Narcolepsy looks like this:

This whole falling asleep everywhere thing is really getting to me. Earlier this week, I crashed at a diner in Hollywood following the Radiohead show. The last thing I remember was Devin saying, "you want Belgian waffles? you ordered waffles," as my finger hazily slid off some item on the menu, then everything fades to black.

My sis said they thought I'd ben ruffied, and were really worried about me aside from them and the waiter laughing their asses off as I was scooted away from the edge of the booth to the comfy corner.

I woke up the next morning thinking, hey...did I eat waffles?

I know I may not be used to such excitement, but two glasses of wine and a half a heineken shouldn't be enough to knock someone out to the point of no return two and-a-half hours later.

God help me.

I've ordered pancakes before, eaten them, and then fallen asleep and not remembered the pancakes in the morning. And it's not just a late-night diner/carbohydrate thing. I can't make it through a movie if it's after 8pm. Or before 8pm. I fell asleep last year in the tent at Coachella. There's pictures. And yesterday I dozed off, again, on the freeway going through downtown.

So this is my memoir. If I die today as I pass out in the middle of a crosswalk or when I jump the highway interchange, I'd like everyone know I didn't expect to make it as long as I did.

Pie VS Pie

My friend recently asked me which I like better: cake or pie. Now that's a hands down easy answer. I say pie takes the cake. Cake is waaay overdone. There are too many people constantly having birthdays for it to be as special as pie.

Pie means Thanksgiving or Christmas. At my house, pies are pretty serious. My mom is a superfly pie baker, and I'd say I got the pie thing from her. They're fun to make, they make your kitchen smell all good, and they taste so ultimately good when you eat them that same day.

With that said, when people buy pie from Costco and bring it to my house for Thanksgiving and Christmas, I want to kick their asses out with their shitty-ass pies.

There's no love in Costco.

They just blew an opportunity to make something really good for the ones they love. If you buy me a pie, I take it personally, and I have mediocre, obligatory feelings toward you too.

Consider yourself forewarned. Your relatives will secretly or subconsciously hate you if you bring apple pie from Marie Calendars that looks like it might as well have chicken and vegetables in it.

I say start practicing now. You have 13 weeks till T-day.

PS. The best Thanksgiving food I ever had was the leftovers from my roommate Keven's family. They're Persian.

You are beautiful in EVERY SINGLE WAY

Look what those dove commercials have gone and done. 365 days of Heather is the title of this Flickr photo stream. 365 photos tagged with 8-12 times each. To show I'm not just being mean (i am being a little mean), here's the link so you can indulge in Heathers cabinet of curiosities yourself.
http://flickr.com/photos/hrwworcester/sets/72157603275872506/

More reason to love poodles and english bulldogs, and jason.

I can't put my finger on what I like most about this image, but I think it is one of the finest examples of composition and symmetry known to man and beast. Wooo! On your knees, bitches!

Consider yourself warned still

Content warning proved to be too annoying, as firewalls were blocking people from looking at this work appropriate blog at work.

Fish Steew

Jamie Oliver, better known as the Naked Chef, had been my dreamboat for a very long time. I know he's married and has kids and all, but I started watching the cooking channel show way before I knew that. He fumbles erratically for homegrown ingredients around his rinky dink flat exclaiming things like, "and Bob's your uncle!" once he blanched some broccoli.

I went gaga when he pronounced Herbs with a hard 'H,' and making the word Basil like a sheep—BAAsil. HOT.

His endearing dorkiness for food and fucked up lisp/stutter combo is what really did it for me. His sloppy Bart Simpson mouf and the miscevious glint in his eyes keyed me in that he goes super kinky with food in the bedroom.

Here's where it all went wrong:
http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-3174278649926342867&q=jamie+oliver&ei=ARyMSK6xMYzCqAPO3ImuBA

and: http://www.tradebit.com/filedetail.php/829028-Music




I've been out of the Naked Chef/ Cooking channel loop lately, so when I stumbled across these I was pretty much shocked. I trusted he was on a good grounded path. But Since when does the Naked Chef produce a painful Reggae song about lamb curry, or do backup vocals for a disney song about fish stew? In principle, I like them, but they are in actuallity a little too lame. They're written to capture an Oprah audience of 43 year old white women. I watched them clap along, but personally i think they were just being nice.

The lyrics go: "I wanna fish stew. I wanna move your body."

Um, not the kind of BR food fun i was thinking.

I'm so disappointed in him, and glad it didn't ever work out. What an a-hole sellout.

Here's a super rad sellout tribute portrait, complete w/ Bon Jovi Hair and purple lighting. You can zoom in and out to get an idea of that brilliant mug I used to know and love: http://www.tvscoop.tv/jamieoliver2.jpg

How Jesus Ruined Christmas

Every Christmas, my darling sister Lindy gives me and my sis Kacie charming token gifts from a West Hollywood gas station. Usually part of the appeal is opening them in front of our parents, so that they can share the delight in naked body builder lighters and xxx-mas cards that say "someone's blowing Santa Clause."

Last year it was this refrigerator magnet. When mom saw it, she lost her marbles. We/Lindy had hurt her very deeply and worse, hurt Jesus. Sis boned out for about 3 hours and we were afraid she wasn't coming back for Christmas brunch. It wasn't pretty, but I still think it was worth it.

I personally really like Gay J.