Downer Time.

You best believe that when I settle this insurance stuff and I get a new computer I'll be back. I'm not sure it will warrant an "I'm Back"(it was "He's Back" wasn't it?) headline from the Sun-Times like when Michael Jordan made his comeback but it will be just as magnificent. I'll be unleashing all of the bottled up bitterness. Until then...

Wild Man.

If you want to know what type of music I like to listen to when I'm about get totally wild. Here it is. I mean there is a song called, "Flip That Bitch a Few Times" (and it's excellent) so you know they're not holding any thuggery back. And I don't even know what "Flip That Bitch a Few Times" means but it sounds like it might be kind of fun and dangerous. Here are some words from Juicy J:

“I’mma say it like this right here my nigga, youknowimsayin? This mu’fucka jammin like a mu’fucka, youknowimsayin…get cho lighter, get cho mu’fuckin weed, get cho mu’fuckin blunts, get cho mu’fuckin weed papers, get cho mu’fuckin bitches together, get cho mu’fuckin pills, get everything you need to get to keep yo ass so motherfuckin fucked up while your listening to this motherfuckin mixtape. Get that shit, put that shit in yo system & just play this bitch nigga.”

Two thumbs way up. If you were wondering if there was a song that uses a gunshot as part of the beat, wonder no more. There are several. By the way let me remind you that this guy has a motherfuckin' Academy Award.

NYC Blizzard 2010.

IF you watch the Official Katy Perry "Fireworks" video, you will probably be more entertained. It might be the greatest thing I've ever seen. I especially like the part where the self-conscious fat girl sheds her fears, takes off her clothes, and jumps into the pool. It's perfect. After all, I'm just a fat girl getting ready to take off my clothes and show the world my gigantic disgusting stomach and my too-small thong. (Is any sized thong big enough?) Don't throw up. Just watch the Fireworks.

Katy Perry sure is magical.

Oh yea. Just in case you are about to get mugged, make sure you are ready to perform magic tricks at all time. Instead of getting your money, they'll get a free show!

Christmas. Or "Xmas" if you're an asshole.

This is how my Christmas started:

What's this? Santa (aka my aunt and uncle) sent me a package.

I hope it's filled with quarters!

Uh oh...

Tubby Time!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This is me happy. This is also me not doing a good job wearing my retainer.

Thank you Jesus! Think about how awesome he is. Everyone else gets gifts on HIS birthday. Incredible.

One of my gifts to myself:

You know your team is pathetic when you have this loser on your tickets? That would be like the Bulls putting Will Perdue on their tickets. Which would actually be totally awesome.

Pretty Decent tickets. Or as some assholes would say, "tix."

You better believe I had my red Bulls shirt on. After taking off my jacket, it only seemed right to start yelling at all of the Knicks fans. Most used line of the game: "C'mon Rose dunk on these garbage ass bitches!"

How many bum bitches can you fit on one half of a basketball court? Let's start counting.

At one point all of the white players on the Bulls were fetching the balls and passing them to all of the true ballers. Post-racial America!

Since I went Hard In Da Paint on Christmas Eve I had to nurse my hangover. $5 for this bottle of water with no cap. I asked the vendor why I couldn't have the cap. "Because people like to throw bottles in Madison Square Garden." I guess when your team sucks for twenty-something years you ain't poppin' bottles. You're throwin' 'em.

Probably the worst jersey in basketball. What the fuck is a "Felton?"

M.V.P. = This guy. This picture doesn't do him justice but he talked mad shit the entire game (as did I). Every time Stoudemire got the ball he'd yell "OVER. RATED." Everyone in our section hated him. In this picture he's lecturing some young fools about how worthless the Knicks are. Right on.

I bought myself these 3 items that I really love. Cost me a fortune. You know I gotta make sure I'm always playin' pretty in this steez game.

This is what I looked like at the beginning of Christmas Eve. You have my permission to jerk off to this picture if you're really sick and twisted. I won't judge.

This is what I felt like Christmas morning. Children, this is a hangover.

But when you're Marty. This is also a hangover!

Happy Holidays. Hope you had fun. I sure as hell did.

Demetri Martin.

His choice of color for this outfit is the only reason I picked this picture.

I really need to stop running into people I truly respect so I can devote more of my time and blogspace to meaningless bullshit. Can't do it. I had the pleasure of meeting Demetri Martin today and although I didn't have to change my underwear after our conversation, I can confidently say he is an inspiration. I've been a fan of his ever since I heard his "Vests" joke. (If you're interested it's on the track "Some Jokes" off of These Are Jokes). I never know what to say when approaching famous people but I made sure I avoided, "Can I ask you a question?" Because I'm sure a million clever things about asking to ask a question would have ran through his mind and he wouldn't have been able to focus on giving me advice. And boy did he give me some really awesome advice. Apparently it took him more than 7 years to be able to make a living doing comedy. That in itself is impressive. I try to think about what I've accomplished in the past 7 years. I'm not really sure. But I know the creator of this video spent the last 7 years making this...

...and that might just be better than what Demetri has accomplished.

Tomorrow I'll talk about having sex with trees. I promise.

It's That Time Of The Year.

As many people are flying home to spend time with their families, I've been pondering what I should do for Christmas. I have the apartment to myself for the next week or so and instead of devoting all of my time to being a complete weirdo, I've decided to attempt to do something new and noble. My original plan was to volunteer on Christmas day. I thought I'd be able to serve food to my homeless friends or spend time with the elderly. Then I realized that the Bulls are playing the Knicks at the Garden and decided that my stinky homeless friends and the elderly can let the guilty white people help them out. The only bums I'm going to be around are the ones wearing royal blue and orange that my man D-Rose is going to be shitting on.

But that isn't enough. I've gone through a list of people who are very important to me and wondered if any of them were in my position and if so, what they plan on doing for the holidays. This made me think of one very influential person that has had a really profound effect on my life: Ja Rule. Mr. Rule was sentenced to two years in prison for a gun charge a couple of weeks ago and it doesn't look like he is going to be spending time with his family (Ashanti, J. Lo, Charlie Baltimore, all the big-booby video hoz, etc.). Poor guy. So since both Ja and I can't be with our families this year. I decided I would spend some quality time with him while I'm sitting around trying really hard not to do terrible things to myself in my empty apartment.

So I've spent time looking at pictures of Ja Rule and listening to his music (2 songs) trying to figure out where he took a wrong turn.

On the 17th day of Christmas my true love gave to me. 17 (out of 41) shirtless Ja Rule pictures. I'd keep counting certain things (2 smiles, 2 Jerry Curls, 1 AK, 1 Female, a shitload of "I'm real, for real." pics) but a blind man could tell what is Ja Rule's problem: He doesn't have any friends. There are 3 pictures of him with other people (that 50 Cent diss picture doesn't count and is about as lame as can be). Is it because he never has a shirt on? Or is it because he has that stupid ass look on his face? Or is it because he has a weird pre-pubescent mustache thing going on? Ja help me make sense out of all of this!

I can do all of Ashanti's neck swivels.

DMX and Ja on the same song? Gives me a sore throat just thinking about it. Guess what? They're both in prison and they both like not wearing shirts and they both sound ridiculous. I hope both of their Facebook profiles say: Looking For: Friendship. But I'm sure it says: Looking For: Big Booty Bitchez. I don't blame 'em.

15K Results.

After an exhausting last few days, I finally have time to sit around and complain. I probably should be really satisfied with my 15K time but that would be too convenient. I was really hoping to beat 63 minutes and I am pretty upset with myself that I didn't. But I did learn a few things about racing. Next time I'll be sure to be on time instead of being 10 minutes late. The entire race I had to run on the outside of everyone because I was stuck behind the idiots that were too busy talking about their most recent PTA meetings and trips to IKEA (seriously, I overheard a few seconds of those conversations, it's also good to know that even when I'm running I find time to think about how much I hate people). So I think if I was with people running a similar pace as me it would have helped. But I shouldn't be making excuses.

Overall the experience was worth it. I had a lot of fun on the train on the way to the race, wondering what times certain people would have. My guesses:

• Big muscular douchebag with the Tap Out shirt on: 1:10:54. Chesticles=too big.
• Little Asian girl that can't stand still: 1:23:45. Stop pacing and stretching, you're not breaking any world records.
• Black dude who looks like he's really into Anime and learning Japanese: 1:05:21. These type of dudes freak me out.
• Homeless man: How do you make the infinity sign on this damn computer?
• Black dude who is looking at his own reflection while rapping that latest Gucci: Where the party at?
• Little blonde hardbody: Don't matter what your time is because you're running through my mind girl.

Oh yeah, and Thank You Caitlin Marz for talking me into it. Hopefully it is the first of many.

The thing that upsets me the most about this whole race business. Two people named "Todd" beat me. And of course I met one of them on the train home. Pure misery.