In looking over my RantsofPourGirls posts, particularly the two most recent, I have realized two things.
1) I am hysterically funny
2) Some words are rather negative.
ROPG is going in a negative direction. Must change.
Considering starting a fresh blog, as this is tainted with anger and scorned friendships.
Maybe something like “Sex & A Smaller City”? It would be SASCy (instead of sassy- too much of a reach?) and I would probably be the sole author.
Thoughts, fans?
I’d first like to address all of the beautiful and loyal fans of mine out there that keep bringing the daily views of PourGirls to 10 plus. I don’t know who the fuck did that because I haven’t blogged in weeks, or even advertised in weeks. But thank you for constantly checking in, hoping for new posts. Although I think some of you got here by accident… Here’s a little box that shows me the search engine terms people have used to get to Pourgirls recently…
The Little Box That Shows Me What People Googled in Order to Get to Pourgirls
But whatever, that still leaves at least a few loyal fans to account for today’s viewership, I think. Or one loyal fan whose page wouldn’t load properly and had to keep hitting refresh. I don’t know.
Anyways, I haven’t blogged in a while because I kind of lost my spirit there for a bit. Not trying to get all Elton-John-Barney-queer-shit on you or anything, but after burning bridges with half the people on my speed dial and reading some negative thoughts on PourGirls all within 2 weeks, I was too down in the dumps to do that bootstrap quote thing and get out there and be a Blogstar.
But remember when that meteor hit the earth and royally fucked all the dinosaurs? And seemingly killed every living thing on Earth? To the casual observer of our planet at that time, it would have seemed hopeless. No life could resurface on Earth. But little did they know that one tiny protozoa or some shit like that clung on for dear life, and then started feeding on like pond scum or whatever, and you hit fast forward and then BOOM we’re back. That’s my analogy of what happened with me. All spirit was not lost, and with a few weeks time, a few good friends, and a lot of champagne, I regained my lame little inner Blogstar.
And a little note to the model-UN-loser, jock-strap-sniffing yuppie with no friends: I am aware that the above account is not the factual history of what happened with dinosaurs. In my whorish, “biddie” head, I am attempting to be mildly humorous. I am not a total idiot. It’s pretty obvious to everyone that you’re dealing with some residual anger which resulted from you being a perpetual nobody destined for mediocrity, but WHO THE FUCK asked you to spend all your time sticking your nose up other losers’ asses in the model UN instead of getting out to a party once in a while? Who asked you to shop in your Grandpa’s closet instead of heading over to the mall- Vineyard Vines, Express, or Banana Republic? It wasn’t me, so don’t take your anger out on me. Loyal fans who are unaware of the situation at hand, this arrogant prick decided to mock PourGirls on his blog, his blog which I actually found occasionally entertaining in the past and never said a mean peep about. He also insults my intelligence, even though he attends the same “barely top-50 institution” (his words, not mine) that I do. I tried to be sympathetic at first. I really did. I mean, this kid has clearly never seen even a remotely de-clothed female, probably not even via computer, and he’s amidst an existential crisis, as he just now seems to be realizing he is not as special as he thinks he is. This is why he couldn’t get into any of the Ivy League schools he applied to a few years back. I feel that pain- everyone has a time in their life when they have to come to terms with the fact that they are just not as special as they thought they were. Now, most of us are still in pre-school when this happens, when Sally gets the gold star and gets to be the line leader and we don’t. For others, like this tool, it takes longer, because Mommy and Daddy pay for everything for 18 years. They pay for you to be special. And then reality hits when you can’t get into Dartmouth or Yale because you aren’t that fucking special. Like I said, not my fault, so don’t take it out on me.
If you don’t like RantsofPourGirls, then don’t fucking click on the link to it. Maybe they don’t teach that at “barely top-50 institutions”?
Also, I love when people talk shit about me or are rude to me and expect me to not say anything. I don’t know what about me gives off that timid vibe, but people never expect me to turn around when they are mumbling about me and make a bitchy comment. Which makes my reaction that much better. As soon as I read this loser’s blog entry about PourGirls I “liked” it and proceeded to leave 1 or 2 obnoxious comments, none of which he replied to. Such a pussy.
Anyways, as you can see, spirit is back. Another part of what recently helped me to regain my zealousness for blogging was the random sudden influx of comments on my “Good Charlotte? Rant.” I randomly checked up on PourGirls and BAM I had five comments. FIVE. Like I said, I haven’t blogged/advertised in weeks. When I read them I pretty much fucking died. I seriously thought one of my friends made up five different “iluvgoodcharlotte4eva@hotmail.com”- like e-mail accounts and was just fucking with me to get me to laugh harder than I have laughed in my entire life. Check them out, they are great. Some of my favorite excerpts are:
Actually as I re-read these I am pretty sure one of my dear old friends is behind all of this. It’s too funny. You can check out the rest on the “Good Charlotte? Rant.” I should have known the haters would come sooner or later. With so many initial fans, it was only a matter of time. This is what all the rap stars are always talking about when they get angsty and sing about “hayyytaahhhhs.” I feel closer to P. Diddy now than ever before. We understand each other.
Anyways, I have plenty of material from the past few weeks that is perfectly appropriate for rants, but PourGirls cannot survive with me alone. Like I’ve said before, I can’t type fast enough to entertain the masses. So I’m moving to another blog, temporarily, until I can accumulate a few more writers. If you’re fucking awesome then send me your inaugural blog post to mybarnameislola@gmail.com. Or just Facebook inbox me it if I don’t respond quickly enough, which I most likely won’t. And you most likely know who I am anyways. If it’s funny and doesn’t talk about Justin Beiber or love or queer shit like that then I’ll bankroll you and you can be a Blogstar, and then we can rage together and I’ll come back to PourGirls. I’d like it if you were a Boston resident, or at least had a general working knowledge of the geography of Boston. We’re supposed to be ranting and pouring all over Boston, after all.
Until then, my beautiful and loyal fans, I’m taking my talents to what I once envisioned to be PourGirls’ brother-site. You can dream it, you can do it. I’ll be hanging my hat at Gettin’ Shlitzed for a while. Hope to see you all there.
So despite all of my concerns, worries, and drafted wills, I survived Spring Break 2011 in PCB. And even though I had been having daydreams of staying at the bar ’til close, dancing with my friends, spilling drinks left and right, and seeing which guy would buy us the most expensive drinks… I quickly learned that that was distinctly not what everyone else in PCB had been daydreaming about prior to the trip. I quickly learned a lot of things. Which brings me to my rant today.
My Spring Break ’11 actually turned out to be rather educational for me. I will share with you all the knowledge that I have gained on this trip, so you will not unknowingly find yourself stuck in the 9th circle of hell for a week. You are welcome.
Lola’s SB Lessons Learned
1. Don’t drive through Georgia. Or go there. Or even say Georgia. Creepiest shit ever. All the trees are in perfect lines. Driving down the road it goes house, church, church, creepy trees, forest fire, church, church, house, beauty salon in a storage unit, church, house, church, church, sign advertising midget rentals, house, church, flea market, church. Like why the fuck do they need all those churches? WHO the fuck is going to them? There’s like 4 churches per one fucking tiny ass house. Makes no sense.
2. If you ever meet anyone from Alabama, immediately start screaming ROLL TIDE!!! or risk bodily harm.
3. I can now list a whole bunch of states I would never ever live in: Georgia, Florida, Alabama, North Carolina, Virginia, West Virginia, or Iowa. We didn’t drive through Iowa but I met some weird people from there.
4. “Stop. Sip. Don’t trip.” Do not attempt to drink while walking. You will spill all over yourself.
5. If someone cuts you in the free beer line, fucking knock them over because if you don’t say anything all their friends will cut you too.
6. Don’t expect anything you order to be accurate. Incompetence is rampant on the panhandle in FL. Also, they do not have provolone cheese. Or know what it is.
7. Don’t bring any money to the bar, because guys love to buy you a drink and then say “have a great break!” and just walk away. Nothing is expected of you, it’s great. If you are a guy, don’t go on SB unless you have some serious cash.
8. Unless you are wearing a burqa, expect to get hit on and harassed HARD. Non stop. Actually I bet not even a burqa could scare these guys off.
9. Don’t offer to be the one to leave the bar early and walk your friend home, because you will get hit and kicked, no one cares, and everyone else just brags for a week about how they were dancing on the bar all night at Coyote Ugly. Also, you will get locked out of your hotel room after this and while your friend is probs dying inside you will be homeless for 4 hours. No one will care about that either.
10. Have no one to go on SB with? Just go it alone. You’ll probs end up alone half the time anyways because everyone runs off to do unspeakable things.
11. BEADS ARE $1.00 A FUCKING PACKAGE AT IPARTY. I do not understand the fucking little piece of DNA in certain women’s genomes that tells them they need to get naked/strip/shake their ass/make ass to genital contact/perform sexual acts for a fucking string of cheap beads. How about, you don’t do that sweetheart, because I’m embarassed for you, and we’ll go to the nearest Target and I’ll buy you 5,000 for like 3 bucks. Just stop looking trashy. Please.
12. Don’t break into the pool area at 3 am chasing after the stray cat you saw from the balcony. Because Security will think you are on crack.
13. Don’t leave Boston. Ever. I could never rant and pour anywhere else, I’ve decided.
So anyways, hope that helps any future Spring Breaker out there with big dreams. The lessons being said, it really wasn’t all bad. The drive down was fun, and the first like 24 hours or so were great, and I got a few nights in there that were pretty wild. But things went from first class to coach pretty quickly. At least I can say I did the whole Spring Break thing. But never again. I am a creature of luxury. I’m only going on vaca from now on if it’s somewhere with a little class.
It just confirmed for me how much I fucking love Boston. I don’t care if the TAJ cocktails are $17 a piece and that the bars close at 2:00 AM and that Red Sox fans get violent and always get in my way and make me late for class and that they don’t sell alcohol on Sundays before noon or on Christmas. I love it. No one talks to me when I walk down the street, everyone is rude, people have IQs above 105, there are no fucking Waffle Houses, and the majority of the people know how to hold their liquor.
Oh, and there are no fucking churches. Got faith?
PCB Policy
The Classy Side of the Beach
I totally agree with Lyddie’s gym post below. I hate when guys even look at me at the gym. I always try to send a telepathic message when guys look at me that says like “I promise I look better after I’ve stopped running and shower and put on some makeup and do my hair and put on a flattering outfit” but I don’t think anyone ever believes me. Oh well.
So we’re leaving for Spring Break tomorrow. I’m pretty preoccupied with worrying about whether or not we will actually survive this, so I think we’re gonna have to put blogging on hold for a week because it comes second to me maintaining a pulse. We may throw in a trifecta post midweek but I think that’s even pushing it. But don’t fret, our beautiful and loyal fans. If we manage to survive we will blog away about our many adventures once we return to BOS.
I found out yesterday that Panama City Beach, FL is in a different time zone than MA. Panama City is already pissing me the fuck off, what with the noise ordinance and now this. Clean your shit up, PCB. Anyways, it also happens to be Daylight Savings on fucking Sunday. I still haven’t figured out whether this combination of events will put me two hours behind or even me right out? I am concerned because 1) I am OCD and need to know what time it is every second of the day, even in the middle of the night when I wake up, 2) I have a slight tendency of falling asleep after a few too many cocktails and need to properly pace myself if I want to make it to the 4 AM closing time and 3) our “Panamaniac” cards which we are forced into buying by the conspiracy of bars/clubs down there are time sensitive- I only get free drinks and free cover for like a 2 hour window, and I refuse to miss said window since I paid $40 for this fucking card.
But besides the time zone issue, and my impending sense of doom, I’m excited for this trip. If this is the end of me, I will die knowing that my final affairs have been settled (see “Sorry For Ranting. And Pouring” post) and that I’ve had a good run. No one can say I was boring. Below is one of my favorite quotes from a favorite show of mine, “Absolutely Fabulous,” that sums up what I never want my life to be like:
Eddie: Patsy. Pats. You know, like, when you are in a room or something, and you think someone is like staring at you…
Patsy: In a room?
Eddie: Or in a plane. Anywhere… anywhere… And you are sort of doing things because you think someone is looking at you.. like people are looking at you, you know?
Patsy: On a plane?
Eddie: Well, anywhere… anywhere… And then you look at them and they are just sort of.. asleep, but their head is flopped in your direction, you know? Well, I don’t want THAT to happen. I don’t want THAT to be my life, you know. The whole world asleep.
I know for certain that that is not my life, if only for the simple fact that I hate when people soberly snooze in public and I would slap them awake to make damn sure they’re looking. I think that kind of sums up my life pretty well, actually. Smack people upside the head until they pay the fuck attention, damnit.
You Can't Buy Happiness... But You Can Bloody Well Charge It.
My whole life I have suffered with getting an obnoxiously red face the second I even think about doing any physical activity, my coaches in high school always got mildly alarmed as they forced me through boot camp. Over time I’ve learned to accept this as part of being extremely Irish and have been able to come up with the best possible solution: don’t go to the fucking gym. It’s perfect really, I don’t have to make time for it, I don’t get shin splints (fuckers) and I don’t have to explain to anyone that I’m not actually having an attack of some kind, I just looked up at the treadmill real quick. With this whole spring break ordeal however, I came to terms with the fact that I needed to get my pale, white zinfandel fueled body into some semblance of a bathing suit and it really put a damper on what I thought was a flawless plan.
I’ve been going to my school gym pretty regularly since this epiphany and hate every fucking second of it. What I hate even more is the fact that 85% of the girls in the gym insist on emphasizing my cherry tomato of a face by doing their god damn hair & makeup before they go lift free weights and shake their ass while stretching on the ab mats. I’m aware of how much of a fan guys are of yoga pants and 90 pound girls but while you two are schmoozin in the corner mon-sun about how to work your obliques, I’ve been sluggin miller lites and going on 3 am fast food binges so don’t mind me but I have shit to get done here. To keep myself occupied while I was running at a cool 6.5 on a 3.5 incline last night I came up with a few reasons as to why I’m never going back to that hell hole post-panama:
And by abs & back I really mean this:
I know I blogged last night but the severity of what I just saw as I innocently walked down Comm. Ave on my way to work needs to be shared with our beautiful and loyal fans immediately. Someone needs to walk with me side by side up the steps of justice as we right this unconscionable wrong.
Right in front of the Paradise is a huge gaggle of people. Upon occassion there is a large gaggle of people; last time I saw one in the middle of the day was when the Plain White Tee’s were playing there a few weeks ago. And at night, in front of that place usually gets a little crazy. But what I witnessed today was catastrophic. A HUGE group of people were lined up out front, at 1:30 pm. You know the show doesn’t start until night so these people are camped out for the long haul. When I see a gaggle, I glance up and see who happens to be playing. And what band’s name do I see but “Good Charlotte” with the words “SOLD OUT!” next to it.
While still in shock from seeing this I glance at the tour bus that is parked on the road to my left and then back to the group that is waiting in front of the Paradise, staring at the tour bus with dilated pupils and frothing mouths. Everyone in line is 75 pounds overweight, at least. A few of the most hardcore fans are girls at the very front of the line, who are sitting on the ground swaddled in bright pink and green blankets with strange cartoon animals stitched on. They have “GC” face-painted on their cheeks. Everyone in line has an eyebrow piercing. I could only clearly identify one male as I walked by in terror. If this group were standing/sitting in front of The Coop in Harvard Sq. instead of the Paradise, I would have thought they were homeless.
Now that I have painted a nice little background picture for you all, I have some rants I need to get out there, in no particular order because I’m still so confused/terrified to think clearly. WHO THE FUCK STILL CARES ABOUT GOOD CHARLOTTE? They were cool when I was in uhmm 4th grade. The year of the punk. You could maybe kind of get away with liking them in high school. But seriously, now? It’s been like 12 years, maybe more. They are not even remotely relevant anymore. I never could have dreamed I would blog about this forgotten sad little group. But these fans cared enough about them to look like idiots and camp out 8+ hours before the show.
Also, why is it always extremely overweight girls who do weird shit like this? Like overweight girls cannot let shit go. Ever. Maybe that’s a side effect of a slow metabolism? It hasn’t been long enough since we’ve heard from GC that now they can be cool again for like a year, like what’s happening with Backstreet Boys/N’Sync. This is just sad. Saddest fan base ever. These girls are gonna be the girls who are still reciting lines from Twilight in 2047 and are all over Rob Pattinson’s D when he’s like 60 and a grandpa. Give it up ladies.
One last thing: You could so tell by just the looks on these girls’ faces that they were all believing/hoping that as one of the forgettable members of Good Charlotte hopped off the tour bus, they would lock gazes, and then the GC bandmate would be instantly in love. He would slip her a backstage pass and after the show they would make out for hours and then he would propose with a ring that looks JUST like the Prince William/Kate Middleton ring and they could live happily ever after. I guess that is a hard fantasy to just let die after twelve long years. Maybe I’m the one in the wrong here? I don’t know anymore. You keep that dream alive, ladies. You can dream it, you can do it.
Below is some semblance of the image that was forever scorched onto my retina this afternoon. Thanks for listening.
Update from Lola: The above was originally posted around 2:00 PM this afternoon. At about 11:45 PM this evening, I again walked past the Paradise. It was still crawling with overweight fans hovered by the exits and the tour bus, all hoping to catch a glimpse of GC. GIVE IT THE FUCK UP you losers.
It has just come to my attention that Pauly D from the Jersey Shore will be the first to be given his own spinoff series on MTV. Wow. Calm the fuck down, MTV. Get the fuck off DJ Pauly D’s D. Is there anything you won’t do to get this guy laid?
I mean, he didn’t need your help to begin with. Pauly is like 6’4”, tan, perfect amount of muscle (my subjective opinion- not too much, not too little), perfectly defined stomach (again, not too defined, not too flabby), funny as fucking hell, and a DJ. Get rid of the blowout and slap some blonde hair on that ish, and I’d be on the next flight out to Jersey with whatever it is a gal proposes to a guido with these days (Gucci sneakers? A bottle of vintage Dom. Romane Conti?)
Then MTV goes and casts him on their most popular show to date. Jackpot. As if that weren’t enough, they raise his salary exponentially by the season AND gradually give him more camera time so all of the U.S. can see how hysterically funny and charming he is. So now he’s rich AND the good guy. And NOW they’re giving him his very own spinoff show? The first spinoff of the group!?
Some MTV female producer clearly wants Pauly’s peen. Or a male producer is living vicariously through him. I don’t know. But all Pauly has to do now is just walk down the street and point at a girl and boom, roasted. I bet if he starts even trying to spit some game, the producers just jump right in and fucking spit it for him.
My question is… why Pauly D, MTV? He doesn’t need any more of your help. What about all those poor Schmoes out there who are helpless and hopeless? I saw about 20 of them this past weekend. They could have benefitted from a little MTV-notoriety and a hefty paycheck to pick up the bar tab with. Why put all your resources into your prodigy child? Spread the wealth a little. At least give Pauly a lame-o guy sidekick on this new show so he can pick up some leftovers. Have a heart. I’d be willing to host a contest on this very blog. A contest between which Boston dude gets laid the least and is most in need of some help from MTV. The chosen one gets to be Pauly D’s sidekick and cash in on the hot messes Pauly toots and boots. Besides, I bet Pauly can feel you creepin’ on his peen anyways MTV and is starting to get a little freaked out. He’s smarter than he looks. You can’t have your Golden Ticket jump ship because you got all desperate for that D.
To read the article on this click here. There are also some glorious pictures of Deena falling while dancing on stage at a Las Vegas Spring Break affair.
Just watched the latest Teen Mom and the blonde one said “sawn” instead of seen. And she stole my wedding date. Everyone knows October 16 is MY I-do-date, bitch. Also, the new Real World Las Vegas premieres tomorrow. Who the fuck is still watching the Real World?
Rants Of Pour Girls
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