You Have Bad Taste in Movies

There's nothing worse than going to a movie and, based on the previews, realizing that the movie thinks your an idiot. Like "Oooo since you are watching this romantic comedy, we bet you would like Wild Hogs, starring John Travolta and Tim Allen!" Now I know that Hugh Grant and Drew Barrymore tend to play the same characters in every movie they star in, but I really did think that maybe, just maybe, that this movie would be different. Ok, maybe not different, but at least somewhat enjoyable. But no no no, from the get-go, the previews are laughing in my face saying "ahaha! if you'll pay $10 dollars for this b.s., I bet we could convince you that the new Adam Brody movie looks amazing! You are so stupid, movie-goer!" And the thing is, they're right. I DID pay $10 to watch Drew Barrymore be the cutsie charming girl and Hugh Grant be the smarmy british guy. Ugh. I hate myself sometimes.

This weekend I had a dream that I was using a public bathroom and some bitch decided to pour chocolate pudding on me over the stall door. Tons of chocolate pudding. I came out and was try to wipe my eyes and mouth so I could breathe and see, but I was like swamp thing. Except the swamp was made of pudding. I don't even like pudding. Or jello for that matter. I think my ill feelings for jello were caused by my 1st grade surgery. It's the only time I've ever had to go to the hospital, ever. I had an appendicitis. I could only eat jello and broth for the whole time. Sometimes the nurse would ask what my favorite food was and I'd tell them "pizza" and they would say things like "well pretend like your iv is pizza" or "i'm sure your mom will buy you pizza when you get out of the hospital." Shut up stupid nurses, I'm hungry.

I was stuck there for days staring at a Tv and throwing up on myself and accepting gifts from strangers that went to my church. And then one time an old lady came into my room wearing her hospital gown and I saw her naked old lady ass. And I watched Splash with my mom.

But anyway, jello makes me want to puke and I don't know why my dreams are so weird.

I Am Seriously Black

i've just discovered. that making the background on your blog BLACK makes it look like a more serious blog. well i assure you we are very serious here.

Things I Hate This Week

1. Standard Poodles: I passed by one of these on the train the other day and I had to stop myself from pulling the emergency brake, ripping open the door with my bloodied fingers and slapping the prancing mammoth-dog in the face. Don't get me wrong. I looove dogs. So much so that it's annoying. When I see a dog, I usually squeal "heeeey puppy" and pray the the cute thing will look at me and wag its tail with joy (this does not apply to Corgies (stumpy short legs) or Greyhounds (they're nearly 2 dimensional.. creeepy.) But why does the giganta-dog get the name STANDARD?? When you think of a poodle, you think of a little shaking thing that fits under your arm and is able to dance on it's hind legs in a tutu. I think the Standard Poodle should be renamed Elephantitas Poodle, or Freak Poodle. Or OMG GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME Poodle. Who likes them? I mean, really.

2. Bruises: Actually, I sorta like bruises, cause they make me look like I've been running around barefoot and climbing trees. They make me look so carefree that I could not possibly give a damn about whether I banged my leg or not. The problem is is that it's February. I wasn't out climbing trees. I wasn't running barefoot or pulling myself back onto a dock after jumping in the lake. No no no, the giant bruises that have taken over my knees are a constant reminder that on Saturday, sometime after my 8,000th whiskey, and somewhere in between Junior Senior and USE, my converse gave out on the Great Scott dance floor and I found myself sprawled on the floor. How did this happen? Not sure! But even if it wasn't like -10 degrees out I'd still have to wear tights cause I look like a battered woman. I look I've spent too much time on my knees. So I look like a beat-up ho. An exceptional Halloween costume, but not so much in real life.

3. Internet sarcasm. Specifically you not getting mine, and me, not getting yours. Terrible terrible thing.

4. NOT HAVING A #4 or a #5!!! AGHGHGHGHGHGHGHGHHG

Flip This Bitch! (Updated)

Since it's post-Valentine's Day and I don't have to be nice anymore, I've got some hot tips for anyone hoping to keep a guy or girl in their lives.

1. Give people their space. Yes. I know. Romance. It will not last. Give people their space and you'll enjoy the fact that you can still be your own person while also being part of a super cute couple. Word.

2. Dudes, do NOT cry in front of your ladies. Not even if your sports team loses. You would think that would be the slightest of exceptions but no. Okay maybe if a close family member dies, but NOT your cat. Maybe if you were cheated on and that person just told you. Yes go ahead and cry those baby tears. but NOT your cat. And please god forbid don't ever cry because people aren't paying attention to you. This goes for both ladies and men, though ladies have the edge because they have boobs and guys can just say we're nuts anyway (mostly and sometimes true). Guys have no excuse though. Sorry.
I'm sad that Fluffy died yes but I've been through seven or eight cats and yes I miss them but they will be waiting for me in heaven and I can be a crazy cat lady for eternity. GLORIOUS. I had a boyfriend, no make that TWO boyfriends that called me crying becuase their cat died. No. No! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. ARE YOU GETTING THIS YET? NO CATS NO CRYING. I HATE YOUR CAT. LOOK HOW STUPID IT LOOKS. STUPID CAT! -----------------> DARTH KILL CAT. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
I mean....YEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Pussy.

Anyway. Onto step 3. I'm tired. To be continued...

PS. I just tried a delicious SEMLA for Lent from SVENSKA. TAKK LOUISE!
After I eat everyone's stupid cats I will have another one of these decliosities from FIKA in Midwtown. MMMMMMMMMarzipan! PSS Fun Fact: King Adolf Frederick of Sweden died of digestion problems on February 12, 1771 after consuming a meal consisting of lobster, caviar, sour cabbage, smoked herring and champagne, which was topped off by 14 servings of his favourite dessert: a semla served in a bowl of hot milk. HOLY SHIZZ! What a way to go. A moment of silence please for King Adolf. Nice job assface. Just kidding! I love SWEDEN!

PSSS. I'm like, really good at HTML-ing.

DO THEY NOT LET FAT PEOPLE INTO MISSHAPES? WHERE DO THESE ALIENS COME FROM??

TWINSIES!!

Environmentally Conscience or Plain Lazy?

Some day the world is gonna run out of fresh water. I know that. I know that we can do our part by taking shorter showers and installing low-flo toilets. But for the love of god, can we do away with this "I'm just not gonna flush as often" business? Like, for instance, if you use the bathroom before me at a bar. Uh, gross!

If you want to do the whole pee on top of more pee business in the privacy of your own home, go for it.. but know that no matter how much I love dear Earth, I am flushing that goddamn toilet before I put my naked skin anywhere near it. The idea of my pee mixing with someone elses makes me want to vom. I mean, what it leaps out and onto me? Then I have stranger pee on me and I'm gonna feel weird about it. This is my worst nightmare. I am so fucking serious.

Cleanliness. Eh, whatever.tots.

I just showered yesterday. Why do I have to do it again today? I think it's because I OD'd on tots. I've never done that before. Nothing like a little fried potato and ketchup flying out of your mouth to make you forget you're a human being and need to think about stuff like HYGIENE. It should have the opposite effect no? Apparently not. I slept in my clothes too. I'm turning into my grandma. She would just put a little perfume on instead of shower. My dad doesn't really take that many showers either anymore. I have the same blood type as them. It's inevitable. How did I get from tots to grandma? What's the connection? Oh by the way, shortly after my tots had left the building I ate a falafel sandwich spilling the white sauce on the knees of my jeans. MMMM. what a lady.

PS. Jehovah begins with an "I".

PSS. Rats have sex 22 times a day.

PSSS. Apparently when you have babies and you are out shopping for groceries and hear another baby crying in the aisle over your boobs will start...leaking.

DJ Angry Face

I DJ every (most) Saturday at a night called The Plan. By "DJ" I mean play bands that I really like and hope people will like too. I don't expect people to dance.. I know my idea of "dance music" is different than 90% of the population. I'm not a cool DJ and I know this. Sometimes I'll play Pulp and feel weird about it. Usually I play Supergrass and feel good about it.

Anyway, let's get to my point. Most Plan attendees seem to understand this whole "uncool DJ" thing and while they will occasionally compliment/ask about something I play, they rarely make requests. This works out well for me cause I usually don't have whatever they want to hear. It's my biggest source of shame (but not really) "NO I DON'T HAVE ANY NEW ORDER!!" The problem comes when the 1am drunks come stumblin in looking for a round for last call. And of course, they want to dance. And request. And insult. I'm sure they're not trying to insult. I pray they're not. But all I hear when they talk is "bad DJ.. lame lame lame DJ."

This week a college-age drunk dancing girl told me to play "something good.. something we can dance to." I pointed out that she was dancing, on the stage in fact, to the Junior Boys track I had put on. That didn't seem to compute. She sorta just frowned at me. I sorta had to stop myself from slapping her. Later someone requested Led Zeppelin or Grateful Dead or Red Hot Chili Peppers. Thanks asshole*. How about you sit down and pretend this is the radio and just like whatever I play because I am the DJ and I am playing Dictator. Pretend I am WBCN.

So perhaps I should change my DJ name from DJ Bethany to DJ Not Cool, DJ Disappointment, or DJ No Requests Please. Or maybe people should just like the exact same music I do and build me a giant throne that says "Queen DJ Bethany" and parade me through the streets of Allston while I play some Imperial Teen and throw handfuls of candy to my adoring fans.


*he wasn't really an asshole. He ended up liking the Rapture and wrote down the name so he could download some songs. I still hate that drunk college girl though.

Boston Thwarts Terrorism, Embarasses Me

Last night, while enjoying a leisurely dinner at Tavern on the Square, I got a text from my friend Aaron back home in Washington saying "good work Boston." Yeah yeah yeah. Half of Boston was shut down because of the threat of exploding Adult Swim characters. Blah blah blah. Listen, it's not MY fault that not everyone in this great city is a tuned in to pop culture as the rest of us. What do you expect in a city that shuts its public transportation down at 12:30am, doesn't allow drink specials and takes 357 years to complete a new highway system? Boston is, at its core, is a conservative, old- fashioned city, thinly veiled as forward-thinking, and now everyone knows it. Thank you to the asshole that called 911 about a "suspicious device!" Oh tipster, tell me, do you spend your nights pondering life in a post 9/11 world? Is your garage stock-piled with cans of string beans and distilled water in case Iraq does in fact have weapons of mass destruction? Is "If you see something, say something" tatooed on your forearm? Do you take comfort in the fact that you made the entire city look like a bunch of paranoid wackos?

As my friend Aaron so nicely put it "Well the outdoor ads are in place in ten cities and you guys are the only one to think Meatwad was going to send up a mushroom cloud, so you can't talk shit about anywhere else for a while."

Aghhh. Does this mean I can't make fun of L.A for a few months? Great.