2007 is SO last year.

"What will you remember most when you look back at the year 2007?"

It's a question that has been posed to me a whopping three times in the last week, and to be quite frank, I have yet to solidify an answer. This day in age, it's not so much what you "remember most". But rather, what you hope to forget. It's funny, no matter how much good happens in a year, the bad often leaves you with the fucking stain. And no matter how hard you try to scrub that stain out, you're always left with a lasting mark which will stay with you for years to come.

Oh 2007, you reek of an uncomforable, foul disdain which will undoubtedly seep and sit in the fibers my clothes now and through the new year. Why can't you show me a little mercy? Why are you constantly calling out to me? Why do you get so much pleasure in holding on to the small, superficial obstructions? The good has to have some sort of say in the type of year I had. Why is it so difficult to let the good in? Please, 2007, stop being such a pretentious bitch. Allow me a little freedom to postively examine myself. You know what, fuck you 2007. I don't need your permission. You know why, because 2008 is a brand new year. And I'm certain 2008 will be much more cooperative.

"What will you remember most when you look back at the year 2007?" It's a stupid question. What I'm most thankful for? Now that I can answer.

Happy New Years. Here's to good health and the days.

...and a Happy New Year.

Merry Christmas to me

Christmas came early this year.

The Return of the 80s

Albeit, I was only alive during half this prolific decade - but let's be honest, shall we, the 80s rocked. It completely pummeled the bell-bottom atrocity that was the 70s and set the standard straight for 90s pop-invasion. I mean, Duran Duran. Culture Club. Kool & The Gang??!! I mean, what more could you want? The sheer nastalgia of it all makes me yearn for a revamped make-over.

Therefore, it didn't surprise me when I heard Ashlee Simpson's new single rocked the casbah. Although it sounds like she snorted a line of Stefani, it's pretty damn catchy. I can't decide if it's more Devo or more Lauper...

The Sweetest Thing

I have a confession. I began a sorted affair with a woman yesterday. It began at 1pm in the kitchen and lasted for two and a half hours. I'm not proud of this encounter, but I couldn't resist. Her smell was incredibly sweet and rich, it pulled me into her hypnotic trance. She tasted like absolute bliss and I couldn't control myself.

However, I had to end it. She's an older woman and no good could come of it.

One Stop Shop

Can someone explain to me the rationality behind crazy Holiday shoppers?  I mean, today's Target-attending, sales-seeking Christmas shoppers have some sort of 'no guts no glory' judgement in the parking lot.  Take for instance today.  As I was about to pull into a parking spot in the garage of the Ventura Target, some extremely vicious soccer mom wearing a velour tracksuit nearly smashes into me with her Volkswagen Sharan Mini-Van.  Naturally, I thought it was a hate crime.  Instead, I encountered a never 

ending trend of Holiday-shopping bitches. You know, the type of people whose sights are set out for the  Translucent Totable Book Lights  or the  Jackie's Talking Comedy Calculator  - gifts nobody ever wants but gets solely on the basis of frugal discounts.  Ugh, who came up with the word 'frugal' anyways?  Sounds like a Muppet.  Look, I'm not discriminating against people seeking discounts.  Hell, I just purchased a 'Nobody Puts Baby In the Corner' halter top because it cost a mere $4.50.  But there has to be a balance between cost-cutting and cutting for costs.  Now if you'll excuse me, I have a car to key.

My First Time

No, nothing like that. I'm talking about my first blog. Actually, I lie, this isn't my first time. I had a brief encounter with livejournal once, but it treated me badly. In fact, I needed to see a grief counselor because of its constant emotional abuse. Needless to say, I got out of it all okay. Now, I'm here. With all that is happening, it seemed only necessary to have an outlet to communicate all my emotional distress - which is exactly why I called it Montezuma's Revenge....expect a lot of verbal diarrhea.

On the way to work, a homeless man on Sepulveda and Santa Monica (I call him Santa Monica Sam), paced up and down the sidewalk with, what looked like, sincere trepidation. On any other Friday, he usually holds out his sign that reads "my father was murdered by ninjas - need money for karate lessons". But today was slightly different. Instead, the sign was on the ground, and he anxiously huffed across the street - didn't even look back. Early retirement perhaps?

On another note, me and Nutcracker Jack just wants to wish everyone a very Merry Christmas. May your eggnog be spiked with extra rum. I think I'll retire to the kitchen and whip me up some of my mom's famous, store-bought pot pies. And for dessert, I think I have some old marshmellow peeps somewhere. Then again, they might be from last year.....eh, that's never stopped me before. PEACE!