Sunday, August 14, 2011

We're Golden

You know what they say-

Can't polish a turd.


You can dip that shit in gold.

Then what you've got is a golden turd- a hunk of shit masquerading as something bright, shiny, and worth something.

Friday, May 20, 2011



This is a description my friend uses an awful lot, mostly to describe the idiots he works with.

I love this word, it's amazing, and when I think about it I always imagine something like this:

Wednesday, May 18, 2011

Take it with you

If your house is burning, what would you take?

Since I'm neurotic this is something I think about quite often- that and what I will do when the Zombies attack. Yes, I said "will," not "would." IT WILL HAPPEN.

Anyway- so these photos are really cool because you can tell a lot about a person just by these few items they'd choose. I'd imagine I'd be taking a lot of notebooks, my laptop, running& snowboard gear, and a lot of randomly sentimental items like my carved wood statue of Don Quixote given to me by a college professor.

Name: Lauren Spisak
Age: 34
Location: Cleveland, Ohio
Occupation: Massage therapist; blogger; lover; mad genius

When the Rapture hits, are you going to heaven? Well your dog isn't. He's staying with me!

On Saturday May 21st the world is supposed to be Rapturized. I'm fairly confident since I'm not a christian I'll be one of those left behind to suffer, throw a giant "I survived the Rapture" party and loot all the departed wealthy Christians homes (They don't need it anymore, and my TV is from 2003. It takes 2 Mr. Unvierses to carry.)

Oh, and by the way, I'm taking your dog- because your dog can't come with you. Neither can your newt, your cat, your goldfish or 10 foot boa.

In all seriousness though, I neither want to, nor can, take all your pets. I don't really care about rabbits or guinea pigs or ugly dogs. I would say Chinchilla as well, however a pair of my friends own one, and I know they won't be going anywhere, we'll still be here drinking whatever fine wine we can gather from you rapturized suckers.

If you DO care about your pet, have no fear, I have just the answer for you.

But, again, seriously- when the rapture doesn't happen, we should be able to cut these fools off. One guy has made several of these predictions, and we should be able to laugh them off the planet and make sure they know they're idiots.

We can do it with giant stickers on their billboards, like this!

That's just my suggestion.

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Playing Art Director!

I'm definitely no art director or graphic designer. I'm a writer with a Art Director for a reason- I need a talented person to take care of that stuff!! But, I do like to dabble and have fun. This is a page from my notebook I write in before it's time to concept. I find it gets out all the garbage in my head. I've always liked the one quote, but like everything in my notebook, it doesn't have a name to it.

here's the original

For Realz Yo

Check out the artist- It's pretty cool. There wasn't any photoshopping done to this, just a crazy piece of Earth.

This is all.

Monday, May 16, 2011

Sometimes, I forget what an asshole I am

Advertising people: you will get this upon seeing.

Non-Advertising people: If you've had a beer or a dinner or sat 3 feet away from a circle of us talking, you too will understand this.

A lot of days I find myself with other co-workers saying "Today we cannot talk about advertising" but we just can't help ourselves because the shit is EVERYWHERE. For that reason, I super hate advertising. But, don't let me tell you that, watch these douchebags and let them tell you for me

Photo, Meet Pencil

s This shit was rather cool, I think this is one of my favorites. He has a lot of more whimsical stuff, but I thought this type of humor worked a lot better for him.

Friday, April 22, 2011

Meet Your Maker

I'm a guitar lover- my first long copy ads were for Manson Custom Guitar (they make Matt Bellamy of Muse guitars)

Check out this video, the editing and visuals are pretty amazing.

I'm actually going to post stuff. Starting with this.

So the Black Eyed Peas have officially announced they will be retiring their song "My Humps" from live concert forever because they no longer like the lyrics. I know your heart immediately dropped into your stomach, but don't worry, it will be ok. One day I hope, after they've retired all their music from concert, we will be able to pay to watch them devour each other on stage in a cannibalistic tournament, where the surviving winner will have the chance to escape through the crowd, who will be supplied with various medieval weaponry.

Monday, February 21, 2011

Damn you "urgo gene"

If you don't know me that well, let me introduce you to the wild and wonderful world of The Urgo Gene. All Blood Urgos (so you are safe is you married into the family- but not your children, they're fucked. Adopt.) Having The Urgo Gene ensures you a life of emergency room visits and fearing not having health insurance.

I myself have broken all my fingers and toes (some a few times), fractured my foot, had two high grade stress fractures in the same bone at the same time (the doctor said that's a new one for him, go me), broke my collar bone climbing up a slide when I was 3, banged my elbow so hard i had to have massive amounts of blood pocketed inside sucked out, broke my wrist in the same spot 6 weeks after getting the cast off the first time, and in one incident tore off half the right side of my face, cracked my head open in two spots, received "stigmata like" wounds on both wrists, tore off my right shoulder and left knee. Thats at least what I can remember. I've been to the emergency room in 3 different countries, and I can't tell you how many states or ERs in general.

This isn't just me. My father, uncle, their cousins, my cousins, etc, all have the similar lists of maladies, some of them much worse, and their ER visits also extend to various countries across the globe.

After injuring yourself so many times, you get to know when its time for the ER or when you can just tough it out and be a man. Broken fingers and toes for instance, constitute as toughing it out. This past Christmas a friend of mind called me and asked where to go if one broke a finger and had no insurance. I told her "My house, I'll put that sucker back into place and wrap it up." She said "no thanks, my brother will find a clinic." Pussies.

Anyway, "toughing it out" is more a less another term for "sheer stupidity." For instance, 3 years ago my pinky toe was oddly swollen and discolored for some time. I would de-puss it every few days. It grew larger and grosser. One particularly gross day, I was digging around and pulled out a big piece of glass from inside it. My toe at this point was a sort of greenish color. I washed it in pure alcohol, bandaged it, and considered it a victory I found the glass.

Same thing when I almost cut off me finger while chopping carrots with a dull knife earlier last year. While the knife was too effing dull to cut the carrots, it was sharp enough to cut my finger to the bone. While I lost blood and stared into space my boyfriend of the time begged me to go to the hospital. Instead I wrapped another paper towel around the wound (I had no bandaids) and passed out.

This brings me to this very moment, as I type this with my arm in a makeshift sling made out of two bandanas. I get cocky snowboarding this weekend and took a jump not meant for me yet and had one of those crashes that stopped all activity on the mountain. As I lay there trying not to throw up all I could think about was how my mentor would think I was a pussy if I didn't show up at the bottom to meet him, so get your ass up girl. After 3 days of being unable to raise my arm above my head and sleeping on the couch so I can't move and wedging my arm inbetween me and the couch to keep it immobile while I slept, I decided to make the sling to keep it immobilized all the time.

I probably should go to the hospital, but I hear my father's voice in my head saying "well, what are they going to do, take some IBprofein and stay still, you'll be fine" and then he'd launch into a story about a similar moment in his life when he was wrestling in high school or throwing rocks off the roof at his Nanna and managed to maim himself. And, to be honest, I can't help hurting myself. It's in the genetics.

After thinking about this, and a long conversation about birth on the way to the mountains today, I decided its best I not have children. I can't possibly pass this retarded gene on, AND stupidity at the same time. It's just too much for any one child to bear. Instead I'll just adopt some poor bastard and he'll receive excellent lessons in survival simply by being my child, and be the next Survivor Man (Not man VS wild, he's a wimp with a camera crew).

Thursday, February 10, 2011

Nietzche, Beer, & Advertising

This is absolutely sick. I would love to be back in college right now, but not to party.

I would kill to write a paper on Camus, or to bury myself in 17th century poetry trying to figure out what the EFF those crazy people are saying.

“The Mller was a stout carl fur the nones. Full big he was of brawn and eek of bones.” – The Miller’s Tale, Canterbury Tales (yes, that is from memory)

I would even do Algebra. For some reason I always really liked Algebra. Those nice neat lines you make going down the page. I really liked Algebra. And logic problems. God I loved logic problems.

Right now I’m in the CU (Colorado) library, staring at all the crazy college kids. I’m 26, but I could probably pass for one of them. I want to tell them they don’t know how easy they have it, I mean I just got done with an internship where they rolled in kegs at noon, fed us cereal and easy mac, and we spent a good portion of work time chatting.

By all rights I could very well have BEEN in college. Except I wasn’t. Except as fun as advertising is it is a hell of a lot harder than anything I did in college. I got by with great grades bullshitting my way through Shakespeare papers 3 hours before they were due.

I dove deep in philosophy, beating myself over the head with questions like “what does it mean to live a good life?” (A harder question to answer than you think given the christian roots).

And damn, what I wouldn’t give to go back and spend 6 months just trying to answer that question, or comparing Nietzsche's take on atheism to the Buddhist’s ten fold path.

I remember how I used to get myself worked up over trying to figure out what the hell John Donne was saying in his famous poem “The Fly” (seducing a woman to have sex with him was the answer) but that seems like easy peasy mac and cheesy compared to trying to figure out how to sell Downy Wrinkle Release Spray to business women. THAT makes me want to beat myself over the head.

I must be a masochist. I love being beaten.

At least when I know I can win in the end.

Wednesday, February 9, 2011


It is SO effing hot and SO effing bright in the library, I am wearing sun glasses in doors and have stripped down to my tank top. Don't believe me? the guy sitting to the left of me WISHES he had sunglasses.

It's a whopping 20 degrees outside and I think they should put some sanddown and hand out margs and cold beers. The dude in the above picture just stripped down to his undershirt.

I leave you with this radical picture of my rockin sunglasses. This is my "job searching in a sauna face"

Monday, February 7, 2011

Quit Your Bitching- Groupon Rocked Your Faces.

Normally I keep this blog Advertising Free, however my mentors during my CP+B internship worked on the Groupon spots for last night's superbowl and they rock my face.

People are pissed and talking, and I love it. Why? Because every comment people make is free advertising.

And they are pissed for no good reason. Did anybody donate, care about, or talk about any of these charities prior to the commercials?


Do they actually care about these charities now?


Whats the probability they are going to go donate to the whales, tibet or the rainforest?

No likely.

Why all the craziness then? Because people like to get mad in the masses, that's it. Nobody can really be offended because nobody did anything in the first place, and while Groupon's first priority is definitely not helping these charities, they at least threw the links up there and set up a donation program- more effort than 105.5 million out of the 106 million who watched the superbowl will probably do.

Living Social, Google's version of Groupon, had a commercial in the beginning of the game. I bet 99% of the people don't remember it, and if they go to a group site the one they are going to go to is Groupon simply out of memory.

People are saying it's damaging to Groupon as a brand, but the reality is people are still signing up for it, and after the ad last night there was an increase in the number of Groupon users, not a decrease.

While I was at CP+B, I had the pleasure to work on Groupon. Nothing I did ended up getting produced or going far, in fact the height of my achievements was a print ad that made "the wall" which I considered something to be proud of. Out of every client I worked on, Groupon was by far the hardest, and the only client I didn't get anything produced or even sent to the client for. Out of that experience, I can say this (and I know the other Copy intern who worked with me agrees)- It's better to have fun, work on something a little evil, and get everyone talking than to work on crap and never be noticed.

You can say it was tasteless, but let's be real here- the half time show was a billion times more offensive. Fergie sounded like a dying cat, Slash is somewhere killing himself while Axl is stabbing himself in his grave, and Usher saved the day and they should have let him lipsync for the entire show.

Friday, February 4, 2011

Soccer: The hate/love relationship, and why it should never be popular in the U.S.

The reason why I hate soccer is why most people (usually red-neck americans, anybody who loves politics (liberals and conservatives alike) and my college friend Niel's crazy Grandmother) hate anything.

I don't understand it.

However, I think my reasons for not understanding soccer are pretty legitimate.

For one, it's kind of like basketball- there's lots of running back and forth, there's netting, and some degree of pushing someone else down and punishment. I think my greatest problem with soccer is that I classify it has a semi-wimpy sport (I don't count things like golf or bowling as sports, so this places it very low on my list), and the only thing that saves it from ultimate wimpyness is that you can't possibly be a fat person and excel at this. If you aren't in shape, you'll only make it to the half way line and be pooped. There is just too much running back and forth.

As a marathoner and triathlete, I can't really discount anything that has to do with running as completely stupid, because I spend a lot of my time running in circles, and seeing who can get around the circle the quickest.

Also, any sport where it is more dangerous to be a fan causes me to raise an eyebrow. When I lived in Germany, I attended a few games. Like everyone else, I've heard of the crazy british "soccer hooligans" and just sort of assumed this was an exaggeration. Silly, silly me. Not only are british people crazy, but this extends to everywhere people actually care about soccer. My first game in Germany my jacket was pulle open and I was scrupulously searched for darts because apparently the home team had a habit of throwing REAL darts at the opposing teams fans- who weren't allowed to leave until 20 minutes after the completion of the game to avoid things like being killed.

When I attended these games, I couldn't help but notice the what seemed thousands of times a guy fell down and just laid there. I can't help but compare this to my beloved sport of Football, where a guy can get hit simultaneously by 5 different guys, lay under a pile of 10 people, and do it again 40 seconds later. I realize there is padding, but at some point that has just got to hurt. Whats more to this is, I was told a lot of it has to do with acting, (ACTING!!!!!), because they are hoping for a foul to be called. Can you imagine if a guy in football laid down and pretended to cry out in agony to get a flag thrown??! The fans would beat him over to Europe where he'd have to learn to become a soccer player. It'd be suicide.

Last year, one of the Chicago Cubs (Colvin) had his lung pierced by a rogue broken bat piece that flew straight into his chest and the guy PULLED IT OUT and continued running towards home. Sure, they pulled him for the rest of the season, but he didn't immediately lay down and start crying.

So why someone would want to sit there for hours and hours watching a bunch of wimps run back and forth, score only 1 goal, and act for 3 hours is beyond me.

I'd like to add that at these soccer games, the most popular food served was from a guy walking around with various types of breads in a large basket. I responded to the atrocity by drinking more beer and accosting the man later, forcing him to take many photos with me.

On to positive things. Why I love soccer- I love soccer boys. But this is also the reason why soccer can't become a phenomenon in the United States. I hate real soccer player boys. They are just douche bags. I do, however, have an obsession with guys who played soccer in high school and college. For whatever reason, my ears perk up. I spent most of college drooling over the boys on our team and, at one point, dating the goalie. I was especially impressed by this because he was rated the number 1 goalie in the league, or something. I didn't really like him all that much, but I was fascinated by his soccerness.

Even recently, Ex-Boy-Thing (See post- My ex-boy-thing is my Asian Mom) claimed he used to play soccer. I have no idea how true this is, but it didn't matter. Once I heard this, his fate was sealed and he was going to date me for at least a little while, whether he wanted to or not.

I don't understand this attraction, but it's one I've chosen not to fight.

If soccer were to become bigger in the states, all these wonderful soccer playing guys who quit after high school or college because soccer isn't a real american sport and they actually want to make money and have some sort of a career might actually make a go for it. Then I'm stuck with a bunch of guys I can't date because now they are 1) are actually famous or 2) have become a soccer playing douche bag.

I'd like to go on about this, but it's time for me to do Yoga. My type of Yoga is much cooler than regular yoga, because it is called Yoga For Warriors, and destroys your body. I try to be competitive in regular yoga, which doesn't work- but it's impossible to be competitive in Yoga For Warriors, because all you are trying to do is survive.

Saturday, January 29, 2011

People die because they dont poop themselves, not because they are fearless

Today I very nearly pooped myself.

Although this isn't about pooping myself. But first, some background:

I was 13,000 feet high on a mountain, feet strapped to a big wooden board and almost a complete vertical cliffside drop in front of me.

Actually, that was the second time I nearly pooped myself.

The first was walking along the snowy cliff on a one foot wide "path", mountain to my left and snowy cliff drop to the my right, snowboard in hand. It took me 15 minutes to get across the ridge, and every step I was stopping myself from pooping myself.

To spare you suspense, I never did poop myself, but almost pooping myself nearly killed me. And here is why:

I am super scared of heights. Correction, I am scared of the consequences of falling from them. Poop my pants, I'm going to start balling any second scared. When I tell my friends this they are always surprised because they can't tell. I'm a tough ole' bird, but I assure them that while my face is stoic, I am in a deadlocked battle with my bowels.

Yet I troop forward. I'm not fearless at all. I'm full of fear. I don't think anybody is actually fearless. We're all full of pants pooping fear. Nobody dies from being fearless, they die from doing things that cause them to almost poop their pants, stopping themselves from pooping, and trooping forward.

If they had actually pooped their pants, they probably wouldn't have done the task, they'd need a costume change- or, "brief" change I guess.

Pooping your pants would actually save you.

So when I die from some stupid, "death defying" activity (that obviously didn't defy correctly if I'm dead) I want you to tell everyone at my funeral that it wasn't out of lack of fear that I died, it was that I won the battle with my bowels- because if I had actually pooped my pants, I probably wouldn't have done whatever it was because I would have left to go change my underwear instead.

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

My Ex- "Boy- Thing" is my Asian Mom. Thank you.

In the book I'm currently reading the author discusses a song by Billy Joel. The song, "Just The Way You Are," is about Billy's wife. He says "Don't go a changing" just to basically impress him or what not.

This is interesting to me because I have changed myself in some way for every relationship I've been in, and I believe most people in some fashion or another do the same.

Change can be both negative and positive, and both occur. People become chameleons in relationships. Everybody says you "change" around your significant other and this varies in degree.

My last "relationship" with whom we'll call "Mountain Man," as my friends back home nick named him, I certainly did both.

Negatively, I changed my sexual behavior. I had my reasons, and a lot had to do with thinking that was what Mountain Man wanted. I have no idea if that is how he liked his women, but either way I was always unsure, and thus uncomfortable, and that sucked.

Positively, I picked up one of his interests. This is probably the most common "change" that occurs, in my opinion. In the beginning we all want the other person to think that we are interesting, or want to hang out with us, and we might do that by pretending to like one of their hobbies.

So, two weeks into hanging out Mountain Man asked me to see a snowboarding/skiing documentary flick. I gladly accepted even though I knew and cared little about either because I was just excited to be invited along. And eat sandwiches. Yum.

To help matters, I actually had a snowboard. I'd used it twice prior, over a period of a number of years, fallen on my ass a ton and hated it. I brought it with me to Colorado because I still thought the sport was cool, despite the fact that I hate all things snowy, cold, and involve things like falling on my ass over and over.

He loves snowboarding, so I went out on my own and tried to learn how to use the damn thing. The first two times out, I fell on my ass, on my head- top, back, face- you name it I fell on it. It sucked and I probably would have stopped there if I hadn't felt the need to impress.

Two more tries later, I was actually getting good at the thing, and began liking it. I didn't even mind the cold or the snow. Dating him was like having an Asian Mother. In an article written by an asian mom, about asian moms, she said kids hate doing stuff (like playing the violin) in the beginning because they suck at it. It's when you get good that it's enjoyable. You just have to push them to that point, and then hopefully they stop hating you.

In that respect Mountain Man is totally my Asian Mom, because now I'm soaring down black diamonds on the snowboard I've had for 7 years but didn't start using until last November, and loving it to the point where I'm getting dragged off the mountain.

To get to my point, I don't totally agree with the author on how great it was the Billy Joel didn't want his wife to change on his account, because sometimes you need that little boost to find something kick ass. Thank you Ex Boy Thing Asian Mom.

The Pussiest Word in the Dictionary: Maybe

A few posts ago I complained about how technology is turning us all into ball-less pussies. Recently, I read an article which furthers my theory-how the word "maybe" in facebook evites allows to to skirt commitments.

I only skimmed the article, but immediately upon reading the headline, red flashed before my eyes.

I tried to think of a word I hate more than "maybe," and I can't. "No" when I want something, and anything that comes out of Snooki's mouth doesn't even compare. It is the pussiest word I've ever heard, because it's a cop out.

Whenever I hear the word "maybe" my detective skills automatically deduce that whatever it is, you either

1) don't want to participate and don't know how to say no
2) want to see if there is anything better going on
3) I am obviously not important enough, which is completely selfish and not true, but I am Jessica and I am the center of my world. Shut up, who isn't? Just kidding. But only half.

Anyway- no one ever says "Maybe, I don't really want to do this but I can't tell you no because I'm a big ole wimp and I fear hurting you're feelings less you are actually an insane person with a secret militia" or "Eh, it sounds alright but I'm going to see if there is something cooler going on. If not you're totally my man with the plan." People just don't do that, and honestly, I don't want to hear any of those things.

What I do want to hear is just "yes" or "no" because "maybe" is just a hope getter upper, and that is why people go crazy. "Maybes" drive people insane. That's why girls used to sit next to their phones all weekend. I think cell phones were actually created by women so that they didn't have to sit by the phone all weekend waiting for a guy to call, and can now sit with their friends with a drink and eventually drunk-text them.

So these people who go crazy are continually getting their hopes up because they are "maybed" their whole lives. "No" would have already led to suicide or (hopefully) led them to just try harder. "Yes" encourages them. People who "make it" in life never have stories about how people told them "maybe," they either over came all of the "no's" or had a trillion people telling them "yes!" "Maybes" never go anywhere, they just hang around and eventually go insane.

Please, do everyone a favor. Man up and say no. If you decide later there's nothing going on, then give a call. They'll probably feel more grateful then they otherwise would have because you've magically changed your mind and they'll walk on happy rainbow sunshine unicorn farts for the rest of the night.

That is all.

Saturday, January 22, 2011


My apartment is filthy.

My apartment is at its worst during two situations.

1- When I am never there.

This is because I'm not there to live in my own filth, I just return to pass out, shower, and leave once again. It exists solely as a place to put my stuff.

2- When I am always there.

During my bout of unemployment, I don't leave the house much other than to run, snowboard, or get drunk, and on the occassion take care of needs like groceries. For whatever reason, I am here all day, a mess grows around me, and I cannot make myself clean anything up.

Here comes the problem. During this unemployment period, I need to balance my time at home and at "away" if only to keep my apartment from becoming a hole of filth and my roommate for murdering me.

I think I need a hobby.

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

The Binary Women Hotness Rating Theorem

We're no stranger to rating people's attractiveness on a scale of 1-10. I propose that this rating system is flawed.

First, men and women rate people differently. Lets start with men.

When sober, men rate women 1-10. I'm not a guy, so I don't really know how this works for them. Where it differs from women is when alcohol is involved. Then it switches to the binary system: 0-1. 0 for

0- Would not "do"
1- Would "do"

Women, on the other hand, aren't so black and white, we don't have a binary system. We have a 0-3 system.

0- Would not "do"
1- Might "do," if a lot of drinks are involved
2- Will probably do if instigated by the other person
3- Will rape you

I'm sure this all depends on the type of person you are, but at some point everything needs to be generalized. Some people might get upset with number 3 of the women's section, however you tell me that if your "Brad Pit" was in front of you that you wouldn't kidnap him, you're absolutely lying.

Katy Perry and the end of the world

Today I'm convinced Ke$ha will be the end to society.

Ok, not Ke$ha by herself, but all pop artists in general. I believe they are killing the vernacular and braincells of children everywhere.

I think I'm becoming paranoid in my jobless state, and I've also been reading too much of Chuck Klosterman's "Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs." But regardless of that, something evil is going on here.

I recently came across a video I took of my 2 year old cousin singing Katy Perry's "California Gurls." Yes, you have that correct, she knows all the words, from "we'll melt your popsicle" to every note of the "ohhhohhhohhh's"

In the video, I'm encouraging her along, clearly unaware of the perils that are awaiting her.

Here's my point- my cousin has an older sibling, who when she was 3 told me when I told her she couldn't have lemonade "But Cousin Jessie, I'm simply parched!" This won her all the lemonade and ice cream she could ask for. At the age of 3, she was chatty with a large vocabulary.

This isn't to say that her younger sister is stupid, quite the contrary- she's just as chatty and "smart as a whip." The difference between the sisters is, the older one grew up on her brother's love for the Beatles and would ask me questions like "why isn't our president nice" while the younger asks me "Can I brush my teeth with a bottle of Jack?"

Entertaining, yes, but also the end of the world as we know it? Probably.

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

Go Bears.

Balls. Everyone needs more balls.

People just don't have balls, and this is really getting to me.

Society itself is seeming really ball-less lately. We wonder if we can break up/ask someone out over text, or if this is the sort of thing that must be done face to face, we connect over things like IM, fb and twitter. It's turning us all into a bunch of ball-less turds.

Case In Point:

A friend of mine has gone on several dates with a girl he likes. He's paid for dinner and drinks 2-3 times. Today he relayed to me that he doesn't know how to kiss her for the first time without the both of them being drunk. The girl obviously has this problem too, neither of them make a move. They continue to hang out and both of them complain to their friends wondering what to do.

People! In life, at some point you just gotta grab your nuts (metaphorical if you're a lady), squeeze, yell I HAVE BALLS, and pucker up.

That is all.

Guys Named Rob+ Coolness= Chill Rob G

I think I'm finally beginning to understand. Now, do I pick 2 things and go from there, or is this a pre-determined thing? I'm going to go with "Vegetable" and "Doggs" and "Macks" and be "Cabbage DoggyMack" I better throw "white" in there as well...


I'd like to take a second to rant about how much it sucks to job search.


There, that should do it.

Friday, January 14, 2011

Pretty Pretty Princess Feet

I'm about to go for a 16 mile run. I haven't gone yet and my feet are already a mess, so I thought I'd pretty them up with some little mermaid, belle, and snow white.

Sunday, January 9, 2011

Monserrat, Spain

I went backpacking in europe this march, slowly been getting the pictures up.

I took this picture before I started climbing around the mountains of there. It's one of my faves. Makes me want to sell all my stuff (which most likely amounts to $500) and go backpacking again.

Here's another one, taken about an hour from our summit

If you'd like to check out more, here's the link (click)

Saturday, January 8, 2011

Urgo: The College Daze, Part 1

I found an old blog of mine. Excerpt

First, the story of myself in auge, told through the eyes of tom since he does it so well, and i lakk every time i read it. An Excerpt from the Journal of Sir Thomas Of Machine.

"Today, though, in Lit Crit, something stupendous happened. Well, perhaps it was just stupid.

After sitting and watching Ague conference with people who weren't me, I decided that I would leave Lit Crit, get some lunch, and return to talk to him later. Ague had not told us that we could leave, though, so I was a little nervous about leaving class. I told Urgo and Drez of my plans, though, and they decided that they, too, wished to leave.

Urgo's involvement in this plan proved from the beginning to be a problem.

First, she would not leave because she was angry that an online quiz told her that she is gay. She wished to take the test over, but rather than wait for her to do so, I ripped my computer from her Italian grip. She retreated, and I shoved my computer in my bag where she could not get it.

So, we were all finally prepared to sneak out of class. I decided that Urgo should be the one to tell him that we would be back later, but she refused. I stood for a moment, hesitating, wondering if I should really leave. The next thing I knew, Urgo was on the floor.

No, Urgo did not collapse of heart failure from eating too much spumoni. Nor was she, surprisingly, drunk. No, neither of those. Urgo had decided to crawl out of the room.

[ She walked to the row of desks next to the door and chucked her back pack, lap top and all out the door. She then knelt down behind the people sitting for a moment, and then was on her belly in army crawl position, all while Ague rattled on in the front of the classroom oblivious]

Drez and I watched in amazement as Urgo slithered out of the room like the snake from the story we read last semester. [ she then stood outside the door and proceded to wave and grin at everybody stuck inside, then bounded to the starirwell] And then, we, too, left."