Jun 16 2010

Current Beef: The Name Game

Hey Kids.

Just checked the sign in sheet for an audition I’m on and the girl before me is named “Nebula.” Seriously? Her parents must be a real trip. At best they’re astronauts or quantum physicist, at worst they’re existential hippies or misguided scientologists. L. Ron Hubbard wasn’t even THAT cruel. What blows my mind more than dear Nebula, is the name of the girl signed in after me: Ashlin.

At first glance I’m sure you’d say “What’s the Beef?” Here’s the beef my friend: weird spellings and name combining/making up. I hate that! I hate it when parents have neither the gall to name their children something normal, nor the cojones to name them something crazy. They want a name that is “unique,” but safe. So they put a twist on the original, like spell Henry with a “I,” Chris with a “K,” or Ashlynn with an “in.” I once ran into an Alison who spelt her name Alycen (named after her aunt Alyce) and a Michelle who spelt her name M’shell (M’shell was black so I cut her a little slack. Like the inner city kid that Pork Sausage recently tutored named La-ah. Pronounced LaDASHa. Not kidding.) At least Nebula’s parents fucking put it out there.

Which brings me back to Ashlin. What’s worse than the spelling is the origin. Ashlynn is a Hybrid name that wasn’t invented until the 1980s (research, son). Couldn’t make a decision could we? Ashley or Lynn. So you mixed them. And in mixing them you exposed yourself as a weak human being and doomed your kids to the same genetic shortcoming. Indecisiveness is a prominent sign of weakness. In separate interviews Martha Stewart, Anna Wintour, and Oprah all sited decisiveness as they’re strongest trait. Their kids names are Charles and Katherine, Alexis, and no kids….respectively. Guess little Ashlin is fucked on the entreprenuer tip.

The latest offender of hybrid names is Katherine Heigel. Look at the fucking sweet ass NORMAL name your mother gave you and you slap her in the face by naming your kid Naleigh? Hmm shall we call her Nancy or Leigh? Why choose?! It’s not confusing enough that that poor Asian baby is gonna grow up with white parents, but the name too!?

And those fucking TWILIGHT books aren’t helping the situation AT ALL, thank you very much. Probably the worst offender to date! If you can top this, I’ll be a born again Christian because miracles DO exist. **Spoiler alert if you haven’t read “Breaking Dawn”** Bella names her fucking half-breed kid Renesmee. RENESMEE? In case you’re wondering in Gods green earth how one would come to that ridiculous name and how the hell you pronounce it, here’s the breakdown. It’s a hybrid of the kid’s grandmother’s names Rene and Esme: Renesmee. If she wasn’t already imprinted on by that Graduate-emulating-pervo Jacob, I’d say the girl was going to have a rough go in the dating world. I know its fiction but COME ON!

I could go on, but I won’t. For those of you that know my real moniker, you might call me a hypocrite. Well you can suck on it.

BURRITO


May 17 2010

Current Beef: Teeth Checkers

Hey Kids.

I swear to baby Jesus the simple question “Do I have anything in my teeth?” NEVER gets a straight answer.  I’m convinced we’re programmed as a race to respond to this question with instant self consciousness.  For some reason if you ask a friend “Does my hair look okay?” your friend will examine your hair and tell you.  But when it comes to teeth, this query is immediately met with a “Why? Do I have something in MY teeth?”

First of all, if you had something in YOUR teeth I wouldn’t be so convo-friggin-luded as to ask about mine.  I’d just say “Friend, you have something green in your sheen. Best be finding yourself a mirror and fix it.”

Second.  How selfish?  Your bud just mustered the courage to show you a mouth full of embarassment.  The least you could do is have his/her back.

So, next time someone asks you to oblige them with a teeth check, be an exception to the rule. Make like Nike and just do it.  Your friend will thank you.

BURRITO


Feb 23 2010

Current Beef: Zodiac-ers

Hey Kids!

I’m so perturbed…yes PERTURBED…with people who ask you your zodiac sign. Like you’ll be talking to someone, usually someone you haven’t known very long…OFTEN someone you just met, and they’ll interrupt you mid-sentence to say, “Wait, what’s your sign?” Then you tell them and they get all-knowing like they’ve  just figured you out. Like they understand your essence because you spouted out Leo or Virgo.

These people are bullshit!! Sometimes I just lie to see how they’ll react. And you know what? They react the same. It doesn’t matter what you say, their still gonna open that bag of self assurance. It’s their personal security blanket when the balance of power shifts your way. Trying ass-hard to convince everyone in the vicinity that they posses some sort of power over you. Just because you know Geminis are two faced and Aquariuses are social doesn’t make you a friggin oracle. See! Even I know that shit!

Well suck on it you zodiac-ers. I’ve come from too long a line of personally inflicted issues for anyone to figure me out that easy. And if you want the right to sit back and bask in you’re all knowingness of The Burrito, you’re gonna have to put in the hard time.

Peace.

BURRITO


Feb 1 2010

Current Beef: Fat Girls in Heels

Hey Kids!

What is it with fat girls in heels?  I mean honestly.  Don’t they know they look ridiculous?  Teetering around like a watermelon on chopsticks.  I just stare at them waiting for one to topple over.  It’s a friggin tower of Babel.  God does not want them getting that high up.

And, if they’re gonna wear ‘em why can’t they wear something substantial?  Something sturdy like a wedge, platform, chunky, or even spool!  But I swear to Jesus, it’s a strappy stiletto every time!  Like the slim heel shape will project on their ass size or something.   Do they honestly think the heels make them look slimmer?  ‘Cause they don’t!  Exact opposite in fact!  It just draws attention to how top heavy they are.

The shoes never fit either.  Those poor tootsies are strapped in like Vienna Sausages bound to a cutting board with guitar wire.  So rude.  The only swollen feet allowed to assault my eyes are the feet of pregnant women and cancer patients.  Other than that, put your pickles in a pump.

Look, I’m not saying that if you’re a little corpulent high heels are completely forebode.  I’m just saying think about the ramifications of your choices.  Like blond hair on Asians or Brazilian waxes on Women over 70, some things just aren’t meant to be.

BURRITO


Aug 2 2009

Current Beef: My Seller

Hey Kids!

So I feel I can officially say that I have had an absolutely terrible house buying experience.  I’m gonna chalk a lot of that up to the sellers, or seller (the wife) in particular.  Sneaky peeps.  She came off all young new mommy and glowing. Turns out shes a shark.

Seriously, she took advantage of my grandmother’s passing so she wouldn’t have to make repairs on the unit. Cold. Especially when I kept giving her the benefit of the doubt for her craziness because she’s pregnant with a second child.   And y’all know how unsympathetic I am when it comes to children or potential children.

I’m so pissed and hurt that I just mentally wished she would give birth to a two headed baby.  Then I took it back.  Not because I didn’t kinda mean it, but because thinking things like that is impure and impure thoughts get you sent to the big inferno.  Don’t get me wrong.  I’ve always felt there was a strong possibility I might end up there anyway.  But,  if I’m going to hell I’ll definitely end up seeing that JAP baby bearing bitch of a woman.  Shoot she’ll probably be sitting shotgun with her devil spawn and pussy whipped hubby.  That’s enough to scare me into goodness.    If she’s there, I want to stay the f**k away from hell.

And if you aren’t convinced she’s evil yet, consider this: only Satan would leave EVERY INCH of the house baby proofed.  EVERY INCH!  BITCH!

BURRITO


Jul 24 2009

Current Beef: Soap Boxes

Hey Kids.

Okay, I know what you’re thinking. I have beef with someone ranting and raving and speaking their mind a la the old “soapbox saying” that congers images of union workers standing on a crate of sorts and demanding a 2 1/2 cent raise…or Harvey Milk. Either that, or kids making shotty racecars in what is commonly called a “derby”—False! I’m talking about actual soap boxes. Two words. The kind you buy in 2, 4, 6, or 12 bulk packs. Dove, Caress, Safeguard, etc. Scented, Shea Butter, Sensitive, etc. Got it? Here’s why….

Each bar is individually wrapped (nice touch but unnecessary) and has a resealable tab. A TAB! Like its cereal or something you have to keep fresh. Are you going to open this flimsy cardboard box, remove your bar of soap, scrub a dub dub away, and then think, “Ahhh, I love Irish Spring. Better tuck it back into it’s box if I wanna preserve that fresh lather of ye ‘ol country.” Seriously? Even if you did use the box after using the soap– it’s cardboard. The slimy wet soap would tear a hole in that thing. So, lets say you let the soap dry out first, then put it in the box. Well what’s the flippin’ point in that? It’s already been laying out for hours being an eye sore.

I mean MAYBE if you travel with it, but drug stores specifically make and sell plastic soap travel boxes for this exact reason. If they really expected you to use the cardboard one, they’d be out of business now wouldn’t they? Plus, I never travel with bar soap…. only body wash. Any one who does is seriously trying to make their life harder. Just my opinion.

So my big question is this, or these rather: Why ARE there resealable tabs on soap boxes and how much money could the soap industry save by getting rid of them? I’m just saying. In these tough economic times, sometimes you gotta forfeit some luxuries, and I think axing soap box tabs is much more practical than terminating public summer school.

BURRITO


Jul 11 2009

Current Beef: Formal Chip Clips

Hey Kids!

What’s up with formal chip clips? Banana clips, whatever! All these rhinestone studded satin ribbon wrapped hair clips with springs. The concept is to make something like a special occasion seem easy. What? You’re meandering down the isle and you see a beautiful chip clip and think: Oi! This is perfect for those special occasions when I have to do my hair! But, I mean, isn’t the idea of a special occasion that it’s SPECIAL. I mean… who goes to THAT many formal events? I think I go to more formal events than the average person and even I want to take the extra time to do my hair up right. I’m like “dang! This is special. I’m gonna get my hair done!?” Not, “Oh man. I have to go to one of these things again! Twice in one year is too much work. If only I had something to make it easier…like a chip clip, but with a dressy twist.”

By the way, any respectable formal event would scoff at the trailer trash-ness of wearing a chip clip. I’m not being judgy, I’m just saying. I can only see it working on a girl who goes to like 10 public high school proms a year. And sure, these nuggets would seem comfortable at a shelf at Wal-Mart, but they sell them at the accessories department in Bendels and Neimans. Believe me, I would know.

I dunno.. Look, I don’t even wear a chip clip on a CASUAL daily basis. I honestly don’t think anyone has since the 90s, come to think of it. The only time I even pick one up is when I’m sectioning my hair for a good blow dry. And I’m usually naked with pimple cream and teeth whitening trays on when that’s happening.

The only person who I’ve seen effectively pulling this look off is Paris Hilton. ‘Nough said right?

Oh and P.S. I own one.

BURRITO


Jun 5 2009

Current Beef: Fake Pockets

Hey Kids.

Current Beef: Fake Pockets

What’s up with that?  I own a pair of jeans with fake front pockets and it drives me insane!!!!  They look great on my bum so I keep ‘em around, but inevitably everytime I wear them I try to either A) put something in them and feel like an ASS for 15-30 seconds while I struggle to pry open sewed down slit or B) attempt to diffuse an awkward moment by hiding my “Ricky Bobby” hands somewhere secure… like my pants…and instead am demoted to fiddling with my handbag, or WORSE looping my thumb through a belt loop.  Nobody ever falls for that look, btw.  

Back pockets, while far less abrasive, can be just as bad.  Especially for guys who actually utilize the back pocket regularly for wallet storage.  That’s actually what pisses me off about it!  Sexist jeans makers.  What?  They think that just cause we’re chicks we won’t notice they stiffed us on the back pockets?  Okay maybe we wont, at least not right away. BUT when we do.  It’s usually at the MOST in oppurtune time.  Like when a hottie decides to discreetly slip his number to you while copping a feel at the same time.  No pocket, no number…or sexual harrasment.   

Man up fake pocket people.  Just admit that you don’t have the money or talent to construct pants with proper holes.  We can take it!  I don’t mind pants sans pockets.  I just don’t like being lied to.  It’s disrespectful.  And makes me sad.

BURRITO


May 19 2009

Current Beef: RO

Hey Kids.

Current Beef: Ro

Ro is the lady at the bridal shop I called today to order my bridesmaid dress for Whoppers wedding.  I’m suppose to give her my measurements so she can asses the right size to order.  I give her my measurements (bust, waist, hips, etc).

“That’s weird,”  she mumbles.  

Okay, that’s something a woman never wants to hear. Being honest about your weight and/or measurements is a very emotional and vulnerable thing to do (something I’d only do for a good friend like Whoppers). The last thing we want to hear is “that’s weird.”  You might as well have said “you’re a fat cow.”  She then asks what my usual dress size is.  Hoping to explain away my “weirdness” (ie the strange fact that I’m not anorexic), I say…

“Ummmm 4 if its running large, 6 if its running small….” 

“Yeah. (almost indistinguishable chuckle but I caught it) Most bridal stuff runs small so-”

“Oh, well then let’s definitely go with the 6.”

“See the thing is your bust size, according to my chart, is definitely a 4. DEFINITELY.  But your waist is like a 12. Did you do your measurements right?”

Well obviously not, I’m thinking.  My boobs may be petite and my midsection may be lofty but I’m not a pregnant boy.  So I tell her I’ll re-do the measurements and get back to her.  She assures me its okay to pull the tape tight around my body…no slack.  SO I suck in as hard as I can and squeeze the measuring tape around my waste like it was a tourniquet.  1 INCH DIFFERENCE!  I call back.

“Hey Ro! (imagine best fake sorority sisters for life voice).  So, I redid the measurements.  You were TOTALLY right!  I measured them all wrong.  My waist is actually an inch smaller. Silly me!”

“Oh, well that still makes you a 12.  I’ve never seen measurements like this.  With the bust so small and the midsection so large.  I guess there is more give in that area so we’ll split the difference with an 10.”

“Look Ro, I’m sure it’s just the dress, or my measuring tape, or I’m probably just doing it wrong.  Put me down for a 6.”

“Yeah, its totally cool.  I won’t tell anyone.”

” No I understand you don’t want to tell anyone you’re CRAZY.  I get that.  Just put me down for a 6 and send me the bill thank you.”

“Most bridal wear runs large, it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“WOMAN I don’t even wear a 12 in European sizes.”

“Are you pregnant?  Are you having the baby before the wedding?”

That did it.  Call me fat but don’t you dare call me pregnant.  

“What is your name again?”

“Ro”

“Ho?”

“No”

“No?”

“No, my name is Ro. R-O”

“Ro-ho.  Put me down for an 8 or suffer the punishment of telling the bride she’ll no longer have a mexican side dish walking down the isle in mink.”  She caved.  

Figured I’d compromise.  8 is a fearsome number, but it ain’t double digits. Ro can suck on it.  My waste may be a little bigger than normal, but its nothing compared to the size of my fist in her face.  Look out Ro.  My freakishly small boobs and fat bastard belly are coming for you.  And if I’m as weird looking as you suspect, you might want to hide the children.  PS your name is Ro.  

BURRITO


May 13 2009

Current Beef

Hey Kids.

Starting a new category called “Current Beef.”  I will use this category to keep y’all updated on who I’m currently feuding with.  And I feud A LOT.  So, get ready to choose a team.  If you get excited and want to make t-shirts.  I’m cool with that.

Current Beef with… AGAVE NECTAR

I reject you, agave nectar.  Your attempts to be a lighter, more natural, honey substitute is a failure.  Yes, you’re extracted from a plant rather than a pollenous insect (which is admittedly less creepy).  Yes, your less viscous nature is easy to pour and makes for seemless inclusion in alcoholic beverages (obvious plus).  But make no mistake.  You are an impostor!    

“But I work well with others!”  You claim.  

“Ha!” I say.  

A self loathing black man donning Klan cloaks may be welcomed by the high wizard, but should he really be there…NO

Only a true star, like honey, can stand alone.  Example: Put agave on my toast this morning. Slid right off.  Messy and shifty. No thank you.  And what are the caloric returns of playing this slip and slide game? Zip. Ze-ro.  Even light agave has the same exact nutritional value as honey.  EXACT.  And just between you and me it takes twice as much to get anything half as sweet.

Conclusion: Stick to what you know Agave Plant.  And what you know is Tequila.  Yes.  Tequila is Nectar’s older, wiser, and more mature sister.   You can take all that desperate need for attention to the shrink.  In my book she’ll always be the favorite child.  

BURRITO