that she would never drink another dirty martini. I was planning to stick to beer, but the moment we walked in, Ed the bartender said something along the lines of "here comes trouble" (apparently he remembered the loud conversation I treated the entire bar to about the three Bs--blowjobs, buttsex, and bisexuality.) Then he said, "I think you probably want a Johnnie Walker Black" and my plan to stick to beer was promptly out the window. J-Sexy forgot last week's vow and ordered a dirty martini. Then some dude at the bar bought us both another round. Then we did switch to beer, but Ed gave us a round of complimentary tequila shots. Then Ed gave us another round of beers. By the time we left, not only were we a couple of drunk bitches, we were the last customers in the bar and somehow J-Sexy actually decided that we should do yet another round of tequila shots. Who the fuck thinks it's a good idea to do tequila shots on a Tuesday night? DRUNKS, that's who.
Anyway, I got home wasted at around 1 a.m., only to hear the sound of my upstairs neighbor, this obnoxious hippie jazz musician who I hate almost as much as spiders, raisins, and housework, HAVING SEX! I at least heard this repetitive thumping sound that sounded an awful lot like the noise my bed makes when some honey is all thrusting up on me. "How is that asshole getting laid? More importantly, how is he getting laid when I am NOT?" I wondered. He looks like the bastard child of the Crypt Keeper and a stringbean, with a goatee. I shuddered thinking about the quality of the pussy he brought home. I should have stayed at the bar and tried to take home the bartender. He did have a couple tequila shots, and while I'm not usually into guys with reddish hair, he's pretty hot. And he gave me a knuckle pound for being "a wolf" as far as my sexuality is concerned, noting something about being able to recognize his own kind. I bet I could have hit that if I'd hung around, and I guarantee we would have outsexed jazz boy and whatever fugly bitch he brought home. Hmm...maybe next Tuesday I'll remember to dress sexier. Yesterday I was rocking some serious Smith lesbian couture as I'm a little behind on my laundry.
Sadly, I did not get laid, I missed the episode of "Nip/Tuck" that Tiffany "New York" Pollard guest-starred in, I had to listen to jazz boy getting ass which grossed me out, I got a truly insufficient amount of sleep, and now I'm hung over. No more tequila Tuesdays! Bad Razzy! Bad Plum Pomidor! Bad!!!!
Labels: alcoholism, Daily Douchebag, J-Sexy, Razzification, SisterChristian
Monday, November 26, 2007
Razzy: Homemaker of the Year
I'm sure you're all wondering how my Thanksgiving went, because you were likely spending the holiday weekend agonizing about my lack of bloggery, as you all undoubtedly spend approximately 99.999999999% of your time thinking Razzy-filled thoughts. I know. But sorry, dudes, even beloved internet icons ("beloved internet icon"=loser with nothing better to do than live vicariously through her own blog) like myself need to take a couple days off from the grueling useless bullshit business sometimes. I actually had a lot of work. My buddy G-Cat and my newest labmate SisterChristian and I decided to host all the grad students who were away from their families for Thanksgiving. G-Cat provided his apartment, SisterChristian provided assistance, and I provided my vast culinary expertise. It was no small feat, as we ended up feeding around 20 people. I made two turkeys in two ovens in two different apartments, stuffing, five quarts of gravy, mashed potatoes, baked macaroni and cheese, three pies, yams, guacamole, and a turkey sculpture out of cheese logs.
Okay, I had some help with everything (except the work of art that is that turkey cheese sculpture, which I lovingly handcrafted myself), but I was basically the head chef and in charge of everything. I pulled it off, garnering rave reviews for my culinary skills.
"Razzy, I didn't think you were this domestic," said one of the orphan grad students attending our soiree.
"As far as wife skills go, I can fuck and I can cook, but I'm shit at cleaning," I explained.
"Two out of three ain't bad," he said (failing to credit Meat Loaf for the quote). I agree, and I think cleaning is the one thing you can get away with sucking at. You can always hire a maid, but men definitely like it better if you can bang the daylights out of them and then feed them a delicious meal. Too bad I'm not in the market for a MRS degree, because I'd be one hell of a capable wifey.
The one area, however, where my homemaking skills fall short is the fact that I do all this cooking looking like a hot trashtastic dyke, with my practical knotted hair, my wife-beater, and my toned upper arms. The fact that before G-Cat could come carve the turkey like the man of the house should, I decided to teach J-Sexy and SisterChristian how to do lesbian sex to it doesn't exactly paint me as a virtuous keeper of home and hearth:
Looks like I just shot to hell my chances of being declared the heir apparent to June Cleaver. Somehow I suspect the people who give out awards based on homemaking skills might frown on teaching bitches how to find a roasted piece of poultry's G-spot. Oh well. At least the turkey tasted good. Better than some snatches I've licked, that's for sure (just kidding, special girlfriends). Plenty to be thankful for anyway!
"Razzy, I didn't think you were this domestic," said one of the orphan grad students attending our soiree.
"As far as wife skills go, I can fuck and I can cook, but I'm shit at cleaning," I explained.
"Two out of three ain't bad," he said (failing to credit Meat Loaf for the quote). I agree, and I think cleaning is the one thing you can get away with sucking at. You can always hire a maid, but men definitely like it better if you can bang the daylights out of them and then feed them a delicious meal. Too bad I'm not in the market for a MRS degree, because I'd be one hell of a capable wifey.
The one area, however, where my homemaking skills fall short is the fact that I do all this cooking looking like a hot trashtastic dyke, with my practical knotted hair, my wife-beater, and my toned upper arms. The fact that before G-Cat could come carve the turkey like the man of the house should, I decided to teach J-Sexy and SisterChristian how to do lesbian sex to it doesn't exactly paint me as a virtuous keeper of home and hearth:
Labels: bestiality, gluttony, grad school bullshit, intentional buffoonery, J-Sexy, lezbollah, perversion, Razzification, SisterChristian
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