Thursday, October 18, 2007

Am I lonely? heavens no

As you can see from this picture of the plant in my office, I'm not the mothering type. This post is purely so my coworkers have proof I haven't fed my daughter to the dog or left her in the car for an entire weekend. I guess they think my planting skills don't fare well for the little one. Who could blame them?

Here's Mads giving a big morning stretch. See.. she's alive! I swear.

And here I am giving the international sign of motherhood. Even Mads seems amused.

See... baby is fine. Plant, not so much. A proper buriel for Robert Plant will happen whenever the cleaning lady throws him out.

jo and mads

Tuesday, October 09, 2007

I want you

This version of Shocker Khan is gonna be interesting. Blogger blocked my pictures from my last post because they were indecent. I'm fighting the urge to post a pic of my taco covered in sour cream and salsa. Jerks.

In other news, my itunes at work sucks ass. What does this mean for Jo? It means she lamely searches for songs she wants to hear on youtube. I've found some doosey home made videos doing this. I'm not greedy so I'll share my faves. You can thank me the next time you see me.

Barenaked Ladies - I can, I will, I do

Let's see... this has all the major elements to a fantastic home made video. A coffee cup with "Love Me" (the ultimate in desperation), toe play, and OH NO! Suicide. At least I think that's what happens. If the dude in the video doesn't die, I'll drink Draino in his name. The video makes me want to carve "merde" in my thigh. Good stuff.

Fiona Apple - Love Ridden

Who the fuck are Rory and Dean? And why is someone editing crappy Rory and Dean footage to Fiona? A quick Google search informed me Rory and Dean are all things Gilmore Girls. Who knew? Obviously dancelivelove knew, but I digress. Damn you Macs for making editing so user friendly. I did like when Dean tried to eat Rory's face off. Listen up Rory... you're better off 'cause any dude who kisses you like that is G to the A to the Y. Lesson learned.

Daft Punk - Digital Love

Check it, yo. It's a commercial for trendy t's from Urban Outfitters. Wait. Never mind it's just the actual video. Put this on and turn your office into a dance party. Much like the dance party that's going on in my head. I just stopped typing to robot. True story.

And lastly... because I'm nice and kind and you love me, I'll share the best youtube find for any Elvis Costello fan. Don't turn your nose up at this, I promise it's the best cover in the history of the world. Damn straight. I had to hear this song this morning after Kike sent me an email that said "since when were you so generous and inarticulate".

Thursday, October 04, 2007

And we don't want to read the signs that you bore

Kike gives good text messages. Yesterday was no exception as he sent this pic message.

Which reminded me of this pic...

Somehow I don't think Steve has his mind on dick.

Monday, October 01, 2007

I'm a serial lady killer

I know I watch too much television. It's not something I'm proud of. Over the last few months, it's gotten worse. It all started this summer when I was on maternity leave. I was lonely and bored and well... bad things happened.

I caught a marathon of The Real Housewives of Orange County and all hell broke loose. From there I became addicted to all things reality, including but not limited to Beauty & The Geek, Maury, and even Little People Big World. Sad sad sad.

I hit an all time low when I started watching The Pick Up Artist on VH1. I need help people and only a steady diet of NPR can save me (side note: Bravo to This American Life for your wonderful translation into tv. You dumbed yourself down so even I can watch).

Can we please talk about The Pick Up Artist? Really. Seriously. I'm so confused, which is why I think I watched every single episode. It was even dvr'd. Yep. No lie.

My first problem with the show (other than the fact that I watch it) is the host Mystery. He's a self proclaimed master at picking up girls. That's cool, right? More power to him, I say. Except... I said that before I actually saw him. This guy takes cheesedick to a new level. I've swear to all that is vaginal when I say I have NO idea how any female speaks to him, let alone gives him their digits. No idea. The only mystery about Mystery is what scent of Summers Eve he smells like. He's more douche than a bag of vinegar with a plastic applicator. He makes my eyes itch with creepiness.

Never mind the fact that he's not that attractive. I can try to ignore his awful facial hair and eye make up. There's no way in hell I could ignore his Mr. Sensitive Ponytail hair, but it makes him easier to hate so I'm good. His attitude towards women is awful. His entire pick up process revolves around making girls feel even more insecure than they already are.

The second problem I had with the show (other than I watched it) was the contestants liberal use of wax. I like a smooth chest as much as the next girl (or do I? Sometimes hair is good and gives us something to hang on to) but suck that jive if your eyebrows are in better shape than mine. Seriously. Men shouldn't have Liza Minnelli eyebrows. Ever. Unless they are trying to be women and serve me martinis at Kit Kat Club.

Overall, I get it. I don't jive with what Mystery is selling because I'm not the kind of girl he's looking for. I don't have fake boobs or spray tan. I'm not "hot" by any means so that's probably why I don't get poor Mystery. Truth be told, he seems like the kind to wear socks with sandals, but who am I to judge? I can pretend I'm his kinda girl through the beauty of photoshop (thanks for your help with this Kike, I owe you) and hold on to the dream that maybe someday he'll stop me in a bar and ask me if I floss before or after I brush.

Now if Ira Glass hosted a dating show I'd hump my tv just for a chance to get his face near my girly girls, but that's an entirely different post for a different day.

Tuesday, September 18, 2007

Gimme gimme more!

It's Jo Ellie, bitch! Since Brittney made a come-back, I figured I would as well.

Time to dust this blog off and start spreading the word... the word of shocker khan.

You're probably wondering what I've been doing for the past two years... It's ok, I wonder too.

The biggest change is I had a mini Jo. That's right, there's two Shocker Khans in the world.

I'm teaching her all of the important things about life. Take a gander at this pic and notice she's already learned her first obscene gesture. We're half way there to a full on shocker.

As a parent I promise to never have my child interrupt your dinner or get in your way at the grocery store. I know how much you hate a baby crying when you're trying to eat your chicken crispers!

Having a baby has been the most amazing experience. Maddie has taught me patience, kindness, and love. Stay tuned for my martini-less adventures in parenting. Find out what happens when your baby shits in public and how throw up is the new sexy.

Thursday, October 20, 2005

If These Walls Could Talk

Remember Oliver? Of course you do.

Yesterday morning I was in the bathroom admiring my overgrown eyebrows (appt with the all mighty Leticia is today) when I thought I heard something… some strange noise coming from the kitchen. Weird. I listened for a bit but didn’t hear it again.

A few minutes later I was demonstrating my culinary genius by toasting English muffins (3 lovely ww points, thank you very much) when I heard the noise again… this time coming from the bathroom. I made Kike step away from whatever he was doing at his computer and listen for the weird noise. Of course he heard nothing. He went back to making fun of livejournal and I went back to burning muffins.

And then I heard it again. This time louder and scratchy.

“KIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIKE please come back, please.”

He got to the kitchen just in time to hear something scurry between the kitchen wall and the bathroom wall.

It was alive. And stuck between the walls.

Every few minutes we would hear the scurry of claws while the animal moved from one area to the other. It sounded pretty big and we could hear pieces of the wall falling. It would bump about pretty hard. It didn’t sound like a rat. Rats aren’t that heavy. Whatever it was, it was moving things and taking up SPACE.

Kike wondered if the guy that lives above us got a dog and we were just hearing it scurry about on the hard wood floors above us. This seemed sort of logical. It didn’t quite explain why the noise was moving from the floor to the ceiling, but you know… I believe in the power of optimism.

I came up with the brilliant idea of going upstairs and asking the gentleman if he A) recently acquired an animal and B) if not, did he hear the polar bear fussing about in the wall. I marched up the stairs. I was certain I could find the answer.

So I knocked on his door. TAP TAP TAP. I couldn’t hear any animals running around the joint. I could sort of hear the gentle sounds of someone moving, but nothing with fur or four legs. I was sort of annoyed he was ignoring me. I’m right here TAPPING away at your door. Come ask me what I want. I’m not selling anything or inviting you to some lame holiday party. JUST ANSWER THE DOOR.

And then I remember something.

He’s deaf.

So… he really had no idea I was at this door AND he would have no clue if a yeti monster was living in the wall.

I went back downstairs to tell Kike I couldn’t quite depend on the deaf neighbor and we’ve been watching too much Lost.

Kike was busy listening to our new pet run around in the frame of our apartment. We didn’t know what to do… so… we just left. We figured the bear would either find its way out or make comfy on our bed after busting through the wall. Either way, I was pulling for the thing, I really was. I didn’t really want to share my bed with any more creatures but if something growls, I listen. And if it was a polar bear I was hoping it was the cute one that does Coke commercials. He seems jolly and the added value of a roommate that works for Coke is nice.

I called the management company when I got to work. “Hiiiiiiiiii… This is Jo… I have A FREAKIN’ BEAR IN MY WALL!” I left that as a message because the answering machine answered. They never did return my call. Interesting. Management company may think I’m crazzzzzy. Now that I think about, I normally get the answering machine. Perhaps they avoid me all together?

When we got home from work we both tip-toed in. I pushed Kike in first and figured this was as good as any time for him to learn “dudes go first in cases of animals in your apartment”. We walked around a bit like clever ninjas. I freaked when I tripped on a mound of dirty clothes thinking the bear was eating me alive and Kike scoped out the kitchen. No animals.

So… I don’t know where the furry friend went. I hope it got out and is eating various animals at the Lincoln Park Zoo (soooo… that’s why they keep dying). I hope it didn't die or as my friend Wang suggested get "eaten by a larger animal in the wall... like an orca".

I wish it well and hope we never ever meet again.

Goodbye polar bear… or squirrel… or Shamu… or whatever you were. I’ll miss you.

Monday, October 17, 2005

I Am a Sex Addict

I sure fancy the film fest. It's fantastic!

Last night we saw I Am a Sex Addict.

I give this film two shockers up. Now... I just need to figure out if that's a good thing. All thumbs (which are never useless in shockerville) point to yes.

One of my co-workers asked me how I picked which films I wanted to see. She claimed the brochure was overwhelming and she wanted to know if I used any specific methods. I sort of blanked. Do I tell her the truth? Or do I make something up? I did neither and ran away claiming the need to use stall #1.

The truth is... I'm a shallow pig when it comes to picking out film fest movies. I always pick one movie randomly. It's always foreign and makes me feel smartz. I always pick one movie the critics tell me to see. I also go to at least one shorts presentation because I have the attention span of a fruit fly. And then... well...

I always pick one movie with the promise of hot women, lots of boobies, possible wang, and dirty dirty sex. This year I went for maximum nipple exposure in the brochure listing the movies and ended up with tickets to see I Am a Sex Addict.

While the film wasn't all that erotic, it had plenty of boobies and a playful hint of wee willy wang. All of that aside, the movie was funny, painfully honest (especially if you've ever dated someone that tried to convince you them fucking other people will help your relationship), and terribly charming.

If you ever get a chance, please watch this film. And when you're done... let me know if you got a prostitute. I didn't but I told at least 12 I needed to think about it.*

*I was joking. I'd never pay for sex.