Someone Stole My Yogurt...

Well, okay, maybe I'm a wee-bit exaggerating, but it appears that every time I reach into the fridge to obtain a yogurt, the amount of them seems to disintegrate far more rapidly than I am consuming them. I AM the only one in this household who eats them and I AM the only one who purchases them, so why do they seem to be disappearing like fish in a lagoon, when one goes fishing? Maybe it is my mind? I'm only nineteen, dementia can not be affecting me this early in age.

Any who... No ones interested in my yogurt/ dementia ramblings anyway. What else shall I discuss???

Well...for this pointless, piece-of good-for-nothing blog, the best thing I guess I can discuss is my day. My day was neither exciting, nor adventures, but tedious, long, muy aburrido (yeah, I think "you" get the picture). I was guilt tripped by mother to baby-sit her coworkers' children for nine hours. Though I argued quite vehemently through this one, because mother continued with her constant shit of how I am a lazy bastard who has no aspirations/ goals in life, I lost. She furthermore continued to bring up the fact that when she was my age, she was traveling on long-hot subway rides through Manhattan to various hospitals completing her ten-week internship as a respiratory therapist. Well Francine, glad you found enjoyment by sticking tubes down old veterans throats because they were smoke stacks in the days of Vietnyam. Sounds like a thrill! To make a long story short, I found myself with four other girls, babysitting three kids and watching countless episodes of the Wizards of Waverly Place, Jonas, Hannah Montana, and that stupid show with those spoiled twins who live in that big-ass hotel. I even saw a good portion of the Cheetah Girls (made me reminiscent about the days of eighth grade). Early this morning, we watched this show called "Upside Down" on that Noggin channel which mainly consisted of two homosexual men tripping on acid. Seriously people? I pity the children of this era who have nothing better to watch than brats being wizards or a superstar and her "alter ego." I have come to the conclusion that when my maturity level heightens and I procreate and reproduce, my children are not going to be viewing this shit. Instead, I will be the proud owner of various old-school nickelodeon DVDs, which my children will watch. I don't care if they're bootleg, those were some good classic shows. I have great memories of my mother ditching me in front of the TV when I was about four or so, to go let my monkey-brother play suckle-suckle on her nipple, while I spent countless hours watching classics of Doug, Rugrats (only the ones where Tommy was an only child and Chucky's dad had not remarried), Rocko's Modern Life, Legends of the Hidden Temple (I think thats it's name), and Are You Afraid of the Dark?. AYAOTD? always creeped me out a bit, so I guess I'l wait till my kids are older to let them view it. There are so many more shows, but I have no energy/motivation for me to list them. I think "you" get the gist of my argument here: 

The only thing the Disney Channel is good for is that it serves as a  sufficient tool for babysitters to throw small children in front of for enough time to sneak their significant other onto the premises for a decent fuck.

For this very reason...I WILL ALWAYS HAVE GREAT PRIDE IN BEING A "CHILD OF THE NINETIES"

Mr. Smithsonian, Dressed in Colonial Attire, With a Toupee', in Sheepshead Bay (hey, that rhymes!)

Wow...it's been certainly a long time since I blogged. According to my last post, y last blog took place on June 5th and today is July 10th (as of 1 hour and 43 minutes ago), therefore I have not blogged in 35 days. For all my loyal followers (Louis, Taylor, and Michael), my sincere apologies for not wasting your time in the past 35 days for not entertaining you with my constant ramblings. Apparently, stealing WI-FI from old Jewish people is not the most successful method to rely on when it comes to updating your useless, pointless blog. 

     For those who actually give a crap, this trip was not swell, so shut up with your jealously of how I vacation in New York and your stuck in Hilton Head or Martha's drunk-people's vineyard, or wherever you usually go. I was confined to my Dad's Toyota Highlander with my parents and brother all the way from Macon to Brooklyn. For those who maybe concerned we failed to "Cape the Cod" or "Inform Walcott that the Bottleneck is a shit show," which was part of the original plan for this excursion. Instead, we spent a week being the oh-so prominent Americans that we are and hit up every single Smithsonian Museum in Obama-land.  Not only did we entail on these "Smithsonian journeys," but my family also felt compelled to tour every single federal building in the 60 square miles that consists of the District of Columbia and spend sixty bucks visiting the Spy Museum (yes Michael, I agree it was very corny, but it was not my idea to go). Now, I have no issues learning about the government (or what the government wishes to inform the public regarding itself), but seven days doing it is not the best surf board to be surfing.  The best part of this leg of the trip was when some police kicked us off the front of the white house while we were taking pictures. Then I got stung by some odd insect and said a swear in front of small children and my mother got mad at me. Actually, if you cross your fingers and click your feet three times, I might be able to upload a video for you to watch regarding this incident.

     After this patriotically-intense week, the Hirsh's decided to spend some "quality family time" taking Shannon to visit colleges. Sadly, Sol's non-reliable GPS ruined the "quality" in "quality family time." We went to Baltimore and visited Towson and Goucher (some hippy lady gave me hug and thought she was my bff) and then Philly to see Temple. We never actually received a grand tour of Temple, seeing as after we walked 3 miles through the ghetto to get there, my mother refused to finance my education to attend that institution. Therefore, we spent our 48 hours in Philly touring more historical sites (we just can't get enough of them, can we?) and putting up with them to avoid my mother snarling and reminding me of the disrespectful, irresponsible bitch that I am. I guess the best part of this was watching people with hair plugs dressed as colonial inhabitants, pretending to be having the time of their life. At one point, I waved at one that was about 20 yards away from me and he bowed at me. My brother gave me a dirty look for having contact with another human whose last name was not "Hirsh." Overall, Phildalphia sucks balls and I would not recommend spending "quality family time" or for the most part, any "quality time" there. The place smells like a septic tank too.

     After this, we spent some time  in the Big Apple. But guess what? Nothing happened. Unlike our previous adventures  in which we made deep, passionate, love to every historical site on the east coast, we spent a good portion of the time in my grandparents musty apartment and cleaning it out. One day we saw family. They were doing well. We ventured to the city for one day, but a 19 year old venturing into NYC with their parents and brother to visit Times Square is not the most exciting thing in the world. Especially if you've done it about 20, 000 times before and know the place like the back of your hand (please excuse my bragging). We saw Westside Story on Broadway (which was pretty decent) and after the show venders were selling Obama condoms and yelling comments like "buys these for long and hard times!" and "remember the election with your next erection!"

     The most amusing thing that occurred while in New York were the characters in which we came across who resided in my grandparents' apartment complex. The first one was this woman who will be referred to as "Yenta." Well, Yenta was a big lady who loved to gossip. She bought some dressers and chests from the apartment and my brother and I helped move them up to her apartment. She had a nice Jewish son who was currently attending some big-ass prestigious engineering school somewhere up north. She also didn't miss the  beat on how his "girlfriend" was the rocket science club president at her school (At that point I lost interest in the conversation all together) . I wasn't aware that rocket science clubs exist, but according to Yenta, they do. Her biggest gossip news was that she knew who took my Grandfather's parking spot in the garage after he died (apparently these spots are like gold for the old Jews) and didn't pay for it for three months during the winter, which really REALLY BIG NEWS. Evidently, she was very impressed with herself for knowing this.  The second character of amusement that we came across will be referred as "Yento." Yento retained many of the same traits as Yenta (gossipy, large features, loud, obnoxious,  like to get in your business etc.) except he was gay (I guess both were attracted to men though). Unlike Yenta's obsession with garage parking spots, Yento had an obsession with air-conditioning units. He told us the co-op charges us for each unit installed in the windows and that we should probably take them out. Like Yenta, we also proud of himself for knowing this "inside scoop." He also sported a toupee' which did not fit quite so well on his head.

So now, you know that those 35 days were not spent with me having sex with random guys, but engaging in "quality family time." So, I hope whoever reads this (if any of you actually do) doesn't stay awfully mad at me for long and I'll try to keep up to date with my "blogging" so you will have some form of entertainment for all of 5 minutes.

By the way, if anyones interested in a 2 bedroom, 1 bath apartment in the heart of Sheepshead Bay, hit me up. I got connections.

(Oh yeah, I can't get my camera to work, right I want yo go to bed, so i'll try to download pictures and videos on here tomorrow)

Always with love...

The Lady In the Infomercial Just Referred to Cucumbers as "Cyooks"

It's 2:13 am and I'm awake. This is probably because I slept for five hours today after serving the homeless green beans. This has got me thinking about dreams and how our brains compose our dreams. Looking back on the dreams I've had in the past several weeks, I think about how trippy they have been and why they are the way they are. Dreams are suppose to be recollections of our day to day lives, or things that we unconsciously wish or desire. Yet, a majority of the dreams that take place in my head usually are things that I would never imagine. For instance, today I dreamt that I was going to prom with this guy I went to Israel with. Before prom we were going to eat at Sweet Tomatoes, but it was a kosher Sweet Tomatoes and we had to walk down this long corridor (it looked similar to the place you wait in before riding Space Mountain)  to get there. Once we got there it was very crowded and even more difficult to obtain food. I should also mention that my escort and I were all lovey-dovey while waiting in line. This is so obscure mainly because I have no romantic interests toward this individual and prom is long gone. Since I'm on a role on this dream thing, I might as well bore you with the dream I encountered last night. So, I was chilling out with this individual who I will refer to as the "Eggman." Well the Eggman and I were hanging in the sunroom of a particular friend's place of residence (we were in their sunroom to be exact). This friend has very strict and anal parentals and we always have to be careful when we're over at their house. So, in the sunroom, the Eggman and I decided to smoke a joint ( I'm not a habitual pot-smoker). We didn't give a care what this friend's parents thought or what would happen if we were caught. We were free and carefree and didn't give a shit in the world what anyone thought. It was the essence of beauty. Do you ever have those dreams that something happens that suspends the barriers of reality? Something occurs that would never happen on this planet, but when you experience it in your dream you get that weird crazy-ass feeling that is really hard to actually put in words. After I wake up and fade out of my post-sleep state, (this usually requires the assistance of coffee) this feeling is overcome by a sense of depression. Not I-Need-Zoloft depression, but a depression that occurs when you realize perfection is a theory. It can exist in very small amounts, but never to the extent that is will in our dreams. 

Enough with this philosophical ramblings. Its long, tedious, and boring and is definitely not worth your time to read. Please note todays post is poorly written. It's time for me to hit the hay...nighty-nite :)

Dude...I'm sitting on a bed of nails

No, I am not receiving tetanus from the ass, but thanks for the concern anyway. My dear friend who resides in Tifton just sent me this awesome song titled "Bed  of Nails" (hence the title) by Rockapella. Rockapella actually created the theme song for the TV show "Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego" that was popular when I was like three or so. Actually, a funny thing occurred today. Two different people who I am certain that have never met each other before informed me today about Rockapella and their creation for the theme song. It's not everyday somebody brings up that show, but its like finding a needle in a haystack  when it is mentioned twice within 24. It  pitiful that this is what I find amusing in my life.

****Here's a link to the song on youtube, because I am ridiculous and have no ability to perform a simple task such as uploading a youtube video****

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AF-SkUHUbYs

So, a dear comrade of mine and I attended a Bar-Mitzvah this morning. We went to bed at five, after watching countless videos on youtube, and I set my alarm for nine. I kept hitting the snooze button and eventually made my way out of bed  around 9:50 or so. Evidently, the invention of the alarm is very effective on me.

So, we go to synagogue, coffeeless, and sit through a three hour service. Literally, this was a conglomeration of the average service, Shavout (a holiday for all you goys), and a Bar Mitzvah piled into one. It was long long long long long long long. Even I, who is a Jew and is use to long services found this one quite lengthy.  The lox was delicious. Period.

Oh, so when I was at synagogue, I ran into a relative of the individual who crack-dials me. I informed them of his actions and they informed me that he has been very sick lately. Apparently  this was not the average  cold or flu, but an allergic reaction to his dog. He couldn't  leave the house it was so bad. Is this possible? The five minutes I spent googling this, nothing came up. I don't believe this exists and this person is a hypochondriac. I really hope they read this.

Other than that, I attended the party of this Bar Mitzvah and returned home a mere two hours ago. It was uneventful, mainly because there were no people my age , (well, there was this one guy...). Well, to add a little zest to this simcha I played a little game I like to refer to as "Lets Be 21."

The results: I Won :)

 

I feel lazy! A feeling of lethargy is sweeping my body. Actually, it tends to affect my body at the most unconventional times. For instance, I was with some friends at a local Barnes and Nobles around 9:30 or so last night and I fell asleep in once of those big-ass cushy chairs they have there. I wonder where they actually obtain those chairs because I swear they are the most comfortable chairs ever produced on this planet. Well any who, turns out I fell asleep then, but after I drove everyone home and returned to my quarters, sleep was unable to conquer my body. I probably didn't fall asleep till around 4 or 5 or so, and when I did, I was awoken at 8 because inhabitants of my house have no ability to get ready for work in a quiet, non-discreet manner. Screw that! 

It's disconcerting that I have nothing better to write about than my irregular sleeping patterns. 

Wait... I just thought of something semi-entertaining to enlighten the world regarding my life. Well...you may not find it entertaining, but it most certainly added a tad bit of dazzle to the monotony. I have this acquaintance who resides in the great city of Miami, who does a lot of crack. Occasionally, (mainly like once a month) I am the recipient of a deranged phone call from this individual, which mainly consists of meaningless babble. In return, the individual is the first on my list to receive calls when I may not be inebriated. So, around 2 in the morning today, this individual performed his monthly ritual. This time he was actually pretty coherent (for him) and his phone didn;t break up. He asked if I was related to a "Bosnan Hirsh" in which he demanded that I say "yes." Then he asked me if I was a cat. He's a character.

Other than this, I have nothing else to say, but if insominia takes a hold of me tonight, I might be back on here ranting and raving over God-knows-what.

So it's 3:29 am..and I'm doing this because???????

So, I'm sitting here, in my room, pondering...life. No not really, but I just noticed that me typing on this keyboard is causing my  bed to gyrate, furthermore, giving the impression that some form of sexual activity is occurring in my bedroom. This is false ( or is it?????).

 So this is my first post ( thank you Captain Obvious) and the reasons to giving birth to this "blogger" are still uncertain  to me. I don't have  much to say, and when I do have something to say it's usually fruitless and immature. If your here to collect some "intellectual wisdom" or to read a dissertation that proves the Big Bang Theory to be false, you might as well depart this teepee. If you want to know a direct purpose to the creation of this blog, you should probably pour oil on the teepee and set it to fire. If I even bother to continue on with this "blogger", the purpose of it might eventually evolve. Also, for those who don't know me (well, it's not like anyone will actually read this blog anyway) you will probably come to the realization that I am the official matriarch of procrastination and that I have this awful addiction to listening to nonconventional music while jumping on trampolines. Unfortunately my trampoline collapsed last week which has forced me to enter a twelve step program to deal with my addiction.  I don't feel conceited enough to inform the world random, pointless facts regarding my personality that one usually answers on those stupid myface interviews; so screw that fact that that you will never know my favorite color or if I feel emotionally connected to the last person who stuck their tongue in my mouth. I feel compelled to inform you (if a "you"really does exist) that I have just completed my first year of college in the butthole of South Georgia. I have no idea what on earth I should do with my life, which is perfectly fine with me. Psychology intrigues me. Sometimes, I just sit in the most random of randomist places  and just watch people. Not stalk, but watch. I also enjoy watching the people deliver the newspaper at 4:03 in the morning. They always come by in this beat-up old truck and throw the paper in the drive. The light is always on in the truck, so I usually get a quick glimpse of the stack of papers sitting next to the driver. One morning, this summer, I will stand outside and greet the person who delivers the paper. Then we shall be facebook buddies! Not really. I definitely want a picture with this person, so I can post it on here to prove to all my attentive readers that the newspaper person really does exist. On occasion, I emit vibes of apathy to various individuals which results in them bugging me to create a so-called "goals list." Next time someone approaches me regarding details to my "summer goals" I will politely inform them that I wish to meet, greet, take a picture, and be facebook buddies with the newspaper person. I'm pretty positive they would expect my initial response to involve some riff raff about obtaining a job. Screw that!

Well... I just dedicated a good forty minutes or so to "blogging" (so thats what the kids are calling it these days). I have to get up early and pick the dirty underwear off my floor. I have friends coming over to go swimming tomorrow (if God remembers to takes is detrol) and it would be such a shame for them to see the my barbie, skid-marked underwear. Ciao!!!!!