Monday, December 22, 2008

eternal bryanambition



ok so i realized something today--the reason i'm so obsessed with youth and the mere act of preserving it is because i've inadvertently been doing just that since the very day i was born and started aging! let a brother explain.

so as i've been going through life, and experience those situations where i get to reflect on myself and how/where i stand, both chronologically and geographically, i've realized, as of late, that i'm still stuck in a "long time ago" era. i've been in nyc for just about 10 years, yet i still don't grasp the full realization that i live, work and exist here. in another 10 years, i'll have lived here for a longer period of time than in PA, where i was raised. maybe that's the cutoff for true realization. hmm.
but the oddest part was when i looked beyond the geography of my existence to the chronology--where am i on the timeline of the life of bryanambition?
to someone i've known for a few years, i'd appear as a dashing 27 year-old (that's right, kids--i said 27. twenty-fucking-seven. that's me. i'm not owning up to be proud of it yet, but next year's pre-reunion botox should put me in my place [and keep me there]) with messy hair who works in fashion at a magazine. and listens to weird music. and can undulate his stomach. ok the descriptions can go on for years, but the one that rings the WTF bell for me is the age part. twenty-seven.
now, it's no news that i've had an issue with my age since i was 22, but what really gets me is not the number--it's the time and space that's lapsed. when those reflective moments hit, i think of myself as a 12 year-old, in his gaudily-decorated bedroom, murals and hieroglyphics strewn across the walls, under the reign of his traditional, yet oddly progressive parents, and not having to deal with any real issues in life, such as bills, student loan payments and criminal records (ok that last one was for good measure), who parted his hair down the middle and wore green and black braces. but i'm not that kid anymore.
so maybe by continuing to feel like him, i won't age?

later, alligators.

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

ok enough



this is what i have to put up with on union square on a daily basis. the only thing that would make this scarier is if all the children riding this rickshaw of a device sported uniform bleachjobs and had icy blue eyes. oh, and if they all turned their heads at once.

children are getting out of control.

Thursday, December 11, 2008

grateful.



did you ever know that you're my heeeeero...ok not gonna happen. but i'd like to start by captioning the above image with, "there are slow walkers, and there are slow talkers, but the real plaque in the arteries of the morning commute are the assholes who just meander in their chunky-soled shoes."

today i'd like to list the things of the moment for which i am grateful:
-mcintosh apples
-asparagus pee
-coffee pee (because it eerily smells of cheerios)
-red wine
-ck one
-holiday music in the shower
-american express platinum cards and the men who own them
-peanut butter and plastic spoons
-rhymes
-chipotle and the rap i made up while i was there (i'm a the chipot/it's like a muthafuckin' antidote/ to the sins of last night--boy did i give a fright/i be traipsin' around widdout makin' a sound/treatin dems boys like they was some toys/runnin' and runnin' and runnin' them down
-mayim bialik

and that's all for now. later, alligators.

Wednesday, December 10, 2008

bitch&rantonawednesday -or- oy, what's the secret with the soy?

hey kids!
how you bitches hanging? i'd love to blame my absence on economic status or government-sanctioned internet rations, but to be frank, i've been busy and didn't care as much. tho here i am.

so where do i start?



starbucks. i feel like that name garners so much frustration and negative empathy that i needn't even go on. but like to true bitcher i am, i will.
so i'm not even that big of a coffee drinker--the last thing i need is more energy--but certain days require a liiiittle more motivation than others, so i find myself either enduring the painfully slow line at the LPQ for an only half-full cup of marginal coffee, or subjecting myself to an even longer line, completely ludicrous methods of communication (are those headsets really necessary) and a robotic staff of mentally retarded baristas for a too-hot cup of overroasted coffee. today i opted for starbucks, call me a masochist.
so yeah, after i placed my order with what seemed like 74 different people, i received my steaming hot cup of burnt black and proceeded over to the condiment bar to dress it up. sugar, sugar in the raw, sweet-n-low, splenda, skin, half-and-half, whole--WAIT a second--where's the soy? where the FUCK is the soy milk? yeah--not OUT, that's where. i had to ask for it, which required an additional wait in line, not to mention several eye rolls. now i'm prompted to really ask starbucks, "OK--what is the secret with the soy?" it's bad enough they charge me extra for my lactose intolerance ($.75 on a soy latte, thankssss) but now they hide the incidental soy milk behind the counter. are they just imposing stinginess clauses in their new constitution? or perhaps zev siegl had a torrid affair with the youngest daughter of the world's soy import commission president, and decided to spread his animosity worldwide by imposing extra charges on all those who sought the lactose-free milk substitute.
whatever the reason, i think it's mighty fucked up that i have to both pay extra and ask for alternatives to better suit my digestive proclivities. thanks.

next up--those crazy bitches at wholefoods.



i don't know what it is about the place--could be that the natural/organic fare goes hand-in-hand with slothlike granola people--but why the eff does wholefoods attract such retards? sorry gals, but most of the time it's you. these women come in wearing multiple layers, even in summertime, always topped off by a large coat, sometimes shorts over leggings, almost always sporting fair isle knit hats with pom poms on top of an unbrushed, unruly, and UNRIGHT mop of hair, usually carrying some oversized hemp bag, and alllllllllways wearing lesbian shoes, some experimental ergonomic footwear, usually supported by an oddly-shaped heel or an excessively rounded toe. either way, they swarm and huddle around the prepared food section, slowly moving to inspect each selection, actually reading every ingredient listed on the card that corresponds to each one, and taking their sweet, granola time, like nobody's actually there to serve themselves. then when you push them out of the way or reach directly in front of them to take something, they look at you like, "how dare you invade my weirdo space to make the intended use of this table of food?" listen, granola bitches--there's a place for you and it's called westerly health foods on 8th avenue. the aisles are nice and narrow for you to clog up, and there are more labels than you'll know what to do with. so go read away nice and slow because the union square whole foods don't wantchu all up in thurr.

i'm out--

Wednesday, November 19, 2008

but what if?



so think about it--animals can't talk to us in our respective languages, so how do we know what they're feeling? and when they do things, and take certain measures to protect themselves from harm, or the elements, how do we know if it works?
for instance, today i saw this bird putzing around union square, all puffed out to insulate itself from the retardedly cold weather, and even though it didn't look sad, it didn't look happy either (and with barely an eyelid, who can really tell how birds are feeling?) but i wondered, even though this bird is employing every device to protect itself from the cold, is it, in fact, warm? i mean the poor thing didn't even have shoes on, so the bony, scaly feet were on cold, hard concrete. was the bird comfortable?

and ostriches--they're known to bury their heads in the sand when they're afraid of impending danger, which, in theory, is a really stupid thing to do considering impending danger could be a steamroller and maintaining one's position directly in front of it may not prove the best idea. but because it's the only measure they know how to take, are their fears quelled?

because i sure as shit know how to deal with the unsavory stuff that pops up in my life, and my measures don't always work, even when foreign substances are involved. take sleeping, for instance. ever since that fateful night in second grade, when i had my first instance of difficulty sleeping, and ended up throwing up in mrs. mcafee's green aluminum garbage can, i've been told to just close my eyes and sleep will come. yeah. sleep WILL come, if i close my eyes, but only after i've downed a few sleeping pills. so the methods we've instinctively been taught don't always work. and what about when we're cold? do we have a built-in mechanism to protect ourselves from it? no--we put on layers of clothing and what not to offset a frigid death.

just a thought.

CHECK IT!!



ok i know it's been ages, but lemme tell ya--it's been a real shitshow around here, so deal with it. watch this video for now (my new obsession, saint etienne) while i mix up a batch of perversion and lewd mental images.

love ya'll.

Monday, October 13, 2008

fuck me for mon-ee



ohhhh, look! it's me in my underwear! omg can you even? this is sudden death for my career! to quote nick'ish, "social suicide!"
ok i find myself so annoyed after reading this The Daily News . the part about adnan ghalib threatening to release the sex tape involving he, brit brit, and a pink wig for the right price--people, do we still care about sex tapes? honestly--the one night in paris business was a tabloid shaker, but now it seems like everybody's got a little youtube of themselves getting fucked and sucked, and i'm prompted to ask, "so the fuck what?"
if i were you, brit brit, i'd speak up, "show it, adnan! sell it for all the money you can. everybody's see my cooter--it's been on the cover of us weekly numerous times anywho! i'm britney spears, and i'm invincible!"

considering my doubt that this blog makes its humble way to any convents, we all do it. we all have sex, engaging in penetration of some sort, all for the purpose of reaching an orgasm, after which we light up, question the other's satisfaction with the obligatory, "was it good for you?" and roll over to sleep (or, consequently, for round two). lately it's been recorded--oh NO! porn! NONE of us watch porn! the mere thought of watching two people get it on is, well, too much! too vulgar! too...hot, perhaps?
yeah--let's face it--with the exception of the aforementioned sisters of divine grace, we all dig porn. it gets us hot, gives us ideas, and, in certain cirCUMstances, makes us giggle, so nobody's in a bad mood while porn is a'blazin'. so why, then, should we be content with reruns of "lust vegas joyride" or "getting a-head?" let's be a bit more adventurous and break out the casio and record our own. people have done this for years, but now that people other than the two (or more) involved in the movie are seeing it, porn is suddenly thrown back in the taboo bin at the blue.
i recently read this article from details dealing with the concept of 'revenge porn,' and i have to say, it further justified my claims that DIY sex tapes are normal, commonplace activities for sexually active people.

so to quote the maker of my favorite air turbulence running shoes, which have carried me from one bed to another, "just do it"

xoxo
bryanambition ;-)

Friday, October 03, 2008

why americans are such fat asses



the answer to an age-old riddle--because they get lazy as kids. the pic above, case-in-point. this vivacious, physically capable young girl, no older than 9, no younger than 8, PULLING her very school supplies behind her, burning, say, 1/3 of the calories than say, a conventional backpack would expend.
what ever happened to the monogrammed l.l. bean backpacks that all the nerds had? or the oversized-zipper kiplings the cool kids sported? that was before the age of obesity, i suppose.
why do kids need to pull their books?
i guess we should ask joe-six-pack soccer mom, sarah palin. start widening the doorways of the whitehouse, kids.

i'm out.
xo.ba.

Sunday, September 28, 2008

memorable



an amazing moment in history.

xo
-b.a.

what's love got to do got to do with it?



the ironic thing about a major breakup is how, after spending a great deal of time with a person, and forming an extremely close, indelible bond with them, you're expected to hate/loathe/detest that person and forget, or "get over" the bond you shared (ok, fine--that was a little extreme--but it's kind of customary that you at least feel negatively).
it's also ironic and quite strange that the notion of hatred is even an option when you think about all the love that was once shared. like, why would something so horrible even flourish amidst tragedy? it should just be the opposite, even stronger love, on a more segregated, individual basis, that would facilitate both parties' recovery, or even remove the need to recover altogether--simply granting both people the ability to move on with their lives in a linear manner, all the while maintaining the person with whom they shared a relationship as a near and dear friend.
unless the person who instigated the breakup did so with a sharp object or inflicted any sort of harm, a mutual agreement should be the default. i think it should be purely a societally-influenced thing--involuntary emotion and any involvement of the psyche should NOT be an option. we have enough to worry about. to quote jawbreaker, an amaranthine cinematic classic of our adolescence, "life is hard enough without added anxiety." and true that, especially since relationships, are, after all, auxiliary aspects of our lives. they're completely voluntary, and, at the end of the day, an added bonus. they've equally got their benefits as well as their downfalls, and since they're purely elective, why then must their demise cause such despair?
if society can gradually give to acceptance for men fucking other men, then we certainly can alleviate all the hoopla surrounding old-fashioned breakups, and live happier, healthier lives.
who's with me?

Monday, September 22, 2008

it's a rant day, kids



so, ok. i'm SO completely over the natural peanut butter thing. you try to do your health proper by purchasing peanut butter not containing hydrogenated oils, and while you may avoid certain heart complications and atherosclerosis, what do you end up with? A MESS! that's what. an oily, messy, smelly, disgusting mess.
for those of you still on the jif, when you purchase a new jar of natural peanut butter (and every time you open it thereafter), you must vigorously stir the viscous peanut mash to reincorporate the separated oil that lies on top. and it ain't easy, kids. oh no. it overflows on the side, covering your fingers, the label and countertop in peanut oil. then you have to really get deep into the butter part to bring it to the top, ensuring uniformity, and the jars are all so damn narrow that this is no easy task! so by the time you've got a fragrant, well-mixed jar of natural peanut butter sitting in front of you, you're so mad at it you're compelled to throw the box of graham crackers it would have complemented across the room and say "FUCK IT!" to the whole operation.
i'm back to jif, and let me tell you--i'd rather die of heart disease brought on by overconsumption of hydrogenated oils than a stress ulcer caused by mixing up natural peanut butter. thanks.

next up--smoking in crowds. ok, i know smokers the world over have rights, not all of them fair, seeing as how they're based on a personal preference, sort of like mothers and hispanic nannies, but once the execution of those rights infringe on my personal space and comfort, the shit's gonna hit the fan.
so today i'm walking through union square market (oft referred to as the 'farmer's market,' although last time i checked scallops and pumpkin bread didn't grow on vines), dodging the rather populous crowd, when i find myself walking into what i believed to be a special effects tunnel in the funhouse at an amusement park. how poorly disappointed was i when i realized it was, in fact, a cancerous crawlspace, smoky as all hell, and in the middle of a crowd. now, even though they're as rare as a treasure trail in chelsea, smoking sections are, in fact, a great way to provide a safe haven for the addicts, and an even safer haven for those protecting their lives and lungs, and often found on the outskirts of any large assemblage of people--not directly in the center. yet the three or so people so merrily puffing on their nicotine sticks threw caution and formaldehyde to the wind, and, unfortunately, our faces, and now we're stuck breathing in their vile air.
WHY IS THIS OK? what if a certain individual had a colon full of toxic air and just decided to drop a big f*rt in the middle of class? would that be ok? sure, it would cause nausea and gross everybody out beyond recovery, but it most certainly wouldn't pose a threat to anyone's health, and that person behind the stench would be the laughing stock of that class for the rest of the year (or their life, even).
so it's all about dirty looks, kids. that's the only weapon we have. and if you happen to smoke, i don't hate--just don't do it two feet from my face.

lastly, i don't think i even have to declare my stand on the whole fur situation


but this weekend, as i sidled through some festival in the west village, i spotted a woman wearing a mangy-looking fur coat, real, no doubt. and i would've cast her my normal look of disgust and dismissed the situation, had i not noticed what she held in her hand--a leash, attached to a dog cowering at her feet, that looked EXACTLY like the COAT! we're talking fur color, texture, irregularity, undercoat--everything. it was like the dog's mother or sister or brother had just croaked and been skinned last week. unbelievable. so i made sure to compliment her choice of coordination.

and that's it for today.

Friday, September 19, 2008

whoa...i'm such an a-hole



for not posting in ages! seriously, for a moment, i think i forgot i had a blog.
but, alas, i'm back.
and there's tons to come--but for now, enjoy the video.

Friday, August 15, 2008

my last nerve




so my morning, which started out absolutely delightfully, was quickly soured when i encountered the above on the subway. some self-righteous bitch and her motherfuckin' baby carriage taking up not one, not two, but THREE seats! three seats, and the rotten baby already has its own!
this really needs to stop. it's rush hour on the subway, sweetie, and there ain't no reason why you and your gross, wrinkly baby need to take up more room than the pathetic space you already do.
i'd like to note that yesterday, michael and i proudly usurped an "expectant mothers" parking space at the mall, sliding our black 'stang right in that shit like our name was painted on the ground. rock on us. but it started up the rant engine, causing me to question the real motivation behind such designated parking spots.
first of all, it's a mall--not the world's fair. walking twenty extra feet won't kill you or your baby. secondly, what could a mother so far in her gestation period that she can barely endure the walk of a parking lot possibly need at the mall? ya can't fit in anything! you should've made all your stops to 'a pea in the pod' months ago. and lastly, it was the garden state friggin plaza. nobody but rich bergen county bitches shop there, and last time i checked, tory burch maternity was available via mail order.

so that, my friends and devotees, is all i have to say about that. more to come, i'm sure, as my extreme exhaustion breeds a height crankiness i've yet to encounter.
Xs and Os

Tuesday, August 12, 2008

eew



CNN, if you were a person, i'd say, "dude, that ain't right."

speaking of double 'o's,' this is my 100th post.
go bryanambition.

Tuesday, August 05, 2008

it's too big (that's what she said)



so here's a status that was too long to post on facebook:

Bryan doesn't understand the obsession with celebrity, namely the scofia after the first images of the 'brangelina twins,' a phrase that once seen on cnn.com, made me want to #3. i mean, ya'aint never gonna meet them (i can hear my mother scolding me all the way from pennsylvania for that one). bitches should be all over nancy grace. now there's some goss worth sippin' on.

thanks for nothing, facebook.
and that's all i have to say.

Saturday, August 02, 2008

inspiration



so my darling friend, james!, who will henceforth always require an "!" after his name, and i have a knack of performing 'rose's turn' from gypsy together, wherever we go, whether it's sitting in the park or strutting down (or up) ninth avenue (to the dismay of luscious lovitz, who, bless his exuberant heart, somehow maintains a genuine smile through it all).
so when i came across this little gem, i felt the need to post it in homage to dear james!
enjoy!

Friday, August 01, 2008

i kissed a boy and i liked it...


but more on that later.

right now, we're going to discuss my newest pastime--drugstore mad libs in the haircare aisle!
so one night, after a particularly lively bar scene, the boys and i ventured into a duane reade for some late-night essentials. my dear friend michael and i sauntered about while items were found, and ended up in the haircare aisle, a section i've always found daunting and quite off-putting. since i had a little in me, my perversities started to pop up like little blisters, and i took notice of the promiscuous names of the very gels and goos we put into our hair every day--rough, sleek, grease, hard, fast, grip tight, finish up! it was a virtual pornography section in the duane reade! so michael and i quickly got to arranging the products to form a syntax-lacking, yet highly mouthwatering statement. read for yourself.

so now it's your turn to proliferate this newfound game! get busy, boys and girls.

'till next time.

Friday, July 18, 2008

more shit that pisses me off

UPDATE: i thought of another this morning, and couldn't let a rant just run off!
the requisite weirdo in line. it doesn't matter where you're queuing, the grocery store, movie theater, porn shop, there's always someone in front of you with an off the wall issue that holds everybody else up and causes people to tsk, sigh, and, in the case of me, blatantly ask, "WHAT THE FUCK?" yesterday at the virgin, i'm waiting to pay for a DVD, and this total space oddity in front of me is asking such ludicrous questions like, "are these DVDs the same as everywhere?" do i even need to justify the mere asking of such a question with a bitch session? well, if i must: no, shitass, the DVDs sold at virgin are made in special factories in the north pole, right next to santa's very own, and if you use bad language around them, they'll turn to dust, depriving you of a potentially enlightening movie experience. and this weirdo in tinted glasses (something ELSE they have in common) that just happened to be purple, kept leaning over the counter to look at the register's screen! like some oracle of wonder lived inside and displayed a different answer from the one that latrisha was telling her. oy.

and speaking of the aforementioned lines, the only thing i hate more than waiting in them is waiting on them, or at least listening to people say that. this rotten nasty girl sporting split ends and apple bottom jeans was yelling at her boyfriend on the phone to stop calling her because she was waiting ON LINE at the wholefoods. are you now? i don't see computers anywhere--how could you be online? are you checking email on your phone? if so, then why are you waiting? you're getting instant service courtesy of the wonder of mobile internet. ONline is reserved for america, and that time we all spend checking such internet-based portals as email and porn subscriptions. when you find yourself amongst other people, waiting for something in an organized fashion, you're standing IN line. even if your feet physically touch a painted line as you wait, you're then waiting on A line, not online.

can we adjust?

shit that pisses me off



well many of you, my most loyal, knew it was only a matter of time until the bitch reared his summery blond head and came up with a rant list! so without further ado, here goes:

people who think they're entitled to an especially privileged existence just because they've decided to bring a child into this world. those women who push around baby carriages, their faces smugly lit with expressions that reek of tinted moisturizer and maternal aggression, walk as if crimson carpets should be unfurled in front of them. they snarl at anyone who happens to be sitting on a crowded subway and dares make eye contact with them, like you should give up your seat just because they're pushing around some bratty-ass kid in an oversized, fancy schmancy wheelbarrow. well, you know what i say? i hereby declare: listen, gals--nobody asked you to pop out that screaming creature. you haven't done anybody any favors, and we, as in the rest of us who live purely single, self-sufficient lives, sure as hell don't care how heavy your little bundle is--it's on wheels, sister, so start pushing and leave me alone.

next is the term "it's not rocket science." and you would know this, how? ohhh, i had no idea you were summa cum laude from the harvard school of velocitous aeronautics and assholeism!
seriously. as complex as the field of constructing high-velocity propulsion units is, i'm sure there are other superlatives out there that would be as equally as effective as this pantyliner of a cliche, but land a more youthful splash in a conversation. like brain surgery. admit it--we all DVR house.



next up is ugly lesbian glasses. at the risk of being politically incorrect (and honestly, like i give a shit), let me clarify: ugly glasses worn by people who possess neither mirrors nor perception of reflective surfaces, that predominantly happen to be lesbians. the lovely and talented ingrid sischy is a former culprit, but she's since cleaned up her act (not that she needed to--girlfriend can do whatever she likes. she's ingrid sischy). but i digress.
these particular opthalmic glasses of which i speak are more architectural microwonders than the lens express special. they come in all shapes, sizes and colors, but they're just wrong and should not be displayed on the face. i'm taking a picture tomorrow so i can show you just what i mean.

i'm out of steam and my sleeping pills are kicking in, so enjoy the latest installment, and honestly--get on the shit and start sending advice requests, people.

yours in haughty naughtiness,
bryanambition ;-)

Monday, July 07, 2008

sacrebleu!




so HERE's a fantastic idea--now you can get your very own dose of bryanambition! every tuesday, i'm turning the gilded tongue into an advice column, answering YOUR questions with all types of solutions!
simply email your question to bryanambition@gmail.com, and let peace of mind begin.
of course, i'll practice diligent discretion when publishing the questions and answers, protecting your privacy and all, so i suggest you tell all your friends so i can spend all day tomo digging for resolutions.

bon soir!

Monday, June 30, 2008

i survived



the lip gloss brigade! that's right--save for the fact that i stayed about a hundred streets away, i managed to avoid the onslaught of queens nyc experienced this weekend as the colloquial 'last sunday in june' came to fruition and the gay pride parade marched its chaps-wearing rainbow river up fifth avenue.
i've said it before, but perhaps i'll relate the condensed version again--there's no pride in pride. sure, the boys sport their belly shirts and lip gloss and body glitter with a certain aplomb, but i don't fully understand how that helps the cause; how gay rights, in essence, is positively affected by the spectacle the gay pride parade creates will serve as a mystery for time to come. i'm gay and proud every single day of the year. when i'm inside, outside, right side up or updside down. no matter what i'm wearing (although the license being gay provides to wear such fabrics as lame and spandex is a virtue to be extolled) or with whom i'm walking. i'm just proud proud proud! i'm even prouder in the face of aversion. i don't need a whole day (which has, in more recent times, sprawled to an entire weekend) to march around in some futile, flamboyant display.
to express gay pride should, in my opinion, be a subtler affair. think of a classic gay man's apartment--fine furnishings, cashmere in every drawer, exceptional amenities--nary a softsoap on any counter-- a startlingly well-rounded collection of entertainment, and a library with substance (and maybe one or two chick lit books), except for my apartment, of course, which looks like the circus came to town and settled in (and which i absolutely love), but i digress. so yeah, think of their apartment, and because the owner of such illustrious digs was intelligent and resourceful enough (a clear fringe benefit of their sexual orientation) to acquire such objets d'arte to furnish their everyday lifestyle, they would treat a public profession of their happiness in the person they've become like planning a classy party: japanese paper lanterns, hot blokes wearing calvin klein pouring cliquot, everyone decked out in their hamptons finest. point is: get smart about it. this is not the barbie parade, boys: put away the body glitter and lip gloss, (and while you're at it, seriously reevaluate those eyebrows) and make some blown-up copies of approved bills and congressional acts and tout those around the streets. get together and write some petitions. campaign for your political advocate. let's celebrate pride, not pussy.

and with that, i'm out.

Tuesday, June 24, 2008

such a good one



ok so this is what i think: one day a month, every news portal out there--cnn, headline news, ananova, bbc, whatev--should only report the good news. whatever bad news meant for that day can just be withheld for the following day. one day doesn't make much of a difference.
think of what this one day a month would do for the world's morale?

and i think i should host it.

Monday, June 23, 2008

so weird



i'm having a small existential issue today. i can't help wondering about the validity of everything. this never happens to me, so i'm allowed to experience the rarity. i'm also the most uncynical, optimistic person ever.
so while walking through barnes&noble, seeking out a certain children's book of yore, i noticed they had a series of travel games for sale, based on the full-sized board games. they were called, "20-minute game breaks" and came with a timer to ensure the required length of play, and i couldn't help but wonder if the timer was actually a perfect 20 minutes. probably not--it could be a second or two off, or even half-a-second, but that's close enough, so it really doesn't matter. but for some reason, it really bothered me that i knew that timer didn't actually measure up to the 20 minutes it claimed to span.
which opened a floodgate of cynicism and doubt. what if my gastroenterologist just didn't care, and refused to tell me that there's a colony of kangaroo rats living in my intestines? or the woman on the phone who says they're doing "everything they possibly can" for you is actually filing her nails and forgets your very name. or what if the police that are meant to protect you and the city in which you live are actually this fraternal order of arcane brothers and cause the very crime they're supposed to stop?
i know this is completely mental, and absolutely no way to live, but it's a thought.
i'll follow up with something much less neurotic tomorrow.

and that's all for now.

Wednesday, June 18, 2008

has conde nast gone geriatric?



is it me, or has conde nast, more specifically vogue, followed the silversteins and migrated with the rest of the old farts to the desert of new mexico? granted, one of the above covers is older than anna, but the desert is getting a tad old!
omg i'm starting to sound like perez.

in better news, i'm getting a new bed today. although i'm not sure if this comes as a good or bad thing, considering the circumstances that forced me to procure the new sleep digs (not bedbugs, or any pest infestation, for that matter) but a rather off-putting situation that caused the aforementioned lull in scathing activity.

anywho. as i listlessly wait for the delivery, silently damning the warm sun/cold air combo that makes getting a flash tan virtually impossible, i've realized how much i've missed daytime television. frasier rocks.

Tuesday, June 17, 2008

whoa, wilkes-barre



so how funny? i just made the groundbreaking discovery that joseph l. mankiewicz, director of one of my faaaaavorite films of all time, all about eve, was born in, of all places, wilkes-barre, pa.



looks like he's not the only star to be spawned out of shitsville!

Friday, June 13, 2008

just open your fuggin' mouth



so this news article really pissed me off. so basically, rachael ray (who alone pisses me off, but we'll save that rant for the slow season) decided to dip into a trend past the jersey halter top and don one of those ubiquitous arab-inspired scarves (see above image of the gorgeous me inappropriately wearing one on a corner in philly. long story.) in a commercial for the purveyor of white trash coffee beverages. of course, the same fat, obese americans who have nothing better to do than watch 'judge judy' and pretend like they know the difference between hilary and barak, decide to raise a ruckus over the whole thing, claiming the mere scarf ray adorned herself with was, in fact, a keffiyeh, a scarf traditionally worn by arab men. obviously not part of the 'people's court' vernacular, the word keffiyeh was supplied by cynic ringleader michelle malkin, the razor-tongued, right-wing bitch from fox news. so first i'm going to say, "get a life, honey," then i'm going to rant.
she basically says that the mere presence of a keffiyeh suggests support for the jihad (palestinian terrorist group) and their introduction to the fashion mainstream indicates ignorance and a general disregard. first of all, michelle, it's time to cease relying solely on forever 21 for our wardrobes and venture out. you're on national television, sweetie; take a lesson from diane sawyer, practically your media sister, and up the ante with a smart powersuit. hit up some valentino. indulge in some versace. walk outside and smell the street vendors, because right next to rafiki's hallal stand is a nice little arab man who sells keffiyehs in a variety of colors and patterns, and i highly doubt he goes home to skype his brothers hiding in afghanistani caves and plot to blow up buildings. he sells them because they're hot. they're 'in.' as a matter of fact, i purchase my very keffiyeh from top shop, so i know it's sumfin' else, hmmkay?
and just to make sure you fully understand you're not the only cunty bigmouth out there, i'd like to counteract your plead of ignorance with one of my own. you've taken something completely benign, and turned it into an ugly, hairy melanoma of a situation. you're the filipino hitler, sister, who turned a swastika from a symbol meaning sun and strength into a vile, hated mark of death and destruction.
my advice to you would be to shut your mouth, do something about those horrific split ends of yours, and get a fuckin' life. why don't you concentrate all these efforts to hate and discriminate to liberating prisoners of war, or alleviating the political unrest in the philippines? you've got dirt in your own backyard that needs to be cleaned up first.

and dunkin donuts, honestly--you're going to let this kitten heel-wearing mess of fake hair and polyester affect your ad campaign? what, afraid of a little boycott? please. as long as the mcdonalds fat asses get their court tv on demand, you'll have plenty of late-night customers to keep you in business. and honestly, who listens to this little lip gloss bitch anyway?

and with that, i'm out. watch for me on the tonys, bitches!
xo

Thursday, June 12, 2008

a new argentina



ok so i know i've been going through blog names like underwear, which, actually, is a terrific metaphor because i never really stick to one style of underwear. i could go from briefs to boxer briefs to boxers, to trunks, to unmentionables and back.
but i think i've decided on the perfect name...so i present to ya'll, 'the gilded tongue.'
enjoy.
xo

Friday, June 06, 2008

shiny and new

that's right.

(click here)

didja ever notice



that the real difference between cats and dogs is how they come to be owned? or should i say partnered with? (i actually shouldn't, seeing as how ending sentences with prepositions gives me hives, but for the sake of edit...i shall contin).
think about it--people find dogs. how many people do you encounter walking their mutty-looking dogs down the street, and when (and if) you get to know them, you discover that they found the dog as a puppy, just wandering around a neighborhood, a loose constituent of some destitute litter. or take my familia's instance--due to my long history of working with the s.p.c.a., they naturally pay homage to their eldest's efforts on behalf of the animals by adopting all their ruff ruffs from the local shelter (which, incidentally, has been looking quite spiffy lately due to renovations underwritten by an ex-weatherman. information courtesy of my mother, who should run the news station).

now take cats. they always show up on a doorstep, or follow you home, with the sly intent on invading your life. they know exactly what they're doing, and if they linger long enough, you'll eventually stop feeding them tuna from a can (and really, what cat actually likes tuna?) and take them permanently. how many people do you know who own a cat from the shelter? people never give cats up. they're the ideal pet (an observation, rather than an opinion. any cat of mine would end up like the one above, and i'd go on typing on the bberry) because they're quiet, (usually) docile, clean, and don't poo on the floor. cats breed and foster obsession. how many 'crazy dog ladies' do you know? i've never visited a candle-burning lesbian with a labrador running around the house.
all the above are generalizations, of course, but the fact is that people find their dogs, and cats find their people.

Thursday, June 05, 2008

amazing



so this is me.

today was my second bikram yoga class, and if that's any indication of how i feel about it, tomorrow will be my third. i've even made arrangements to practice when i'm home in pennsylvania this weekend (yes, even scranton has a bikram yoga studio, though they provincially refer to it as 'hot yoga').
it's the most cleansing, balancing, disciplining, motivating activity there is. the default response to me telling people about my newfound love usually goes something like, "oh i tried it once, but it was too hot--i couldn't do it." ok first of all, it's not that hot. it's 110 degrees fahrenheit, and that's only 11.4 degrees higher than the human body's internal temperature (unless, of course, you're one of those unfortunate children on 'extreme makeover: home edition' who lack internal stabilization). second of all, if you don't try it again, you'll never know how much easier it gets (a truth i'll hopefully realize tomorrow when i go for the third session...tonight was a bitch).

so yeah. do the bikram. i feel terrific.

Wednesday, June 04, 2008

so here it is



here i sit, minutes before leaving for my very first bikram yoga class. it's my therapy (or at least it's going to be...i'm entering the realm of spiritual enlightenment in lieu of hardcore antianxiety drugs). basically, something really awful occurred in my life. or should i say to my life. other than a part of me, nobody died, but as with humans and animals alike, when the death hits, ya gotta shake it off and buy some shoes.
that, of course, has never really been said, but as i step onto the proverbial road to recovery (and that road actually begins on 145th and broadway) i think it's completely normal to make random declarations as little calibrations on my spiritual yardstick. they give me a sense of space. of progress. and they remind me a little bitch does, indeed, still dwell inside.
so not long ago, my boy jay ceased his otherwise consistently entertaining blog in favor of a fresh approach. i believe the time draws near for me to do the same. maybe what i've said isn't, in essence, the 'f-ing truth.' maybe it's only my truth. maybe i should have reconsidered the use of a hyphen when alluding to 'f-ing,' (another option is effing, no?). and maybe when i get home from sweating my life and sadness out at bikram yoga, i'll have forgotten all about this little philosophical moment and keep on preaching the f-ing truth.
contingency aside, what i will guarantee is that this boy won't be down for long, and the best is yet to come.
so thanks for being patient during the month of may, as my blog has been rather f-ing mad at me for not paying him ample attention, and he's enough to deal with (although those of you who've emailed me...bless your hearts and fingers!)

xoxo
bryanambition

Sunday, June 01, 2008

stay with me kids.



it's been a rough week, and i just need some more time.
but i assure you, shizzloads of entertainment are to come.

xo
-bryanambition

Sunday, May 18, 2008

i ain't right

but i will be in a day or two...so hang on.

Tuesday, May 06, 2008

sally kerns...



this one's for you! happy cinco de mayo ;-)

Sunday, May 04, 2008

you can always spot the bottom...



at the duane reade.
so yesterday i'm at the duane reade, purchasing some osteo biflex (yes, the geriatric glucosamine/chondroitin supplement) for my marathon trained-knees, and as i'm waiting in line (not "on" line, as some would say. i was at the duane reade, not the internet cafe) there was this guy in front of me, casually waiting, and proudly holding a twin-pack of fleet enemas.
"damn," i thought, "somebody's getting fucked tonight!"

Tuesday, April 29, 2008

i HATE...



MILEY CYRUS!!! how could you like anyone who stands like that, dresses in that, and looks like their face is comprised of a stack of those moldable balloons those creepy men at the circus make animals out of?
i mean, i haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaate miley cyrus!!!!!!!!!
and i'm sick and tired of all this press circulating about her and the vanity fair shoot by annie leibowitz. first of all, BITCH, it's vanity fair. why the fuck is some shallow-ass, teen beat ho who made her fortune wearing a cheap blond wig appearing in a publication as reputable and longstanding as vanity fair? secondly, unless you're the legendary irving penn, nobody's taking 35mm photographs anymore. both miley and her family saw those pics right at the shoot, well before they went to publication, and if they weren't happy with the way things were appearing, the bitch should've put clothes on (but hopefully not the atrocities she's sporting above). and thirdy, honey--anybody who has the privilege of shooting with annie liebowitz--needs to keep their fat ass lips shut because it's a pleasure rarely enjoyed by anyone in this pathetic country of elementary education and obesity. who knew an achy-breaky heart could spawn such trash?

today madonna's HARD CANDY album came out, and hip-hop-hooray, it's fuggin AMAAAAAAAAAAAAZING!!!!!!! now that's one vanity fair cover i'm never throwing away! GO MADONNA!!!

Monday, April 28, 2008

express your grievances monday



so another rainy, chilly, dismal monday beckons..or, rather, repels. because i can think of 7,492 places i'd rather be than sitting here, at my desk at work, after having braved the frigid monsoon outside (despite the fact that i'm occupying myself by watching 'labyrinth.'
anywho.
so last week, i allowed myself the privilege of a small box of count chocula. the obsessively healthy eater i am, breakfast, the most important meal of the day, has always contained little-to-no sugar, to avoid the mid-morning crash. yet standing in the cereal aisle at the key foods, clutching a box of fiber one, i was overcome by temptation, wearing the brown face of a chocolate vampire, and, after tasting a brief memory childhood sleepovers, i grabbed the box and ran up to the register to pay.
fast-forward a week to yesterday when, after realizing the crumbs left in the bag meant my days enjoying count chocula were now gone, i mustered up all the courage i could and looked that sweet nosferatu right in the face when i was struck by the sense of bewilderment every child dreads, like finding out there's really no santa claus, or waking up in the middle of the night to discover your mother putting money under your pillow where a tooth used to be. i saw something that induced a sobriety more horrifying than if gary oldman actually floated into my kitchen(ette) wearing silk slippers and a healthy thirst for blood--count chocula had NO FANGS!! instead, this whimsical, yet slightly terrifying vampire we've all grown to love had buck teeth. two giant, blunt, harmless buck teeth. was this the trix bunny in disguise?

well, i'd say yeah, but this rabbit HAS NO TEETH!
silly rabbit, trix are for kids! and oversized incisors are for rodents...like rabbits.

cereal companies are the downfall of america, kids. the best friend of dentists, and the bain of a nation.
it does turn your milk chocolate, though.

Thursday, April 24, 2008

thursday retardation



ok so i know it's half-nekkid thursday and all, but ya'll lucked out on naked bryan this week in favor of something far funnier (and more annoying). what is it with people holding full-out conversations on walls (a la facebook) and comments (a la myspace)? that's why man invented private messages.

it's pathetic, and it happens all the time. on a tuesday, jackie will just leave karen a message like, "hey boo! great seeing you the other night! we should get together soon! xo," which leaves karen with two reasonable options. 1) she can respond by writing on jackie's wall, something like, "you too, babe! have a great week!" or 2) leaving it at that. jackie's writing on a WALL, for goodness' sake! she doesn't expect a response!
but nobody's as ideal as jackie and karen, so what happens is this: karen sees jackie's reaching out as some major sign of outward love and acceptance, and decides to respond with her own deep sentiment, and for the sake of preserving this wonderful moment the two are sharing, adds further inquiries that deem her whole decision to post this on jackie's wall as interminably inappropriate. so she writes, "omg jackie!! it was so great seeing YOU! can you believe aiesha threw up all over that waiter? she was so trashed! oh btw--my mom said she'll totally drive us to the mall tomorrow so we can buy those jeans. what size are you again? i'm bordering on fitting into a 6, but if i eat one more pint of ice cream [and you know she will] i'll totally be an 8!! anyway-talk to you later! bye!!! xoxo! bff's4----> love ya like a sister!" --karen

ok, karen, but we already know it's from you--your friggin picture is right next to it, and if that doesn't clarify things, your name is clearly written above the posting.
that was way intense, and maybe a bit exaggerated, but let's see how jackie responds. if i were her, i'd be way freaked by the fact that karen is not only admitting to the world that both she and jackie are too young to drive, but she's also disclosing something only the tag in your jeans should know. these are the things 'single white female' is made from, kids. but ever the friend she is (and obviously never having seen 'mean girls'), jackie courteously responds with, "giiiirl, i can't wait to go to the mall tomorrow! your mom rocks! maybe we can like, have a wine cooler at my house after! i stole one from my mom's bedroom. you can totally still have that ice cream AND fit into the 6--just throw it up afterwards like i do! ssshhh it's a secret! xoxo sistahh!"

i'm either compelled to listen to the carpenters, or write the parents of these girls. either way this crazy bitch is wackier than the first! and furthermore, this shit happens every day. useless information is wasted. kids are exploited. and my time is wasted.

Monday, April 21, 2008

burnin' up



so watch this because i'm obsessed with it. a snippet from my movie-of-the-moment, fahrenheit 451, based on the classically chilling novel by ray bradbury.

it's been a while--i've been on vacay, so i took some time off, but i've got quite a load coming to ya'll...so tune in!

xo

Tuesday, April 08, 2008

for hire



so while walking along some street the other day, past an absolutely abhorrent clan of children, none older than 10, i heard a boy 'cat call' to a girl (do they still call it that?) anywho, he said, "yeah well i'm gonna hit you with my big dick!"
ok first of all, kid, you're nine--unless you're the unfortunate victim of a pituitary brain disorder, your dick ain't much more than a peanut. second, unless it's rape, that dick isn't much of a weapon. and third, is that what you think that flappy little thing is for?
the first and second thoughts are all ha ha ha, but this little incident is a prime example of how misinformed and uneducated children of today are about sex. with fewer parents giving their kids "the talk" and teen pregnancy on the rise, not to mention the 9.1 MILLION cases of STD's last year among people under the age of 25, it's no wonder HIV/AIDS, violence against women and 15 year-old mothers are commonplace to this western utopia known as america. this is no clearer than today's news, or yesterday's perezhilton--jamie lynn spears looking like a bloated pre-schooler or her ill-informed, mental case of a sister allegedly incubating number three. the last thing this nation needs is a serious proliferation of the human trash that already poisons it.
if parents paid a little more attention to informing their kids that sex, while one amazing feat of nature, is not a game (sex games notwithstanding), i think the world would be a completely different place. just sit them down and talk to them--after all, it's the same way you were brought onto this earth.

ok enough of this parental shit--let's take a detour directly to the point.
enter me--sex education extraordinaire. i don't have time for this "pee pee wee wee" shit--if you want to know about sex, i'll tell you everything, from a--to x,y,z. hire me for $100/session and i'll sit your children down and tell them all about it. i'll spell things out, i'll draw pictures, and i'll make them really afraid of tertiary syphilis. but what i won't do is sugar coat anything or leave them confused about what goes on down south.
and on that note, i invite the parents to sit in on the discussions too--most parents know less than their children do about sex--just because you've done it doesn't mean you own it.

so parents, i ask you: how do you want your children to learn about sex? by experimenting in the bathroom with their friends, or from a pure, intelligent source who isn't afraid to answer even their most intimate questions? put it this way--don't let your kid ask what anal sex is with a sore ass.

i'm out.

Sunday, March 30, 2008

false advertising



so let's discuss: every wednesday at 8:00 pm, millions of americans--women, men, black, white, red, polka dot, gay, straight, confused--tune into the CW11 for a program which has garnered such a high accolade, i'll honestly never understand--america's next top model (affectionately known as 'antm' to those aforementioned aficionados). need i even abstract on the plot?

so i take major umbridge with this circus of a show for quite a few reasons, but my main is as prevalent as tyra's nosejob--false advertising, baby. the producers of the show quite loudly tout the program's ability to create, foster and present the next top supermodel to america. supermodel--a colloquial term attributed to those few ladies whose exceptional looks have warranted them exceptional careers, the first commercial round of whom appeared in the early 90's: naomi campbell, christy turlington, stephanie seymour, and linda evangelista. many would argue that janice dickinson, lauren hutton and lisa fonssagrives minted the term, but fashion in the 70's wasn't nearly as cutthroat as it is now.
anywho--i digress. these girls were known as supermodels because they had numerous campaigns under their belt, walked in the biggest shows, and toasted champers with the biggest names in the industry--NOT because some washed up, retired model, oprah wannabe said they were. and that's why these girls were...famous!

now ask yourself, whether or not you're a fan of antm: now in the tenth cycle of this show, how many of the winners have actually made something of themselves? adrienne curry, yoanna house, eva pigford, naima mora, nicole linkletter, danielle evans, caridee english, jaslene gonzalez, saleisha stowers. ever hear of any of these girls? well, if you watch the show, sure you have. but have you ever actually seen them in a legitimate campaign, requisite covergirl shots notwithstanding?
yeah, neither have i.

but perhaps the real opposition comes from the don of fashion himself, karl lagerfeld, who called the show, "trash that is funny for five minutes if you're with other people. if you're alone, it's not funny. those girls will never be the next gemma ward. there is no justice in the fashion business." i couldn't have said it any better.

there are plenty of similar competitive reality programs (and i won't even start on 'make me a supermodel') but at least other shows like 'project runway' are appropriately titled--it's a project that takes place on a runway. no promises, no lofty claims, no guarantees.

the sad irony is the fact that these girls go through such grueling criticism and 'coaching' by a legion of gender-confused and silver-haired mentors, yet a single issue of vogue contains multiple shots of coco rocha, sasha pivovarova, natalia vodianova, agyness deyn, daria werbowy, lily donaldson and jessica stam, aka the new regime of supermodels.

so you see--this show has a completely inaccurate title to represent its otherwise devoid premise. perhaps it should be titled, "america's next marginally-talented model." hmm.

i'm out.

Monday, March 24, 2008

today is...



omar sharif monday.
and every monday hereafter shall also be known as "omar sharif monday."
because if i had even the slightest interest in children, and could concoct my ideal child, he (of course it would be a boy) too would have an egyptian father and french mother. now, i know what you're thinking, "but bryanambition--what about the indians? i thought you were devoted to them?" to which i reply, while the indians are, indeed, my favorite people on the whole planet, they're too sacred to just have running around the house, breaking things and getting brush burns. indians should be appreciated and loved from afar, or, like i've said before, except when you're loving them up close.

so hats off to omar sharif.

Thursday, March 20, 2008

Wednesday, March 19, 2008

disgusting



that i am.
above you'll find an open pastry box...not from some renowned astoria bakery, but instead from entenmann's. an entenmann's pastry box with barely an eighth of the contents left. a 'fudge iced golden cake,' to be exact. the skeletal remnants of my last impulse purchase (the one before that sits warmly on my feet at this very moment).

as i ventured out three nights ago to buy the week's staples, usually consisting of soy milk, high-fiber english muffins, and bananas, and usually conducted at the local organic/health food store, i was arrested by the flashy advertisement of the provincial associated food store, and almost involuntarily drawn in.
ok that was a bit extreme. it was cold and i was cranky and didn't feel much like walking the extra long block to the health food store.

anywho--red basket in hand, i sought out the soymilk, bananas and high-fiber english muffins and on my way to the registers the nostalgic, flirty blue "entenmann's" script caught my eye, and for a brief, wicked second, i considered purchasing this wonderfully sweet looking treat. i checked the nutrition facts on the side, as instinct required, and a look of horror crossed my face as i saw 13 grams of fat per 1/8 of the cake! 13 grams and neatly accessorized by 35mg of cholesterol AND a whopping 210mg of sodium. that means, had i purchased this overwhelmingly exorbitant indulgence, and, no doubt, eaten the entire thing myself as habit often was, i would've consumed 104 grams of fat, 280mg of cholesterol, and 1680mg of sodium!!

as the scene of the crime above clearly depicts, i gave into temptation and bought the cake...and ate 7/8 of it. and as i finish this very sentence, i'm stuffing the last bite into my mouth.
do i regret it? not a bit. am i going to run an extra 85 miles this week? more like 104 extra miles--one for each gram of fat.

so if tomorrow's half-naked thursday pic happens to fill the frame a little more than usual, you'll know where to attribute the extra baggage.

i'm out
xo

Tuesday, March 18, 2008

take that, tuesday



an old roommate of mine in college commonly used the phrase, "gay as assfuck," and i think i've found an instance where the usage of this potentially-offensive (though completely factual) phrase would be most appropriate. it would be used to describe what i am about to present as "fun-size" candy.

that little shit size candy one receives at various holiday gatherings (or perhaps any old day at my grandmother's) is the latest bane of my existence. it's an eighth of a snicker's bar, or a credit card-sized pouch of m&m's, containing roughly 11 of the aforementioned candy-coated chocolate treats. it's one singular inch of a twix. it's a thumb-sized morsel of oh henry! or nestle crunch or 100 grand.
but one thing these miniaturized sweet things are NOT is fun.

what consumer panel on God's green earth decided that the diminutive size of these smaller versions of best-selling candy should be referred to as "fun?" smaller, perhaps. mini, even. tiny, maybe?
what's even FUN about them? when is the last time you ate a "fun size" snickers and really enjoyed yourself? regardless of what you were doing before or while you consumed it, the mere act of masticating, savoring and swallowing a piece of fun size candy does not, in fact, imbue fun on its own. furthermore, after eating just one piece of fun size candy, one is undoubtedly left with a craving for more, in many cases exponentially more intense than the initial craving that compelled them to eat the first piece. and that causes me unnecessary anxiety. and there's nothing fun about that.

so i hereby pronounce fun size candy to be 'as gay as assfuck.'

i'm out ;-)

Thursday, February 28, 2008

half-nekkid jueves



so last september 14th, my comrades (and dearest friends ev) at work nonchalantly called me into the back room/kitchenette/conference room, where this edible masterpiece awaited, en fuego!
it was my fifth annual 22nd birthday, and my bests exhumed this rather tasty pic (no pun intended) to put on display in front of my entire office...and i'll be honest: i've never found it more difficult to play modest ;-)

happy HNT, ya'll!

Wednesday, February 27, 2008

wouldn't it be...



just the coolest shit EVER if you could convert ethnicities? it's relatively easy to convert religions, word documents, even social classes--but never before has it been possible to convert your ethnicity!

if granted the chance, i'd obviously run straight for the taj mahal. i've always loved the indians from afar (and sometimes even up close)...that rich heritage, completely unassimilated traditions, big, purple uncut dicks...but i digress. it's a terrific culture--what's not to love?

converting ethnicities...now you think about that.

Tuesday, February 26, 2008

something wrong



ok shitheads...sorry AGAIN for this horrid lapse in time. i'm the latest victim of that relentless nyc flu! i mean constant running and blowing and oozing and shivering and aching and shitting and general unhappiness...for a week! a motherfucking week. what did i do to deserve this? it's like that pet shop boys song..."what have i...what have i...what have i done to deserve this?" haha
oh, me.

anywho so here's the shit: i went home last weekend to visit the parental units (that's right, kids--wilkes-barre, pennsylvania had their very own spawned celebrity back home for an entire weekend). during some random conversation, my mother proceeded to tell me that the local wegman's has recently ceased to carry cigarettes. my head spun like linda blair--terrific!! talk about setting precedent! wegman's has always been a favorite haunt of mine...nothing satisfies late night cravings for fun in the land where everything closes at 11pm than buying candy-by-the-pound and cheating the scales by slightly raising the bag while you weigh it. yeah. but i digress.
so after my moment of rejoice, perhaps prompted by the walmart flyer that fell out of the newspaper, i was brought back down to the earth by the very scum that runs it: walmart.

so walmart has taken it upon itself to both establish and enforce some fucked up moral code of america, no doubt derived from the provincial standards of its home state, and censor what its stores will carry. this shitheadedness is most prevalent in the music department, where to this day, you'll never find marilyn manson, snoop dog, sheryl crow (wtf is up with THAT one?) and the scissor sisters. now, i remember being denied the purchase of adam sandler's "they're all gonna laugh at you" when i was 12 or so, because of the presence of that nefarious parental advisory sticker, but at least our freedom of speech wasn't stifled to begin with. walmart has take it upon themselves to not even present the varied, and quite essential tunes produced by the likes of manson, snoop, sheryl and the sisters because they don't feel it contributes to an ethical america.

BUT APPARENTLY, lung cancer does, because every single fuggin' walmart you walk into carries the whole gamut of cigarettes, from aces to winstons. now i totally understand that mostly every trailer-dwelling, pork rind-eating, flannel-wearing citizen of arkansas proudly wraps their hardpack up in their sleeve (and they probably listen to a lil sheryl between their garth and kenny) but that doesn't mean that cancer sticks are part of our heritage as americans! yeah, the indians smoked it, but they also ate their babies so let's not rely on the cherokees for life's lessons.

so yeah, walmart's cheap. cheaper than k-mart, and cheaper than target. i'm probably still going to shop there (on the rare occasion i actually make it to one) but i'll always make it a point to carry a cunty attitude and a nasty stare.

i'm out, kids. 'till next time ;-)

Friday, February 15, 2008

yeah, i'm alive

I'm also in houston at an airport...but not just any airport, the offish 'george bush international airport.' Now, I know the first one wasn't as bad as the second, but really--who else is to blame? His misguided sperm?

Anywho--so it's been like three weeks since my last valid post, and honestly, I have three very valid reasons for that--deadline at work, fashion week, and just this past week, las vegas.
Yes, that's right kids--i took some much-needed time off from my beloved job abd took a vacation to sin city...NOT! (F-Ya'll-I)vegas is probably the last place I'd escape to for a vacay. I don't gamble, I don't smoke, and I'm not purchasing my prada from a casino. But amidst the otherwise hectic week, I did manage to have a terrific time out with some spesh peeps I haven't seen in a while. Hats off to my Operations bitches!

it wouldn't be a bryanambition post without a rant, so here goes: airplane boarding procedures. Seriously, what happened to the good old days where first-class boarded first, followed by the commoners, the plane took off, and we were all en route?
Now, thanks to loyalty gone awry, boarding goes something like this:
"Attention passengers, this is flight #1632 to los angeles international airport in los angeles, california (oh, THAT los angeles--thanks). Right now we welcome our first class passengers to board the aircraft...[5 mins later] now we welcome our diamond elite class members to board...[5 more mins] now we invite our platinum awards members to board...[4 minutes later] now our red points plus members...[4 mins later] now our orange points plus members...yellow members can now board...we'd like to welcome our green points plus members at this time...blue members may now board...attention passengers we now invite our indigo points plus miles awards members to board...violet members may now board the aircraft...chartreuse awards members may now board the aircraft...and finally, all the rest of you poor motherfuckers can board...and at this time it's to be noted that we are indeed severely delayed due to our asinine boarding procedures.

Wish me luck getting home, kids!!
Xoxo
-bryanAMBITION

Friday, February 01, 2008

half-nekkid thursday



there's me, monday night, drunkety-drunk at angels&kings.
boy, was i gettin' social ;-)

Thursday, January 31, 2008

cam!!!




can we start a club to defend and subsequently protect cam? i mean, that rotten perez referred to her as "pockface princess," and i, for once, think that's totes unnecess!! if cam has a bout with acne (and don't we all??) that's her business, but for him to hit her up on that...so despic.


whatev!!! CAM--if you read this--give that stupid ass perez NO attench, and honestly--send bryanambition a comment to validate his undying devotion to you! haha ;-)

xoxo
bryanambition

Friday, January 25, 2008

half-nekkid thursday!



so since i was such a flake last week, i had to reconcile with a particularly revealing pic this week...and because i've spent this week cocooned by the photographic inspiration of man ray and guy bourdin, i had to photoshopfuck this pic a bit.

so i think today should be dedicated to the cultural zeitgeist known as clueless. i mean, at the very essence, it's based on jane austen's emma, and regardless of whether you were a cheerleader or green-haired freak, you SO wanted to be one of those girls. i won't even entertain a thought to the contrary. they were young, fresh, smart (not to mention smart-ass), and even though they were savvy and pretty and had the total package, they weren't portrayed as the typical "A-group" popular girls. the movie also chronicled the heartaches and woes such girls inevitably experienced, of course never to be seen by the common eye.

so to clueless!!

i'm out, bitches.

lo siento

hey kids
i know i suck major filthy ass for not updating in twenty years, but it's been the week from the twilight zone. do forgive.
tomorrow all will resume as usual ;-)

xoxo
bryanambition

Sunday, January 13, 2008

details, people!



ok so have you ever noticed that whenever people brush their teeth on tv, the presence of toothpaste, the very essence of oral hygiene, is almost always completely overlooked? even in commercials touting the very benefits of said toothpastes!

now think about it--regardless of what brush you use, be it some disposable vibrating hot wheels-themed toothbrush, or some technologically-advanced ultrasonic, super revolutionary dentifrice, and whether you use the super-whitening $75 gel or that close-up toothpaste stuff that smells like your grandmother--your mouth is always a foamy, minty sputtery mess by the end of the brush. it's almost half the fun, in my opinion. mushing all that refreshing lather around your mouth is a great way to clear away the fermented taste of the morning's lucky charms and so-called 'coffee funk' and deliver such benefits as fluoride. but however out of control the toothpaste foam gets, it's simply washed away in a few short rinses.

and since we all brush our teeth in the same manner, why must commercials and other media such as movies and sitcoms where the act of brushing one's teeth is commonplace completely negate this very prevalent aspect of the brushing process, as if it were something only a select few of us encountered? and furthermore, why must this lack of toothpaste foam be a unanimous thing? is toothpaste foam considered something vulgar? is it to be not shown, but instead insinuated, like when two people are fucking in a movie, and you see the man make these cyclic, thrusting motions toward the woman under him, and just 'get' the fact that his penis is penetrating her vagina, thus consummating the act of sexual intercourse, aka lovemaking? and if, in fact, the act of showing one's toothpaste foam is to be considered vulgar and inappropriate, why do upscale airlines readily give their passengers a travel toothbrush/toothpaste set upon seating them? if such taboos are to be taken into consideration, these same airlines should also be dishing out condoms and lube, flavored for first class only.

and now that i've finished my sunday french toast, not to mention my rant, i'm going to double up on toothpaste today just so i blow a big, foamy load into the sink.

i've spoken.

Saturday, January 12, 2008

walk of shame



me on the way home this morning. haha. not that i spent the night with a tawdry trick from the G, but the effort i put into today's a.m. getup really shows.

hahaha

i'm out, bitches.

Friday, January 11, 2008

my premier half nekkid thursday




ok so this is my first, and seminal, i'd imagine, half nekkid thursday. or is the hyphenated "half-nekkid" thursday more appropriate? i suppose neither are conventionally appropriate, but i digress. i don't know what took me so long to begin my weekly lascivious contributions, but i owe chris-in-briefs a big thank you for his union suit photo series, which provided just the impetus i needed!
so happy thursday.

tonight was pretty rotten. i get home late from work, and when i saw the time was 8:47, i realized i had less than 13 minutes to avert a total crisis: i was out of graham crackers. in my house, graham crackers aren't a mere occasional snack, nor are they a novelty food. they're a food group. if a box of graham crackers lasts me two days, that's efficient.
so i run outside to the associated food store right around the corner and arrive at 8:50. not bad...but to my dismay and utter shock, they're closed! CLOSED! the sign clearly says they close at 9pm, and from past rushes, i know for a fact that they never close early. i hath been proven wrong.
so i took my chances and a rather lengthy stroll over to the next nearest food store, a key foods. now if you know anything about the astoria/long island city vicinity, as far as the hierarchy of food stores is considered, key foods is right above the associated (only to be topped by the c-town), so i thought my trip there would be not only fruitful, yielding the said box of graham crackers, but also pleasurable and easy.
wrong again. thankfully open until 10, i found the store to be a total mess, and the "cracker aisle" to be hidden in some far out, lonesome corner of the store, NOT directly across from the cereals, like in normal stores. so, long story short, i got the damn crackers, and now i can be happy.

the moral of the story is, half-nekkid thursday or not, stock up on graham crackers.

it's nancy grace time, bitches. i'm out.

Tuesday, January 08, 2008

MY LIFE ONCE AGAIN HAS MEANING!!



hot damn!! girlfriend nancy grace is BACK! she spawned her chilluns and thank heavens, she's back with us!
the queen of mean (well, maybe that was a bit harsh...she's a nice mean) is back in the saddle and is gonna ride her stallion 'round the rodeo!

however i'm not sure how long i can watch this particular episode. all i'm seeing are live satellite pictures of these children in her nursery. and despite the occasional reminder that the real topic will surround britney spears, the subject keeps veering back toward nancy's pulmonary blood clots and edema that made her delivery a little less convenient.
i couldn't be any happier that nancy's back, and maybe even a little that she's now got children, but for goodness' sake, i'm in the mood to watch britney get a new asshole!

i'm a total masochist



i'm rotten. not only to others, on occasion, but to myself.

so i haven't eaten in 24 hours, nor do i plan on passing anything edible past these lips anytime soon. no, i'm not on some zen plan to cleanse my body of dietary iniquities, nor do i periodically starve myself for shits and giggles. a pound to me is a vital measurement.
no, i've some serious stomach surgeticals tomorrow, so i've got to fast...fast.

so normal people, while faced with this challenge, would comfort themselves watching their favorite movies, closing their eyes when scenes take place during eating. but me, i've tuned into the food network to watch the mini-marathon of 'unwrapped: southern favorites." cheesy biscuits, gumbo, pecan pie.
i'm on the verge of death here.

i'm out kids. see you in recovery.