Sunday, January 29, 2006

Reason # 5,135 Why I Might Be Headed Somewhere Unseasonably Warm.

"I'm sorry, I can't. I'm a paraplegic."

I did some research this weekend, and I've learned a great way to let a guy down easy when you just don't care to dance with him. Now Fred (our test subject) wasn't convinced at first, but after some dramatic "evidentiary proof" (i moved my legs with my arms to show him just how lifeless they were), Freddy shook my hand with both of his, told me to "never forget" my "beautiful spirit," touched his hand to his heart, and walked away, a better man for it.

Other than that, it's been a slow news weekend. I think some Polish people died in a building or something....we're not CNN. Look it up yourself.



Sunday, January 22, 2006

This Just In (Alalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalaaa!!)

According to the Drudge Report and judging from the increasingly frequent phone calls i've been getting at all hours from friends who feel it their duty to keep me abreast of news regarding Iran, I'm gonna go out on a limb and say that "my peeps in the homeland" (direct translation from farsi) are in deep sh*t. In Iran's defense, I would like to make clear that its (not legitimately elected) President is INSANE and most of its citizens do NOT in fact wish that all the Jews migrated to Norway. Especially Jewish Iranians, they're feeling pretty uncomfortable about the whole thing.

As to nuclear capabilities, it is a little hypocritical of nuclear nations to prohibit another country's development of what they already have. It's like when my mom told me I wasn't allowed to get pregnant on prom night even though SHE already had four kids! On the other hand, the Iranian government isn't fooling anyone when it says it only wants to use nuclear energy for peaceful purposes. Much like
Kathy Hilton's breasts, its ulterior motives are pretty thinly veiled.

I guess what I'm trying to say is, I spent over a thousand bucks to go meet my family in Iran and I would be really pissed if they get blown up and my entire investment (time and money) is lost.

There's an ancient Persian saying that goes like this: When the cat and mouse agree, the grocer is ruined (yeah, persians had grocers way back when). Let's say the western powers are the "cat," and the Iranian public is the "mouse"...now if they cooperate and the cat refrains from killing the mouse, the Iranian government (aka, the "grocer"...following so far?) will surely be ruined. Afterall, its an ancient saying...that means it's true.
Harf balah (word up).

Thursday, January 19, 2006

How Many Celebrity Lesbians Think You're Hot?

If there is one thing that RBIE stands for, it’s “quality” (usually preceded by the words “devoid of” but let’s not split hairs.) In an effort to maintain an esteemed place in our readers’ scheduled daily skimming of “blogs,” I have taken it upon myself to go out and sample the cultural scene of our nation’s capital and report my findings in a very unbiased and professional manner.

Sunday night I “took in a play” (that’s right. we’re classy as sh*t) at the Kennedy Center. It was called “The Subject Was Roses” and it starred…wait for it, wait for it….BILL PULLMAN, Celebrity. You may remember him from such classic films as Spaceballs and Independence Day. Understandably, I was a little star-struck as the curtain went up, but once I finally stopped hyperventilating and screaming “OMG! You were amazing as Christina Ricci’s dad in Casper!!”..I found the play to be very depressing…in a good way. The plot surrounds an older married couple in the 1940’s who have become estranged from one another for the usual reasons (she got fat, he had multiple affairs). Long story short, they’ve spent the majority of their married life fighting over the love and attention of their one and only child who, as the first scene indicates, has just returned from WWII. Now I could say more, but I see you've lost interest. I highly recommend this play (students can get $10 tickets. Just hanging out in the Kennedy Center lobby is worth that much). Support the arts, and Bill Pullman, because I think he’s hungry.

Foreseeing that our readers would be wondering where to go afterwards, I made my way to The Lizard Lounge, a hip discotheque that (on special nights) caters to gays, bisexuals, their friends, and confused reptile enthusiasts. You’ll know it when you spy the bouncers with large plastic lizards hanging all over their shirts. If you’re a woman, you’ll also notice that the male bartenders can’t see you, and although you may be tempted to wait 20 minutes at the bar and then flick them off and yell “fuck you motherfucker” as your friends apologize for your behavior and drag you away, it’s probably wiser to wait until AFTER you get your drink to do so.

On this special evening, the cast of the hit Showtime show “The L Word” was at the bar, and having seen a whole two episodes, I felt that I could go up to one of the girls and yell “I KNOW YOU!” in an excited manner. She looked pretty scared until my friends again stepped in and told her I was “a fan.” Then she asked me my name and spoke the words, “You’re Hot.”

Now, unfortunately I am not a lesbian. I’m much more like a closeted gay man. I love men but I wish to God I didn't. Still, how many semi-famous lesbians have called you “hot” lately? Not enough? You see my point.

The night pretty much ended there. There was a little something about me puking in the backseat of a cab on the way home as the poor cab driver and my friend, let's call him Yim, tried to keep my head out the door or window (don't recall), but that’s not something I care to reminisce about. I DO remember being incredibly relieved that the water bottle I was carrying was NOT a Dasani.

Two celebrities in one night! How about that??!!! Fuck this is long. You haven’t read this far have you, you ungrateful bastard/bitch? Oh, you have. Well, um…look over there!

Sunday, January 15, 2006

Why You Shouldn't Start Work On Friday the F*cking Thirteenth

"Oh. These are all wrong. She copied the wrong reports. These are useless. Let's kill her."

Apart from that last sentence (I definitely heard it, but hopefully just in my head), the above quote is verbatim the first thing that my boss said about me as soon as I entered the office. It's not that I mind being reprimanded for misunderstanding an assignment, but it's more than a little awkward when its not directed at me.

I thought about responding with a "Wait. You think she can hear us?" or "Thank God we're not paying her!", but I wisely held back, remembering my late grandmother's advice, "Don't ever try to joke with someone who is questioning your mind or ability. You're not funny and your voice will only make them angrier. Now go get grandma her bong."

And so started my first day at my new internship, or as I shall be referring to it from now on, "that internship I had for a day."

I've heard that first days can be rough. I've only heard that, never having held a job in my life that wasn't given to me by friends who understood my "Mediterranean" work ethic and that they were paying me for my company more than anything else. (no, I was never a call girl, but you're right, I bet I'd be good at it).


Rough is one thing. Having your boss yell at you for having a Dasani water bottle, asking you to put it away before anyone else sees it, and then giving you a half hour lecture on the evils of Coca-Cola until you finally manage to cut in with a "I didn't know! I use a Brita filter at home, I swear!" is surprisingly hurtful. Especially two hours later, when you're so thirsty that you'd cry if it wasn't for fear of losing crucial life-saving water through your tear ducts,...as you eye the water bottle in your bag, wondering if you could sneak it into the bathroom under your shirt.

In fact, there is now an entire list of products I must refrain from bringing to work:

1) My new Nike sneakers. (despite my father's clever suggestion that I just cover the Nike symbol with masking tape)

2) Starbuck's coffee

3) Anything carbonated that is not generic, because I'm just not sure where they stand on Pepsi.

4) Items of clothing manufactured in Asia, South America, Mexico, some island in the Pacific, or Africa, a.k.a. my entire wardrobe.

5) My dignity and good humor.

On an entirely unrelated note, I will be accepting applications for "husbands who enjoy being the sole breadwinner" or "men who don't care to marry but like the idea of having a kept woman." Please send a resume and picture to reallybigineurope@hotmail.com. Letters should be less than 500 words. Really, just an income tax report will do.

Tuesday, January 10, 2006

Too Sexy For His Coffin?

In a valid effort to be your #15 news source, RBIE presents some real honest-to-god news. Why? Because God gets pissed when we lie to him.

In a hilarious show of genius lawyering, another
California man asks clemency from Arnold, claiming that he is "too old and sick to be executed." Luckily for Arnold, this prisoner is white, so Jamie Foxx will not likely be leaving drunken messages on the governor's answering machine (in his Ray Charles voice) at all hours of the night.

"Too old and sick to be executed." Huh. That's like being too fat to lie down or too ugly to cry. The man has diabetes, is legally blind, has had a major heart attack, and is confined to a wheelchair. Yes, I can see how injecting him with a drug that would end his life as cruel and unusual. There's so much to look forward to...maybe a stroke or incontinence! Life is full of surprises, afterall. Probably not for him though. He should expect death. Soon. With or without a little push in the right direction.

Genuinely Original Poetry

Roses are red
Violets are blue
Being back in school makes me want to shoot myself
No wait, not me. You.

New heights? Almost never. But there's always a new low.

Here at RBIE, it is part of our mission statement to never be genuine. (What? You haven't seen our mission statement? I'll email it to you.) You will, for instance, never see any original poetry on this site, unless of course it's dirty or would be banned by some small town in Carolina (either one, take your pick) for being somehow ungodly. We encourage that kind of poetry.

So, you'll excuse me for this, but I am experiencing a bout of unbalanced anger towards everyone in New York City and a few people in Connecticut who I haven't met yet, but I'm pretty sure would piss me off if I did bother to make their acquaintance. Why isn't James Frey a genuine badass? Why can't Hillary Swank work things out with Rob Lowe's brother? And while we're at it, why is the only actual date I've been on recently have to have been with a 45 year-old who I originally thought was gay? And who among you, loyal RBIE readers/bored law students, are willing to write my thesis for me? And where the fuck did I put my keys?!? That last question is not one that perhaps any of you can answer for me. Rant over. I'm going to go pray for forgiveness now. From one of my many gods. I'm sorry...Gods.