It's Whatever

a deep, cleansing exfoliation of the thoughts, with a hint of mint

beetles give me irrational thoughts of bugicide June 24, 2011

Filed under: Uncategorized — omahgawditzljk @ 1:57 am

there is a beetle in my life.  he is unwelcome.  he flutters against my blinds and stands in my light fixture so that his wings are shadows the size of skyscrapers dancing on my wall.  he zooms past me when i’m entranced during a showing of glee and tries to drown out the magnificence of show choir with buzzing in my ear.  he is an attention whore, an unwanted pregnancy, a hangnail on my toe that keeps snagging on my bed covers while i’m trying to sleep.

last night i turned the lights off and laid myself down to sleep.  “goodnight moon,” i whispered.  “goodnight dust bunnies” i said as i looked under my bed and inhaled the soft grey collecting on top of an old sock i abandoned below the bed.  “goodnight bug” i said as i opened my laptop for one last facebook stalking.

and then it whizzed passed me.  with such an attitude, with his armidillo shell inches from my nose.

“ENOUGH, BEETLEJUICE” i said.  i shone the light of the laptop onto my bedside table and looked for a weapon.  birth control? no, that was for killing semen.  i think.  my hairbush? no, that was for my hair.  and for scratching itches on my back.  ah, hello eyeglass cleaning spray.  if this can wipe my eyes of smears, this can certainly wipe OUT the dammed insect.

i sprayed.

the beetle fluttered its wings on my bedspread in a slow, dramatic show of death.  “don’t fight it” i whispered.  “it was your time.”

but it didn’t die.  it grew stronger.  eager.  more determined.  it took flight once again.  i hid in the shadows, afraid for it to seek vengence through the opening of my nostrils.  while watching the beetle watching me, i grabbed at the next object i could feel with my quivering hand.

a dust buster.

“YOU SUCK” i said to the beetle as i plaegerized a line from the movie casper and simultaneously rid this world of one more terrorist.

i slept that night with my mouth open, free of beetles, free of fear.


let’s play a game May 5, 2011

Filed under: Uncategorized — omahgawditzljk @ 12:27 pm

called “why are you dead, and why is this person not?”

ever feel like your world is about to end whenever diane sawyer breaks into your 3 PM general hospital program to announce that some celebrity has died?  ever expect it to be beverly d’angelo or norm from cheers, only to have it be some skanky tween from the disney channel or someone awesome, like ken jeong?  if ken jeong dies, then so do i with him.  c’mon hollywood… let’s start making some celebrity death sense.  enough with the young perishing… enough with the shocking goodbyes… if you’re old, and you’ve been to the academy awards at least twice, and you’ve fathered a couple of babies or have been involved in some sort of scandal involving the gardener and his hose, then it’s your time. 

why are you dead, heath ledger?

and why are you alive, zsa zsa gabor?

  (well, according to google news’s latest headline, not for long.  awwww-kwaaard.)

why are you dead, michael jackson?


and why are you not, courtney love?

nice lipstick.  does it taste as infectious as it looks?


and why are you NOT, pervert from family guy?

now you try it!  or, for added excitement, play it with some estranged family members around a table while doing shots of tequila and playing with grandma’s antique knife set.


people i would like to drink with April 30, 2011

Filed under: Uncategorized — omahgawditzljk @ 11:15 pm

and, of course, we shant forsake:


I am so…so……………………………………talented. April 27, 2011

Filed under: Uncategorized — omahgawditzljk @ 3:10 am

except you’re not, and good acting doesn’t mean taking twenty nervous minutes to tell another character what you ate for dinner.

let’s take a look at some actors and actresses that make me want to run to the closest slow talker’s/stutterer’s house, apologize for my insensitivity, and then scream at the top of my lungs when it takes them 58 minutes to say that it’s okay:

1.  neve campbell

where do you get off interpreting normal human conversation as that which allows for forty pauses and “uhs” and “ums”? my actor’s studio teacher would beat you like chris brown before an award’s show for daring to interpret a writer’s lines as if they should be spoken by a puberty annihalated teenage boy who has just been asked to come to the front of the classroom to complete a math problem on the board, but has a boner and doesn’t know how to politely say “i don’t fucking think so.”

first you have to get through the part where bailey confesses to charlie that he cheated on sarah with that flaming red head.  I KNOW, RIGHT?! who cheats on jennifer love hewitt?! her neutrogena commercials were quality, you blubbering orphaned alcoholic.

2.  scott wolf

your dimples are hot.  i want to eat captain crunch out of them.  i’m pretty sure that if you met me, you would be into me too, because i would howl at you like a wolf and you would think that that was really original.  but at the end of the day, what can you really provide me with but embarrassment at how long it takes for you to tell your AA sponser that sarah makes you want to stay sober and drink at the same time, you slow talking man whore.

3.  dear chick who got fired from the family guy:  they kept adam west, but you, you weren’t up to their standards.  take it personally.


party of five, you have some significantly sucktastic actors whose interpretations of human communication AND grunge makes me want to spit onto your greasy hairdon’ts.

4.  and, finally, the longest pause award, with added shallow breathing and unnecessary gulping, goes to kristen stewart,  for making me age twenty years and birth five children before we are blessed with the knowledge that no, bella swan does not like the rain.

“what are you waiting for?!”



the future of home security April 2, 2011

Filed under: Uncategorized — omahgawditzljk @ 3:20 pm

my fiancée and i have decided to install these on our front lawn anytime someone we don’t like tries to visit, someone tries to break in and murder us, the pizza delivery boy only has 2 minutes left before our pizza is over 30 minutes late and free, or a skeezy, butt stinky boy tries to date one of our future daughters:



Table for 1, Monsieur… Oh, and Don’t Look at Me March 24, 2011

Filed under: Uncategorized — omahgawditzljk @ 6:10 pm

today in l.a. i conquered my greatest fear of all:  eating alone at a restaurant.  and while it partly happened because i felt guilty that my dad had added the “breakfast for 1” plan onto our room, i also did it because if you’re going to be a famous writer, you need to learn to be a loner and eat at tables in dark restaurants by yourself as you wear all black and sunglasses while brooding over the new yorker.  or, in my case, while wearing skinny jeans, a blue flowery blouse, wet hair, and a look that says “omg i might hyperventilate.”

when i walked in, i made sure to stammer “table for 1” enough times for the hostess to sorta understand me.  then i threw in a nervous giggle, bc who doesn’t adore that.  then i made sure that this was free, because i’m really very poor.  it was awesome.  not an ounce of me felt like a farmer, as my dear mum would say.

the hostess started to seat me, but then stopped mid-way between tables with my ass wedged between two diners’ seats bc she didn’t have a table open for me… except that there were plenty of tables open, and i think she didn’t like the look of my arm hair.  she made me sit on a large couch alone as a bunch of other people came over to make sure i was alright.  i was alright, for having caused a scene.  i made sure to remember to report this atrocity to the hotel manager, but then the lady asked me if i wanted orange juice, and i really really did, so i let bygones be bygones and asked her how little mercedes was doing in school.

as i went to the buffet and approached the first silver bowl of breakfast goodness, i realized that i didn’t know how to open the lid.  it was round.  what the hell.  so i opened it slowly, looking to my right and left to make sure no one was watching as i looked like i was waiting for fire to jump out and char my face.  and it DID.  no, it didn’t.  apparently the new technology in buffet tins is that the lid will spontaneously stand on its own.  i got me some bacon, white eggs that said they had asparagus and tomatoes in them, but didn’t, because someone clearly got here before me and picked them all out (kirsten) and so it was just heatlhy, gross, californians-love-these, white freaking eggs.  i also got 1/4 of a belgian waffle, and some yogurt with berries in it.  i also stared at what i thought were egg yolks in a bowl for 30 minutes, but then looked at the sign and sounded out “a—pri—cots.”  new word for egg yolks? i said to myself, and walked to my table for 1.

i sat facing the window so i could seagull watch.  i opened up my “real simple” magazine that i stole from my mom’s bedroom in nj, and i pretended to read as i tried my best to avoid looking around at the other tables full of laughter, chatter, and some guy talking about “them mexicans.”  God, how i wanted to be apart of that conversation.

the egg whites were gross, but i ate them because i felt like if i wasted them, then some waiter would have the mistake of trying them, and i didn’t want to be responsible for his death.

everything else was fine, except for my need to look over my shoulder every two seconds.  also, the waiter dropped the check off five seconds after i started eating, which made me feel rushed.  also, it made me feel awesome, bc all it asked for was a name and room number, so i signed that bastard off to my dad, wiped my mouth, bowed to the servers, and went off to my room to dispense of the morning’s glories into the white commode.  “this one’s for you” i said as i looked at the cleaning  lady down the hall and gun clicked her.

oh, and i’m writing this by the pool which is located directly outside of the restaurant i just ate in.  i’m facing the very window i looked out of.  i think some of the staff might be reading this.  to them i say:  my apologies.

in other news, i’m pretty sure sitting on my ass by the pool all day is not going to get me anywhere closer to zack morris.  i am, however, still wearing my bayside high t-shirt and will soon approach the front desk asking for mr. carosi.

i had the waiter snap a photo of me.  that damn cat just couldn’t leave well enough alone.



Filed under: Uncategorized — omahgawditzljk @ 8:24 pm

my dad doesn’t care about gang wars.  he took me to his work yesterday to introduce me to his co-workers, and when i looked around, i said “why father, i do not feel so safe here.  porquoi?”  AND THEN HE SHOT ME BC I WAS WEARING CRIPS RED





ok, maybe she said crenshaw.  but we passed the crenshaw exit on the 405, and i’m pretty sure my dad was going to take it if it wasn’t for his texting while driving distractions.


ohhhhh this trip.