My Right to Bitch Facts and Fallacies

Look at me goin’ all Prince up in here…

This informal name blogging contest thingy is getting fun!  Thank you so much for all your suggestions.  Honestly, you guys are a clever brand.  I’m in good company.  Oh, and Calahan, stop being so damn funny.

Kris Kross PrinceAnyways.

I always wanted to do this.  This post is like a magic trick explained – debunked.  I’m blowing the mystique of David Blaine so to speak.  Of course, I’m only assuming that you too think he has mystique.  If not, disregard the comment.

Today is a continuation of this whole cleansing/purging ritual that I’ve succumbed to.  I wanted to take this opportunity to present to you a list of fallacies about me and this page which you may or may not have mistaken for fact.  If I were a famous musician this might be something you’d find in the “box set”.  Some of it you may find shocking.  Some of you might even hurl.  So, grab a bucket and keep it close.

Behold,  MY RIGHT TO BITCH unmasked:

MRTB Fallacy #1  I Loath Hypothetical Questions.

In two of my past posts, Hypothetically Speaking, and Still Speaking Hypothetically, I spewed off about how much I loath unanswerable questions.  This a fabrication.  I actually love ’em.  Find as many as you can and I’ll find a disturbingly creative way to answer them.

MRTB Fallacy #2  I’m Not Into Small-Talk  

In another post, 5 Creative Ways to Avoid Small Talk, I played the role of a social-phoebe.  The truth is, I’ll talk to you until your ears bleed.  There’s nothing in this world I love more than chillin’ out on a patio, in the middle of the summer, drinkin’ beers and yackin’ it up with good company.  I’ll even pay.  However, if The Bragger, Story Teller Steve, Religious Rick, or Political Pete show up, the party’s movin’ indoors, followed by a deadbolt.  Oh, and I am Too Much Information Guy.  But you knew that already…

MRTB Fallacy #3  I’m a Picky Halloween Candy-Eater

Back in October, Don’t Be a Halloweiner included a list of sucky candy not to pass out to trick-or-treaters.  I told a white lie.  There are three items on that list that I actually love:  Mounds, Almond Joy bars, and Raisinettes.  Whoppers still actually do suck.  As a kid I never liked any of them, however.  I think all kids are genetically hard-wired to hate those candies.  That much is true, so don’t pass them out.  Seriously, this is science talking.  Never argue with science.  Unless you’re catholic.

MRTB Fact # 1  The Fruitless Pursuit of an Anonymous Hacker is a True Story.

I do dumb shit like this all the time.  I get riled up about something, then drive around trying to figure out a plan to right all the injustices of this world.  I usually give up soon after departure, and head back with my tail between my legs.  Then I end up sitting down someplace to chain smoke and mull it over.

MRTB Fact # 2  Suze Orman is One of My Role Models.  

Yes, you read that correctly.  She’s kind of turdy most of the time, but the chick knows personal finance better than you.  And me.  Although, despite her financial wizardry, she’ll never be protected from future Fotoshopping efforts.  Ever.  It’s too easy.  Speaking of, she’s also not really missing a tooth, but I think I mentioned that already.  You gotta admit, it was a seamless Fotoshop-job.

Bush SuggestsMRTB Fact # 3  I Voted for Bush

Both times.  I can already see the comments…

MRTB Fact # 4  I Love Reading Books

The problem is that I rarely finish any of them.  I’m not that big on novels, however.  I don’t think I’ve made it past the fourth chapter of any of the so called Classics.  Go ahead, blast me.  The problem is that I get sidetracked when people speak in fucking Olde English.  I’m sure it’s a classic, however, I found the first forty pages or so to be extremely uninteresting and confusing. Plus, I would much rather make up my own stories.    Side note:  I have to credit my Grandma for teaching me how to story-tell.  When we were little kids she’d always make up bedtime stories on the fly.  They were all better than any of the crap I write.

MRTB Fact # 5  I Do Poetry and Short Screenplays 

But you won’t find any of it here because it’s not for prying eyes!  I’m not Spielberg or Edgar Allen Poe by any stretch, but I dabble in both from time to time.  Scripting is actually the reason I started the whole blogging thing in the first place.  See, a lot of people that write scripts (not me) are really fucking snooty.  They act like they’re all carrying around the next Forest Gump Screenplay.  Give me a break.  I always wanted to make a Short Film, but it’s virtually impossible to network with people in the trade.  Ah bite me.  Now I write blog posts instead.  It’s funner.  More fun, I mean…

Anywhoozle, I feel better.  If you have any deep, burning questions for me, ask now or forever hold your peace.

In the meantime, I’m gonna go grab another espresso.  With some vodka in it.

- Happy Blogging, Rock Stars \m/

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The End of My Right to Bitch…

What?!  You’re pullin’ my leg!  Say it isn’t so, Adam?!

I’m sorry.  It’s true.  After the week has concluded I will have purged every last ounce of negativity and whining out of my frantic fingertips, and My Right to Bitch will be no more.  Bankruptcy has been declared.  Liquidation has begun.  The podium mic unplugged for the last time…

Bonnie Raitt has absolutely nothing to do with this post.

Bonnie Raitt has absolutely nothing to do with this post.

Ok, let’s not get all overdramatic about this.  I’m not going anywhere.  Yes, I’m a bit choked up about the decision, and it’s  a bittersweet one, but it’s time for a rise in consciousness.  Sort of.  The direction of the vortex has been reversed, and new and exciting horizons are on the…uh, horizons.  Wait, that sounded stupid.  That doesn’t even make sense?

I’ll come back to it.

Here’s the deal:  Daddy needs a new name for this domain.  The catch? I’m not gonna be the one to pick it.  That’s your job.  I know, I know – like you give a rat’s ass about naming my blog, and probably wondering out loud, “what’s in it for me?”

Oh-Ho-Ho!  I’ll tell you what’s in it for you!

The winner of the name my blog contest will win an all-expenses-paid trip, including airfare, hotel, and deluxe accommodations, for a 6 day, 7 night trip to Cancun, Mexico.  You will be stayimg in a presidential suite at the fabulous Mayan Palace resort, furnished with a golden toilet and lots of chocolate and berries and stuff.

Hahahahahaha!  Yeah right!  Who do you think I am, fucking Oprah Winfrey?

Yeah, you're definitely not going there on my dime...

Yeah, you’re definitely not going there on my dime…

Ok, for real this time:  The winner of the name my blog contest, as it is will be officially known by, will earn a guest of honor spot, right here, where you will be Comedy Central-style Roasted by yours truly, and become part of the last ever My Right to Bitch rant.  This will probably be in history books one day…

I’ll be experimenting all week long with some sucky titles that I had in mind already, as well as revisiting some memorable posts and interactions with a ton of faithful followers.

Keep in mind, we ain’t ditchin’ the parties around here, and my brand of humor ain’t part of the liquidation process either.

Here’s the new tag for a little bit of inspiration:

“Rooftop Keg Stands. Pyrotechnics. Unruly House Guests. An Occasional Orgy, and Rock and Roll.  Grab a Cup. Five Bucks at the Door.”

So, put your thinking caps on and drop your best ideas in the comment section throughout the week..

I’m counting on you.  Tick, tock…

- Happy Blogging \m/

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The Potential Highway to Happiness

Gray Sky

Photo Credit: Le Monde D’Oneirosia, WordPress.

I’ve had this one particular scenario in my head for awhile now.  It’s a fantasy, for lack of better terms, that involves me packing up my car with nothing but the essentials, getting on the road, and driving as far away as I can from the place I live.

I don’t know where it is that I’m going, I don’t know how long it will take before I get there, and I don’t know what will happen after I arrive.  I do know one thing:  it’s a better and happier place.  Actually, it’s the perfect place for me, and one far away from the monotony and melancholy that keep my feet fastened to the ground.

The people in this dream of mine are friendly; they smile with meaning and purpose, and have good intentions.  They love life – not the busybody, pretend kind of living – they truly cherish it.  They bask in it.  Nothing like here.  Here is dead.  Hopeless.  Gray.

Every time I see the movie playing in my mind’s eye, another small bit of color appears in the composition – one that wasn’t there before.  It’s becoming less black and white.  Maybe it’s a sign that the dream is moving closer to becoming a reality.  The energy inside is massive.  It’s bubbling and ready to boil over.  It’s waiting to explode, and jettison me from this place and onto the highway to happiness.

And then I snap back.  I’m forced to shelf it for the time being. What time is it?  Oh, good.  Only three more hours left.  The day’s almost over.  Focus on your work, Adam.  Stop daydreaming. Forget about it for now.  Dream on your own time…

Most mornings I don’t even want to open my eyes.  The first thoughts that enter the stream are to just close them again, and somehow be magically whisked away from the bad dream.  Hit the snooze button.  Alarm.  Snooze.  Alarm.  Still there.  Same thing as yesterday.  Same people.  Same routine.

Another grueling day passes, and I find myself standing under the warm water pouring from the shower head.  Numbness.  The comforting blanket quickly dissipates, sending a subtle shiver through the core.  The warmth never lasts long enough…

As I stand in front of the mirror wiping the steam from the glass, there appears a face from beyond the fog.  I recognize it only faintly.  The expressionless mug staring back appears tired, drained, lonely.  Who is this person?  What happened to his dream?  His excitement?  His energy?

The monologue ends with one final plea; God, or whatever rules this construct, just let me have one glimpse of that happy place before I close my eyes again and dream of nothing.

*****

See, I loath this blog as much as I love it.  In some ways it’s completely me.  In other ways it’s the byproduct of me trying to thrive in a toxic environment. I’ve become this.  The title alone is one of the fasteners that keep me pinned to misery.  Sometimes it makes me cringe, and I find myself whispering quietly under my breath- beneath all the image and ego – what have I done?

The mask I hide behind obscures all of the features that identify the real me. It pollutes the compassion and empathy, and the deep longing for a world of forgiveness and understanding inside.  It forces me to be something that I don’t want to be anymore – something that is destroying me inside and out, and keeping me from turning into the butterfly that I so desperately want to become.

But how do I take off the mask and break the cycle of fear?  How do I expose, once again, all of the most vulnerable aspects of myself to a world that has been so ruthless and unforgiving in the past and present?  How do I separate perception from reality?  How do I forgive and let go?  Is the world really out to destroy me?  Or is it just another insecurity or deep-seated fear?

Photo Credit: wallpaperpicture.net

Photo Credit: wallpaperpicture.net

What if, upon exposing my vulnerable throat and belly, I’m slashed a stuck instead of hugged and loved?  What if it’s an utter failure, one that leads to my demise, and I find myself face down, consciousness fading, watching the blood flow into the drain?  This could be the end of me…

…or it could be the beginning.  It could be the start of something bigger. Something better.  Something grand and meaningful.  And best of all, the evolution  might not only bring the daydream to me on demand, but could potentially uproot that dream from the mindscape, and project it onto the dull, uninspiring canvas that I’ve painted myself so rigidly onto – replacing the grays and shadows with brilliant, colorful hues and beaming light.

For now, it’s just an idea, and an idea without an action is just a thought.  Thoughts are fleeting.  They form and pass like clouds.  But without thoughts we’d have no ideas, and without ideas we’d have no dreams, and without dreams we’d have no happiness.

I guess it all comes down to how badly you want to experience life and happiness.  How desperate are you to immerse yourself in a dream, rather than settle for watching it on TV?  How willing are you to get on the highway, leaving behind the old definition of yourself and reality, and for the first time ever create your own definition?  How far are you willing to drive?

I guess that’s what they mean when they say, potential.  The will is there.

The action awaits.

-Happy Blogging \m/

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Adam and Becca’s Valentine’s Day Bash – Video Blog

This is the moment you were supposed to be waiting for, that is, until you got sidetracked with your experimental meatloaf surprise that turned into a house fire.  I don’t even know what I’m talking about right now.  I’ve been up late for the past two weeks.  I’m sleep deprived and bordering on hallucinations.  Despite all that, I’m jacked to the max.

This.  Is.  Killer.    

Any over/under bets on YouTube page views after today?  It’s gonna go viral, watch.  It might even threaten to boot a couple unfortunate quacks off the Academy Award nomination deck.  I’m serious.  My guts are usually pretty dead-on.

Enough babbling.

Behold, Adam and Becca’s Valentine’s Day Bash:

Happy Valentine’s Day everyone.  Enjoy your Sweetheart if you’re lucky enough to have one.  <3

-Happy Blogging  \m/

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Valentine’s Candy Messages for the Cynical Single Person

Alright!  It’s taken me five grueling months to decide on the first candidate to stand under the hot-lights, but I’m 100% confident that I found the perfect mix of raunch and class to pop the MRTB guest blogging cherry.   Is that possible to be both raunchy and classy?  I guess you’ll just have to judge for yourself.

I’m convinced that Singlegirlie and I were separated at birth, but after that, one of us went on to play rock and roll, drink beer, and start accidental house party fires, and the other went on to debate penis sizes, and lead the single world with a fist in the air and lipstick on her teeth.

Without further ado let’s give a big, warm welcome and rock star salute to the Chelsea Handler of the blogging world, Singlegirlie.  Earmuffs.

*****

Single Girl Blogging

What up, My Right to Bitch’s bitches? Singlegirlie inna house. Valentine’s Day is tomorrow, which means I’ve been busy stocking up on vodka and hiding the knives and razor blades. But I did take a moment to create some of my own super cute candy hearts with special messages on them for my loved ones. And I made some for you, too. So suck on these, my sweet babboos, and I hope you enjoy the burn of VD as much as I do.

Happy Valentine’s Day. Now STFU.

There’s always that one annoying a-hole who goes on and on about what a wonderful Valentine’s Day they had with their sweetums. Well, I got news for you. Most people, single or not, hate V-day the way 99% of the planet hates Kanye West. If you’re single, you feel like a loser. If you’re in a relationship, you resent the monumental pressure Valentine’s Day forces upon you to do something romantic. So save the sickeningly sweet details about your ooey gooey day for your cat. Because trust me, no one wants to hear that shit.

Danny the DildoI’ll always be there.  <3 Danny the Dildo

You can’t always count on a man, but your dildo will never let you down. I named my dildo Danny after Danny Zuko from Grease. (Note that this was John Travolta back when he was hot and before he became a big, fat, gay alien worshipper and massage boy molester.) Unlike a man, my Danny is super reliable and I can always find him right where I left him – in my bottom dresser drawer concealed by a mountain of Duracell eight-packs. And although he’s unable to thrust himself and has not the same texture as actual man meat, he also doesn’t make a mess inside me or ask for a post-coitus sandwich.

You’re never alone when there’s Craigslist.

Oh, don’t scoff, you know you’ve looked. Hell, even I’ve used Craigslist before. Granted, you may not find your soul mate, but it beats sitting alone on VD diddling yourself whilst watching queens throw tantrums on Project Runway. On Craigslist, you can find anyone into anything you want, so why not take this opportunity to explore your adventurous side? Always dreamed of urinating in a dwarf’s belly button? Craigslist is there. Hermaphrodite-curious? Look no further. This is your time to go hog wild with absolutely no one to judge you! Only downside is the possibility of getting murdered and dismembered – but hey, at least you’re not alone on Valentine’s Day.

Take solace in the fact that your V-day isn’t as bad as Manti Te’o’s.

If anyone’s had a bad time of it lately, it’s Manti Te’o. How would you feel if you discovered that your fake, dead girlfriend is a real, live gay man? Before this scandal broke, I never knew Manti Te’o existed, much less his catfish girlfriend. But this is the catfish to end all catfish – the King God Kamehameha Catfish, if you will. First, the love of his life gets cancer. Then she dies of it. Then he learns that she faked her own death. Then he learns that she faked her whole identity. Then he learns that she’s a HE – a 275-pound, high-talking, Samoan HE in severe denial of his sexuality. Given the choice between his shit and my shit, I’ll take the dildo and a Craiglist random any day.

I’m single, but you’re stuck with that asshole.

It’s no secret that single folk curse their coupled brethren around this time of year, assuming they’ve got it better because they have a sweetheart. But what we singles are wont to forget is that V-day can be a steaming pile of dog shit for couples, too. As we all know, 50% of marriages end in divorce. But that doesn’t mean the 50% that stay together are all in a state of wedded bliss. I guarantee that many of these people regularly fantasize about stabbing their spouse with a steak knife, but they stay together because of the kids or because divorce is expensive or because the death penalty is still legal in many states. So take comfort in the fact that even though you’re lonely, at least you don’t go to bed at night wondering if your penis will be attached in the morning.

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About Singlegirlie

I am a single girl dating in Los Angeles. Sometimes.  It’s interesting.  If you enjoy snark, penis stories and the occasional F-bomb, mosey on over to Single Girl Blogging to partake in the mayhem.  Or find me on Twitter @singlegirlie.

*****

I think I need a drink after that.  But first, how bout a round of applause?

- Happy Blogging \m/ 

P.S.  Stop by tomorrow for the Vlog.  It’s gonna be killer!

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Whenever I Take a Week Off, That Means Something Big is About to Happen

That's Becca. She looks better in Aviators then I do. And she's hotter too...

That’s Becca. She looks better in Aviators then I do. And she’s hotter too…

Geez, I take a couple days off and people start sending me emails asking if I’m dead or something.  Relax, I’m alive, and I also have good news!

Despite the hiatus, there’s been no loafin’ around during the past week.  I’ve been busy making plans for the biggest, baddest, hottest, virtual Valentine’s date of my life with the very lovely, and soon to be famous, Becca from 25 to Fly.

Was that a run on sentence?

Who cares.  Eat it, grammar snobs.  I got bigger things to worry about than indefinite pronouns and fucking subordinating conjunctions.  I don’t even know what those two things are either.  I looked them up online.  They sounded cool…

Anyways, what was I talking about?

Oh yeah, back to the pitch!  I promised that this was gonna be a big year, and I’m following through on that promise this Thursday, Valentine’s Day.  For the first time in the brief history of My Right to Bitch, not only will I not have a single thing to bitch about, but I’ll also be dropping the first ever video log!  You’ll finally get to check out the Heavy Metal Master of this domain in live, technicolor format!  (Did you catch the third person usage, grammar snobs?)

Trust me, I can think of much worse things that you could waste five minutes of your time on – like watching that pig, Nancy Grace.  That show sucks eggs.  This Vlog does not.  Have I ever let you down?

Also, drop by tomorrow for an awesome guest post by the infamous Single Girl Blogging.  If you’ve never heard of her then you’ve been living in your sock drawer.  This chick is the Chelsea Lately of the blogging world (god that sounds dorky) and always a riot.  I wonder if she’s got any good advice out there for all the single folks this Valentine’s Day?  I guess you’ll just have to wait and see!

Until then,

-Happy Blogging Rock Stars \m/

That's me. Stillshot from the upcoming, metal-in-your-face video blog!

That’s me. Stillshot from the upcoming, metal-in-your-face video blog!

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Le Clown and Me in the Dirty D

Yes boys and girls, you read that right.  The Ring Leader of the wackiest circus show on earth popped in for a day long tour of the Motor City, and guess who the lucky shmuck was that had to babysit his ass?

It’s been a week and I’m still recovering…

I’m convinced there was no way of preparing for the unexpected visit.  In less than twelve hours, the powdery little freakshow turned my hometown into a raging dumpster fire.  See Exhibit A.

image

Exhibit A. Le Clown *beautification project.

To find out more about all the ridiculous antics, outbursts, and clowning around, check out my guest post today on A Clown on Fire:  http://clownonfire.wordpress.com/.  It’s a goody.

If you’re really bored, check out http://www.theimpersonals.com.  At 10am EST, they’re gonna be featuring that goofy Fotoshop post of mine from last week.  Drop off a rock star salute!

Oh, and I just watched Bar Refaeli make out with the Godaddy nerd For the first time.  Wow does money talk…

-Happy Blogging \m/

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