I knew you'd come back to me.

Holy shit, guys. Holy shit! With this blog entry, I have single-handedly brought back the P'Zone. Check this out: http://www.pizzahut.com/

Just like they say, if you love something set it free; if it returns to you, it's yours. I knew ours was a love that knew no boundaries of size or limited times or human/food relations. Welcome back into my hungry arms and hungry eyes, my dearest.

A delicious death for kitty

I just got back from lunch, where I had something claiming to be thai food. I'm pretty sure it was spicy cat food. I found this photo fitting for my lunchtime confusion.

I found this picture while google searching something about cats and I am intrigued by so many things about this product.

Let's start with the name of this product. "Lenguas de Gato," which is translated into "Cat Languages." Will I find a cat-to-human dictionary inside? Are there cds inside that I may listen to so that I may speak "cat" as well? Or is it merely a box full of cat tongues to use at my disposal?

No, it is not. Unless those cat tongues are covered in 100% Chocolate! Does this mean it's chocolate that's safe for cats? By the terrified look on that poor kitty's face, I'm going to say no. This is probably a delicious and deadly cat exterminator, much like salt is to the slug. And I can't get enough of it. I love cats (too much for a girl my age? Perhaps), but few things delight me more than a terrified or pissed off look on a cat's face. This is enhanced when put on a product, or when dressed up in a silly costume. If this cat had a hat on, I'd buy a thousand boxes of these cat tongues.

Google is my best friend

Google just made the coolest gadget ever. Check out this video:

I'm obsessed with maps in the same, anal way that I'm obsessed with weather.com. I like to know what's going on at all times. If only we could...

Holy shit, Google. C'mere. Shh, really, come closer. I just had an awesome idea. Let's combine them. Yeah, I'm for serious. OMG, it's gonna be so awesome. We can get an up to the minute weather map, like the kind on the news where you can see the progression of the cloud movement over time, and put that over the Google street view map, I could have everything in one place! You already show me the closest subway stations and restaurants (and their ratings), so don't stop there, Google. I wasn't screwing around when I said I like to know what's going on at all times. I want to be able to zoom in on parks and peoples' houses to see where my friends are. I want to know who is protesting at Union Square today and what they're fighting for. I want event and gossip updates so I can base my night around what shit is going down where. Like G-Chat, but just on top of the map. I want to be at the birthday party where Kate is bringing her new boyfriend when Google Maps tells me her bitter ex Jason will be there. I want to know when LiLo is in town, and where I can best position myself to see her wasted on booze and coke.

But that's all a fantasy for my gossipy and demanding imagination. Really, you're close to perfection for me, Google Maps. This new Street View option is amazing, it's like touring the city and never having to leave the house!

PS- I don't know where to put this, but I feel it must be mentioned... Street View video, orange suit, balls. My sympathies.

I'm a star!

Some of my bros over at The Seven Year Plan posted an article yesterday that I wrote as a revision/expansion of the P'Zone blog seen here on this very site. I am a lucky lady.

Please check out the article, register for the site and vote for it. There is a ton of other hilarious stuff to read or watch all over the site, so check it out. And I'll post a real blog soon, I promise.

http://www.thesevenyearplan.com/viewarticle.php?id=116


Also, a picture of something amazing:

In the grand tradition of "Honey, I Blew Up the Baby"...

Michael Jackson wants to start his comeback in Las Vegas. It's been a rough few years since the child molestation charges against him in 2004, so it seems he has hired a top notch team to bring him back big time. Michael Jackson is in talks to build a 50 foot robot (in his own image) that would roam the Las Vegas desert and shoot goddamned laser beams out of it's eyes.

http://music.yahoo.com/read/news/41620594

This is the maybe the coolest news item I've ever heard.

You need to give it up, had about enough

Hey, you. Yeah, sassy black man, you. I see you.

You in your newsboy cap tilted to the side, your plaid pink-and-green vest, your flat-front khaki pants with the rain jacket and umbrella to match. Your nice brown shoes that seem to have remained spotless, despite the nasty, rainy day. You with the snarky look. You're probably named something like "Giann." You look like Andre3000 with a catwalk strut.

You want to look at my iPod as I change songs? You thought I didn't notice. Well go on, take a look-see, I don't care. But stop judging me when I skip over the "The Boy is Mine" duet by Brandy and Monica, pause and reflect on my decision, and go back to listen to the song, cranking up the volume.

You take your roll-of-the-eyes and your smirk and your triple snap of the fingers up the subway stairs and you exchange it all for a $1 tamale bought from the lady selling them out of the shopping cart, 'cuz that's all it's worth to me. OOHHhhhh shit!

Reminisce'Zone

Hey! Do you remember the P'Zone?

It's more than just a calzone, it's the size of a pizza, folded in half! You are made to believe that it's for one person, so you and your roommate Amanda have 2 of them delivered. You have a mini celebration about how awesome they are going to be. You get out unholy amounts of ranch dressing to sacrifice to the P'Zone and throw on The Emperor's New Groove. Yeah, it's a party. You and Amanda are overly rambunctious when the pizza guy gets there, and though you are both single and lonely and centering an evening on what is basically a fun-to-be-fat party, you ignore the delivery boy's advances. We don't need companionship, we have the P'Zone!

So you and Amanda settle onto the couch, put the P'Zone on the coffee table and pump your fists as if you've just finished the New York Marathon. You smile at each other and start eating this magical concoction like you're the happiest person on the planet (you know, Bill Cosby). You're not thinking about all the cardio-kickboxing you're going to have to do to burn this off, you eat like you're being paid to do it. Other metaphors happen.

Cut to an hour later, the both of you sprawled out on the floor. You left the couch because it couldn't hold either of you anymore. You both have skipped the unbuttoning of your jeans and totally taken your pants off. You have never been so fat in your life. Since this whole debacle began, you've gained 25 pounds and a heart condition. You won't be going to class tomorrow because you can't fit in any of your clothes anymore. You won't be going anywhere but the bathroom, and you're certain to visit it often. You spend the rest of the evening moaning in agony and rolling around on the floor, getting dog hair all over your already ranch-dressing-and-marinara stained hoodie.

But don't worry, fella. Things get better. It may take a while, but you get back on your feet. You stop having P'Zone themed nightmares. You're able to look at red sauce and baked goods again without wanting to vomit all over your new, stain-free hoodie. You've grown up a bit and have more control over yourself.

You're finally ready for another.

So what I'm saying is this: come on, P'Zone. It's been 5 years. I'm ready for what you've got, I'm a woman now. Come back to me. I know, you hurt me, but I love you. I think I'm ready for a relationship now. But only with you. Or another Americanized Italian food. Let's do this.



On a side note: I love Bill Cosby.