A good reason to wake up early.

"How vain it is to sit down to write when you have not stood up to live ...." (Thoreau)

Ad-nauseam

Thank goodness for the much needed break. My brain needs a breather. And a refill.

Overheard on the singles' circuit

"So, what brings you fine ladies to Atlanta? Business? Family? ... Financial endeavors?"

It's about that time.

I'm currently teetering on the edge -- staring down into the dark, scary tunnel that is grad quarter at the Creative Circus. So, I figured its high time I start using this silly little blog of pointless brain matter to display some of my more polished brain matter (i.e. the ads I've produced over my time and tuition at this wonderful portfolio school)


So lets start with some good ol'fashion headlines, shall we?

Art directed by one of my faves, Miss Amarena Diaz.

Just another Friday night in Hotlanta.

Either that or a still frame from the blockbuster hit "The Day After Tomorrow."

I give you -- Team Dockside

That's me in the wench costume, wielding a barely visible pen (afterall, it is mightier than the sword)

I don't think its a half bad sketch of myself, maybe I missed my calling as an illustrator. But probably not.

Get in where you fit in.

It's like Cheers -- where everyone knows your name, your mother country, and where to find the best banitsa this side of the Black Sea.

The newest, coolest phone technology since the beeper

Karen's completely functional phone-purse. Sure, you have to plug the whole bag into a jack to get a dial tone... but come on! It's a phone! And a purse! Its a purse thats a phone that will ALSO carry your wallet, keys, and -- supposedly in the newer models -- your Blackberry.

Did you get your tickets?

I know I did.

3rd time was a real charmer

Close to a year after the first two hit-and-attempt-to-runs, we apparently still have not learned our lesson.

3 a.m. Friday morning: we hear a large THWAP! sound outside. We all jump out of our beds, like little kids on some twisted version of Christmas day, knowing instinctively what's in store.

Another one of our cars was victimized by another terrible driver. And while we knew what to expect before we even opened the front door, we never could've predicted what the drunk-driving fairy had left on our door step this time around.

Outside, we find our main character -- a girl who has just managed to wedge the nose of her Nissan under the back bumper of Patrick's large and in charge Tahoe. She opens the scene by puking out her driver-side door and all over her deployed airbags. Her "friend" is there to help... her "friend" who had not-so wisely decided to follow her home. He asks her if she's okay and if she wants to get out of the car to which she responds, "yeah... yeah. Ok... I should probably get up now." Groggily. As if he'd just woken her up from a deep realm of REM. She then makes the astute suggestion that they "should probably just go on back to his place now." It is at this point we know standing barefoot, in robes, out in the freezing cold will totally be made worth the price of admission.

The five of us stood in our spectator's row of a driveway, mouths agape. We'd seen people hit, we'd even seen people unsuccessfully run from our victim cars, but we'd never seen any violators so obviously sloshed as this young bar-crawler.

Cut to the late-as-usual cops arriving on the scene to gather details from the accident. They ask the standard questions -- her age, her registration, her eye color. To which she notably responds that her eyes are in fact a shade of "doo doo brown."

Hmmmm....

Now, if I were a cop, and not even a very good one, I would take this as reason enough to whip out the trusty ole breathalyzer. But that was just not so with this observant gentleman of the law. Instead, he comes to question Patrick, who's just rolled out of bed at the sound of his car being plowed into, to see if he might somehow be at fault.

Finally we convince the cop that, since the girl has all but taken a swig from a half empty handle of whiskey right in front of us, perhaps the next step would be to see what caused her to run into a stationary truck, puke up the proof of her bar tab, and liken the color of her own eyes to that of feces.

And so, at this point, he did what any well-trained officer would do: he called for backup.

The rest of it is history: a typical DUI test, including one memorable moment where our young heroine told the cop she couldn't blow hard enough into the breathalyzer because she suffered from "bad lung capacity". Cut to girl thrown in back of cop car. Girl goes to jail. Girl's "friend" goes home without his easy score.

The end.

Here's what the iPhone captured from the leftovers of the girl's car. After both airbags deployed and the tow truck crushed the rest of it down, her "friend" tried to save the car from being "made worse" by the pitchfork removal. We politely informed the loveable sidekick that his friend's car was, put quite frankly, fucked beyond repair.





So hopefully, after this lucky third contestant in the row of dumbasses behind the wheel, we have learned our lesson... don't park on the street in front of our house. But maybe, if you park just after the speed bump, you'll be safe.

Overheard at the Circus #339

"You're an enigma, wrapped in a clue, wrapped in a lesbian, stuffed inside a cardigan."

Overheard at the Circus #338

"Green tea is like the Paris Hilton of teas. Earl Grey? Well, Earl Grey is good after bacon ... and weed."

Overheard at the Circus #337

"I don't have any cash, but if it comes down to it... I can always pay with nature's credit card."


(alternately titled: "So which way do I swipe this thing?")

Song of the day

Really, I just like the echoing "Owws" that pepper this number.

Like cocaine for the tastebuds.

I was watching Family Guy the other night and laughed out loud (not an LOL, mind you) when Peter related a moment of let down to the disappointing flavor of Fruit Stripe gum.



I know I'm not the only one who fell victim to the catchy jingle, bought a pack, chewed a piece and upon that initial burst of flavor, was on top of the world like a soon to be addict on her first fix of kid-cocaine. Then, only to find seconds later, that the come down left me fiending for another piece... and another. Until I'd finished the whole pack in 10 minutes.


Man, that one Peter Griffin analogy sent me straight back to my youthful adventuresome days as a crack (er, candy) whore.

And on a slightly unrelated topic: Seth McFarlane, if you're reading this, call me. I love you.