Vignetting the Bear: Episode 1 & Episode 2

Sometimes I draw things, albeit poorly.  Sometimes those things are Bear.  He and I go way back.  Here, let me introduce you to him.  When he’s not trying to get at your entrails, he can be a pretty cool dude.  Please note that Bear can go a little blue, so to speak, so some Episodes will be hidden under page breaks. 

Episode 1

Later, the intern fouls up the coffee run again, and Bear’s day takes a turn for the worse.

Episode 2, under the break.

I’ve Got This, You Guys

Crystal Head Vodka: Filtered through diamonds and crushed hopes for the future. Just kidding, that would be super expensive. The part about the diamonds is true, though.

Suffice it to say … and by that I mean … what I’m really trying to get across here is … listen:  As you may have guessed by now, everyone who once ran this blog is dead.

However, you would have guessed wrong.  Just as wrong as the first few hundred guesses I made for the password to get back into my WordPress account.  Which is to say, super wrong.  You see, I had to guess, because I couldn’t actually remember my password.  Look, it’s been a rough few months you guys, okay?  I’ve had a lot on my plate and I’ve been on a bit of a self-improvement kick and also I’ve been drinking a lot of Dan Akroyd’s Crystal Head Vodka, which kind of negated the self-improvement kick but whatever, screw you guys I’m a grown ass woman and I can do what I want, unless what I want is to take down The Easy Mode, formerly known as ThreeVue, which I can’t, obviously, because if I could, I would have done it by now.

Despite these slight hiccups, and the continued survival of The Easy Mode, I’m back and ready to entertain and cajole and generally unenthuse at abandon.  Oh I know.  Try and contain your excitement.

This Is, In Fact, Completely Terrible: Late to the Party Edition: TheEasyMode.com

This is somehow related.

Saboteurs!  False Prophets!  Sheep in Wolves’ Clothing!

Those nincompoops (or should I say… THREEcompoops?!) over at Threevue dot com thought they could escape our ire by changing their address.   That’s funny, because my ex-boyfriend thought the same thing when he moved across the country, got a new phone number, legally changed his name, and took out that restraining order.  If shenanigans like that didn’t stop me from sending him dolls made out of my own hair, baptized in samples of his old bathwater, then it sure as shingles isn’t going to get me to stop calling Rascall, Marcus, and el Tigre out on their shit.

At the moment, they’re running under the name The Easy Mode.  As a nom de guerre, I suppose I can’t knock it.  However, dear readers, you’ll be pleased to know that in their frantic strides to attempt to live up to Twovue standards, they’ve hired on two more staff writers, Stan and George.  I’m pretty sure those names are right, but as usual, I can’t be bothered to make sure.  If they won’t acknowledge our superiority with regard to precedence as well as quality, then what do I owe them?  I’ll tell you, reader.  Nothing but grief.  A big, steaming pile of grief.  Drizzled with revenge.  And topped with blogging.  Rich, creamy, blogging.

Look.  I’ve been really ill for like a week, and I’m so hopped up on NyQuil right now that I’m almost prepared to let this whole situation fly.  Not to mention I’m watching The Hunger, and I’m a little distracted by this whole Susan Sarandon, Katherine Deneuve love scene thing.  Make that a lot distracted.  All I’m saying is, you can’t just change your name and expect everything to just what was I saying?  This is a really great movie.  Now they’re in a pool?

Awesome.

Buzzed Jogging is Drunk Jogging

Ooh, you have a Slanket too? How utterly urbane. Come here, hat-hair... let's get cozy. Literally.

I like how in this advertisement, the guy wearing the Slanket has been shunned by his friends/companions/significant other, and is sitting quite alone. Because he’s at a sporting event. Wearing a f-ing Slanket. The beer does not cover for the fact that you are wearing glorified feetie-pyjamas, sir. Luckily the Slanket is not only impervious to cool drafts, but the cold sting of ostracization as well.

In other news, I’ve not been home for more than a week, and have had to snatch access to the internet whenever it comes up, such as the public library. Where a man who looks like the evil brother of Santa Claus told me I had my file sharing on. From behind some bookshelves. Like Wilson, from Home Improvement. Or Deep Throat.

Do me a favor and let me know if you guys see any saucy pictures of me floating around on the internet. The only one who should make a profit off of those ultimately disappointing boudoir photographs I have stored on my hard drive is yours truly. And don’t give me that shit about how the warm feeling in my heart that comes with sharing my assets with others should be payment enough – my Animated Hitch Critter, Slanket, NFL Forest Faces, and Car Antlers did NOT pay for themselves, people. SkyMall is not cheap, and neither is the lifestyle that comes along with my sophisticated tastes in understated douchebaggery.

Neither an Explanation Nor an Apology

nom nom nom

Listen: I woke up this morning with the worst hangover I have ever had in my entire life. Ever. Whether it was due to the homemade beer I imbibed, the multitude of microbrews I sampled, or the few choice sips of wild turkey which are still haunting me as I type this in the form of disembodied wafts from some kind of demonesque sense-memory, the three hours I spent in the bathroom this morning have really given me a shift in paradigm. I feel as though I have a new lease on life, so to speak.

Naturally, this means that I have a lot to share with you, my dear audience.

I am sure that my absence has caused many a sorrowful heart among our readership, and I now hope to rectify that by breaking down the mind-numbingly dull things that have kept me from you all these past weeks.

LET US BEGIN:

1. While driving on the freeway, I saw the man in front of me switch lanes and then use his side-mirror to crack open a hard-boiled egg.* This threw me into a momentary existential crisis.
2. A pollster called my house and asked to speak to a male between the ages of 18 and 32. I replied, “…We don’t have one of those here.” Only later did I realize this was unnecessarily awkward.
3. I waited on line for hours with hundreds of people to see a highly anticipated show and was then unceremoniously turned away, but also discovered I still remember how to play MASH.
4. Tried jackfruit carnitas.
5. Cake.
6. Was publicly insulted and humiliated by a TA. He’s DEFINITELY not getting an inappropriate love note now.
7. The handle on my toilet fell off and ended up in the toilet bowl, whereupon I flushed it in a drunken, angry stupor, because I was unable to retrieve it. Upon further contemplation, I find this very meta, not unlike the Ouroboros – the snake eating it’s own tail.
8. Lost two wrestling matches.
9. Found out that going off caffeine for more than 24 hours gives me blinding headaches and nausea.
10. Tried to get myself back into my locked apartment with a credit card. As a result, I was still locked out, but now have minus one working credit card.
11. Panic attacks.
12. Fully embraced my quasi-creepy love for theme/love hotels. More on that later.

Really, this post doesn’t answer any questions, but it also tells you no lies. I’ll be back soon.

In conclusion: thank God for Rebecca Gayheart, who is singlehandedly keeping this website afloat with her inexplicable draw.

*This is legal, but apparently answering my phone is crossing the line.

this isn’t completely terrible, vol. 2: Bourgeois Pig in Hollywood

Location, location, location.

Something about crippling depression, finals week, and constantly being surrounded by inbred jackholes can really suck the funny right out of you.

Luckily, I don’t really care, and you’re going to be subjected to my shit regardless.

On that note, welcome to another edition of “this isn’t completely terrible“, with me, Kim.

Like I was telling some dear friends recently, after inhaling far too much gasoline fumes and spending far too much time in the hot, hot sun (just like OMC says), I hate myself, but generally, I hate other people more, so it looks like I still have some semblance of self-esteem.

Which is probably what propels me to do things like to go cafes with names like Bourgeois Pig. Located in breathtaking Hollywood, California, right across the street from what I believe is the Scientology Celebrity Center*, the Bourgeois Pig serves coffee, pastries, and cafe food. It’s obviously way too blue-blooded for me (it’s in the name, for Christ’s sake), but I go there anyway because it reaffirms everything I hate about Los Angeles while simultaneously serving me delicious drinks and intriguing eye candy, both in human and decorative form. It’s really a win-win situation. But you don’t have to trust me, I’m not the only one raving about it. User Sir Felgar on the Zagat website exclaims,

Way overpriced and somehwat[sic] pretentious(.)

Which is cool, because that’s what all my Johns tend to say about me. Not to leave any doubt about the place, CarolS0256 adds:

It could be cleaner.

threevue’s reign of terror

I forgot to mention this last week, when it would have been even remotely relevant, but some of you may know that Threevue.com’s Tyler recently attended a couple of video game blog reader meet-ups. I went to the Kotaku meet-up at the Golden Gopher downtown (which was pretty swank), and Tyler seemed to be on his best behavior then because my prying eyes were there, you know… prying.

However, later on in the week he attended the Joystiq meet-up, and apparently forgot to pack some manners.

Here he is, accosting some young man in the blogging biz. It appears as if that young man is searching for something on his iPhone. Maybe directions on how to procure a restraining order?

"You WILL type faster on that lifestyle phone. And you will LIKE it."

Look, I’m not going to sit here and point fingers, unlike some people (see above). I think what we can ALL agree on, is how, despite the fact that Threevue is a general disgrace to the V-U-E name, they sure do know how to grow a mustache.

Inappropriate Love Notes, Vol. 1

Dramatic reenactment.

Sometimes, I have really dreamy teaching assistants for the classes I take at University of California school. (Let’s just say these people put the ass back in assistant… if you know what I mean. Because I can be super subtle sometimes. Like just now.) Sometimes, when writer’s block/boredom sets in, I write inappropriate love notes to said TAs in the body of my term papers, only to delete them last-minute before turning in said papers to said TAs. Sometimes I momentarily lose my shit because I can’t remember if I’ve actually deleted said love notes from said term papers for said TAs. Sometimes, I almost don’t give a damn.

I’ve collected those notes here, and have decided to start a periodical series called: ‘Inappropriate Love Notes‘

this isn’t completely terrible, vol. 1: red house furniture

I’ve realized recently that I rarely, if ever, talk about the things in life that I actually ENJOY. Unfortunately, I am generally so overtaken by my general hate for the human species that I overlook the small things that make life beautiful.

You see, it’s not that I don’t LOVE other humans – it’s just that I don’t LIKE you. Most importantly, I’m egalitarian about my hate. Don’t worry. I hate you just like I hate every one else. Which also means that I love you just as much as I love everyone else. See how well that works out? Everyone’s a winner/loser, in my eyes.

In this vein, I’m going to start a new series of posts entitled: This Isn’t Completely Terrible.

First up: This Video for Red House Furniture in High Point, North Carolina!

I know this is a cop out, because Sarah Silverman put it up on her Twitter way back in like … last week. But the fact of the matter is: I’m lazy, people. Get over it. Or don’t. I don’t give a rat’s ass. Threevue does this shit too. They call it “Weekend Entertainment”. So really, don’t blame me, blame them. At any rate, watch the video. It’ll make you proud to be a black American… or a white American.

And when it comes down to it, it isn’t completely terrible.

now that i’ve met you, would you object to never seeing each other again?

Okay. I don’t know if you guys know this, but Rebecca is not, in fact, my name. However, there have been MULTIPLE instances lately wherein I am newly christened Rebecca and expected to respond to my freshly acquired moniker. By different people. All over southern California. In fact, unlike other people on this site, Kim is my real name. Sort of. Mostly. At any rate, it’s what people ACTUALLY call me. I mean, I’ve got a lot of nicknames, but generally, they are not two syllables longer than my given one.

So I got to thinking. Maybe I just LOOK like a Rebecca. Exhibit A:

What I actually look like.

Note the dimple. Not because it’s important, but because it’s adorable. Go ahead. NOTE it.

Now, let’s compare to some other people who are ACTUALLY named Rebecca: