Sweet Review O’ Mine


Last night I saw the concert of a lifetime. In fact, it was called “Guns N’ Roses: Not in this Lifetime.” Damn. It was good. Really good. The concert took place at Soldier Field in Chicago, IL. Last week I saw Phish at Wrigley Field. Something you should know about me, I only go to sporting arenas for the concerts and liquid cheese. Also, I don’t like Phish, only if it’s dead… to me.

I love Guns N’ Roses, but didn’t buy tickets when the show was first announced. I thought it was too rich for my blood and honestly wasn’t sure it would actually happen. It didn’t seem real and I have commitment issues. I once had tickets in 2006 to see Guns N’ Roses with only Axl from the original lineup. The show was canceled.

When the reunion show was announced this year, a friend bought tickets that cost him one month’s car payment as he would say. At the time, I thought it was best to experience the concert through him. A few months had passed and it was GnR weekend. As it got closer and closer, the more I wanted to go. I watched GnR videos and recent live performances with my pal who was going to the show. The idea of seeing a (mostly) reunited GnR was becoming a reality, a reality I was going to miss. Friends started posting pictures and videos from the show on Friday, 7/1 at Soldier Field and my jealousy grew even more. I had to go.

I went to the ol’ Ticketmaster page and scoped out nosebleed seats, tickets were still available for the July 3rd show. Sure, I have other things to pay off, but that can be put on hold, right? Don’t answer that because I already put it on hold and went to the concert. I am not good with my money at all. I waste tons of money on photo booth pictures, David Lee Roth shirts, conventions where I’m going to pay money to stand in line to “meet” washed up celebrities including THE Luke Perry, you name it. GnR however was a great fucking way to spend my money.

I loved every single moment of this concert. I bought 1 ticket because it was a spur of the moment decision that I definitely wanted to go. I’m approaching 35 in a month and didn’t have it in me to try to find someone to go with or plan to meet up or any of that jazz because in the end I knew the person who I was going to have the most fun with at the show was myself. At first, I felt a little weird about going to this mass arena concert by my lonesome and joked with friends that I couldn’t tell if this was one of my prouder or sadder moments. Turns out it’s one of my prouder moments.

Unfortunately, I didn’t actually get to see the opener, Alice in Chains. I only heard a few of the songs as I was walking in. They sounded pretty good, though. Oh, I should mention that part of how awesome this experience was is that I’ve never been to Soldier Field before. I’ve lived in Chicago for 6 years now and haven’t been there so I got to knock that off of my list along with seeing Guns N’ Frickin’ Roses. I went to my section which I affectionately referred to as Austin 3:16. I sat in Section 316, guys. The stage was forever away, but still awesome. That’s why they have those big ass screens.

Obviously, it would have been even better to have a closer seat, but I actually enjoyed sitting where I did because I got to look over the whole concourse and watching the people file in on the ground level reminded me of the video for “Paradise City.” Surreal, man. As I sat down, Alice in Chains just wrapped up. In between the bands, they played the funky beats of Rick James. This was heaven. I have a wide taste in music. I like funk, rock, funk rock, smooth rock, some rap, some crap.

Although I was there with all of these people, it still didn’t seem real that I was about to see Axl, Slash and Duff together on stage. I grew up with these people on my TV screen. I have my brother and MTV to thank for turning me onto GnR. As a kid, I liked a wide variety of music then too, but I LOVED hair metal. Poison’s “Look What the Cat Dragged In” was the first cassette tape I bought by myself. I wore that tape out gang raping my Barbies to only the finest songs about well,  date rape and Jimmy’s Bar n’ Grille. I had a moment at the show thinking about how many times I’ve seen Poison at various state fairs and know all of the songs. I know a lot of GnR songs, but not all of them. And even though I liked GnR growing up, their pin didn’t make my jean jacket. One side of my jean jacket was dedicated to Poison only with individual band member pins and album cover pins. The other side of my jean jacket was pins of Bon Jovi, Nelson, Skid Row and a few others bands from that era. I can’t pinpoint why I didn’t have a GnR pin. Maybe it’s because I felt like my brother really liked them and I only kind of liked them or maybe it was because they didn’t wear enough makeup. I don’t know why I didn’t love them as a kid because as an adult I can say I really love them.

Anyway, back to the show. The Rick James stopped and up came the GnR logo on the screen with spinning guns accompanied by various gun sounds. The first time it happened, the crowd went wild. By the 5th time of these gunshots, people started to wonder how long we had to listen to it. I don’t think it was much past 5 because all of sudden the lights went a flicker and there they fuckin’ were. God damn. Do you know how exciting this moment was? Axl! Slash! Duff! All of them right in front of my very own eyes. We were all in the same giant football stadium. Together. They opened with “It’s So Easy” off of Appetite for Destruction. I don’t remember the full order, but “Mr. Brownstone” wasn’t far behind. Then came “Welcome to the Jungle.” Hit after hit. The excitement grew watching Slash spin around in a circle while playing his guitar and then he would saunter across stage while bending those strings. God damn.

Now, Axl gets a lot of flack for the weight gain and all of the plastic surgery, but he didn’t look all that bad. Sure, he didn’t look how he did at the height of GnR, but he’s also in his 50s with a bum leg. The man can still move. At first it did kind of look like I was watching the real Axl do a character of himself as he slowly slithered side-to-side singing, “My, my, my serpentine,” but that didn’t stop my giddiness. Did I mention that I loved every single moment of this concert? I was sitting by myself in an arena full of people oohing and aahhing over little moves the band members would do, just laughing to myself having a grand ol’ time.

Since I was sitting so high up, no one was really standing in my section which kind of sucked. It wasn’t until after Slash was introduced and played a solo that went into “Sweet Child O’ Mine” did the people in my section stand up. I love this song too, but how did they not stand to “Welcome in the Jungle?” I wasn’t about to start the wave so I just heavily head bobbed in my seat until others stood up. One of my favorite parts of this show was hearing everybody sing along to all of their songs. In case you didn’t know, Axl has an incredibly unique voice that not too many people can replicate. Now imagine a stadium full of mostly white, mostly drunk, off-tune people singing along to these songs. It was fucking great.

As the show went on, they brought out a grand piano and Axl played a little ditty. Then he went into a big ditty, “November Rain.” I absolutely love this song and video so much. I think it’s a beautiful song and brings back so many memories of trying to figure out what even happened in the video that plagued me for over 20 years. Then I Googled the answer, it’s part of a 3-part video series with “Don’t Cry” and “Estranged.” The creepy mirror casket was because Stephanie Seymour was a gunshot-to-the-face victim, not acid-November-rain-to-the-face victim like young minds might think. Again, I oohed and aahhed as images of Slash playing the guitar appeared on screen, then there was that pause we all know and love. The big screens flashed to an image of sausage fingers adorned with a buttload of rings and Axl drove into that piano part followed by Slash’s epic solo. God damn. It was so good.

GnR played for close to 3 hours. Other highlights were “Civil War,” “You Could Be Mine,” “Live & Let Die” with more of those sweet gunshot noises and “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door.” Even with a bum leg, Axl ran the fuck out of that stage wearing a “The Bitch is Back” shirt. I giggled a little when I saw him slow-step onto an amp, but I can’t tell you the last time I ran around a stage under beating stage lights while singing for 3 hours. Today, I rode my bike home from work at a mediocre pace and that’s it. Cut the guy some slack.

Throughout the night, Axl would check in with the audience asking if everyone was having a good time. I for one, can say I was having a GREAT fucking time. Holly holy. This show had it all, pyrotechnics, fireworks on top of pyrotechnics, Axl, Slash and Duff (who almost looks younger than he did when they were in their hey day), guitar solos, bass solos, a cool lady keyboard player with funky blue hair and more. God damn. This show was so good.

The main set wrapped up and they came back for an encore. GnR played “Don’t Cry” where two people in my section slow danced together with the tiniest foot moves in their aisle. The section can’t stand, but they can apparently slow dance. The concert ended with the perfect stadium anthem, “Paradise City.” Finally, the whole crowd stood up and sang along with flashing lights. Axl was still hitting all of those high notes, but he wouldn’t/couldn’t sing “Please” in “Paradise City.” He sang those words that everyone knows, but left the crowd to sing the “Please” part in “Please take me home.” This moment was like seeing your parents do something a little slower and their age really sinks in with you.  Maybe the note is too high, maybe he just wants to make everybody part of the show. Who knows? All I do know is that this show was so god damn good. Seriously. I almost let this slip past me. What a fool. If you get a chance, please see this show. You will not be disappointed. The grass was green, the girls were pretty, there were 3 original members of Guns N’ Frickin’ Roses. It really was Paradise City. Thanks GnR for the lifetime of memories instead of the lifetime of regret. God damn.





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Mental Health Ain’t Nuthin’ to F With

LeeAnnAssless pants

As 2015 comes to a close, it’s a good chance to have a yearly check in. There have been a lot of ups and downs in the past year. Ups include a “budding” comedy career, meaning I’m being more honest with what I’d like to do with my funny bone and downs include the loss of my go-go granny and other things I don’t care to share on the world wide web just quite yet (if ever). My downs totally keep me a mystery.

A wise friend once paraphrased the Wu Tang Clan and said, “mental health ain’t nuthin’ to fuck with.” It’s true. In the midst of all of these ups and downs, I have finally sought out therapy because I guess if I’m going to make a resolution for 2016 it’s simply to “get better.” Saying that, I have only had a consultation so this is way, way, way in the beginning steps. I have reached a point in life where I can either continue to sweep things under the rug or start to face them. As someone who is really good at repressing their feelings, facing these issues is no fun at all. No fun, I tell ya.

This past year has brought a lot of habits (both good and bad) to light. Sure, I knew I had these habits, but I have recognized more and more what’s helpful and what isn’t from saying shitty stuff about myself to every once in awhile giving myself a pat on the back. Saying this, it’s still easier for me to knock myself than give myself credit. At the consultation, I could go on and on about how I felt about myself negatively, but some of the hardest questions to answer were “what are your good qualities?” and “how do you award yourself?” In this whole faith of “getting better,” I couldn’t answer, “my hair” and “washing my hair with slightly better products than the cheapest stuff at Family Dollar.” I had to be honest. Honesty can bite my butt. Can I continue to repress honesty about feelings… and my butt?

Ever since I was a kid, I would always hear, “you’re too hard on yourself.” I give other people passes all of the time, why can’t I give myself a pass here or there? While going through a really dark storm, a good friend would stop me as I would say something shitty about myself and say, “Hey! Don’t talk about my friend like that.” As hard as it was to hear, this comment was a good slap on the wrist to not be such a dirtbag to myself.

Not crapping on myself is incredibly difficult as my humor is so incredibly self deprecating. It’s that whole philosophy of “they can’t laugh at you if you’re laughing at yourself first.” I love self-deprecating humor as I find it relatable and incredibly humorous; although performing it is sometimes cathartic, but also resonates a fear that when people laugh about it they believe it too. It’s a strange vicious circle of “hey, laugh at my joke, but don’t laugh too hard at my joke otherwise we’re both going to think I have a major FUPA problem.” Don’t know what a FUPA is? Read my first comedic press in a college newspaper that also features two of my really good pals here to find out as they spell out my joke letter by letter: https://badgerherald.com/artsetc/2015/10/19/madisons-only-lgbtq-comedy-show-alphabet-soup-replaces-cruel-punchlines-with-inclusive-comedy/

I’ll give myself a pat on the back for the comedic press as seeing that was pretty neat. My mom might think differently. Another pat on the back is how I managed not to completely choke on National TV on the Steve Harvey Show. He’s not cool at all, but if that ridiculous stint gets me a date with the real life Luke Perry, he might be a little bit cool. Don’t know what I’m talking about? Here’s the Steve Harvey clip: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jVhcgFpec_Q

Over the years, I’ve become more compassionate as one thing to remember is you really don’t know what is going on with someone else. What seems fine is probably not. Heck, I don’t even belly laugh (nearly as often) when I see someone completely eat it. Compassion, it’s a thing. But what has really helped me this year has been the compassion of my friends. They’ve been there for me and have encouraged and supported my decision to go to another source to work out some of these demons. So in turn, I’m encouraging anyone who reads this to talk to people about what’s going on instead of holding it in. Not necessarily a therapist as that may not be your cup of tea, but let it out. Bottling it up doesn’t help anyone and will probably just end up in an ulcer or something worse. And as my go-go granny would say, “Better out, than in.” I’m pretty sure she was talking about farts, but boy is she right.

Guys, 2016 is the year to make that change and I’m going to start with the (wo)man in the mirror.


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Funky Bodyguard



Wrote a blog about it (well, I wrote a blog, but not about being prejudice)? Like to read it? Here is goes.

One night while having an impromptu talent show with some pals, the age-old question of “what came first, the chicken or the egg?” came up. Or in this case, what came out first, En Vogue’s “Free Your Mind” or Whitney Houston’s “Queen of the Night?” Sure, you could simply Google the release dates or you could read this. Choose the latter, please.

Before we delve into this hard-hitting question that’s plaguing everyone, here’s a little background on the artists.

En Vogue:

An American R&B female group hailing from California originally led by Terry Ellis, Cindy Herron (my personal fave), Maxine Jones and Dawn Robinson. They formed in 1989 and released their debut album, “Born to Sing” in 1990. Their second album “Funky Divas” was released in 1992 and ruled the frickin’ world with hits like “My Lovin’ (You’re Never Gonna Get It),” “Giving Him Something He Can Feel,” and of course, “Free Your Mind.”

Whitney Houston:

The great. Whitney was an American singer, actress, producer, requester of ass kisses who was born in New Jersey. She made her debut in 1985 and ruled the frickin’ universe until she unfortunately passed too soon in February 2012. This woman has won more awards than well, pretty much everyone. A few songs you may know by her are “I Wanna Dance with Somebody,” “Greatest Love of All,” “I Will Always Love You (or the whole Bodyguard soundtrack for that matter),”Didn’t We Almost Have It All,” “So Emotional,” and more. She thought “crack was whack” and was married to Bobby Brown. Together, they made sweet doodie bubbles.

Now on to the important stuff. What song had the original funky beat with an attitude and who was the designer impostor?These songs are very similar. Similarities: 100% sassy, the videos both have runways for some really good struttin’, and they’re sung in an aggressive, yet welcoming and catchy way.Differences: “Free Your Mind” is a 4-part harmony, “Queen of the Night” is a one-woman show. “Free Your Mind” was written by Denzil Foster and Thomas McElroy where “Queen of the Night” was written by Whitney Houston, Antonio “L.A.” Reid, Kenneth “Babyface” Edmonds and Daryl Simmons. Oh, and the other main difference is that “Free Your Mind” was released on September 24, 1992 and “Queen of the Night” was released on The Bodyguard soundtrack on October 13, 1993. Whelp, that’s it. Now we all know that En Vogue was the leader and Whitney Houston was the follower in this case. I hope you all feel smarter after reading this.

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Up Yours With a Twirling Lawnmower


After recently going through a break up or as much of a break up you can go through when you don’t actually let anyone in, I noticed some similarities on how to overcome an ex like how you can defeat Freddy Krueger. Nightmare on Elm Street isn’t only a movie about burned boogie men who haunt you in your dreams with fits of pedophilia, but has also become a metaphor for my dating life.  Sure, your now sworn enemy will appear “dead” time after time, but heck, let’s give it a look and try to learn some life lessons about overcoming your ex.

1) Tell them you’re not afraid of them/wear a No Fear shirt.

If you get an unsolicited call with a tongue through the phone or get stuck walking up gooey steps while growing one streak of gray hair from lack of sleep and stress, tell your ex that you’re not afraid of them and they magically disappear in 80s effects. This same tactic seems to work when you don’t let the fear take over you while birds spontaneously combust and mean gym teachers get smacked in the ass by flying towels with heavy gay undertones in the sequel. Go figure.

2) Savage their bones and douse them in holy water.

When your ex tries to kill your will to live by making it look like it’s your own suicidal tendencies and need for unhappiness, dig up their bones and drown them in holy water (or piss if that’s more readily available).

3) Show them their reflection and make them die for their ugly ways.

Relinquish the power to your ex. Your energy only feeds their pizza sausage-like belly making it grow with power. Metaphorically, show your ex a mirror and let them see their foul ways and make them die. It’s not you, it’s them (and probably kind of you too).

4) Abort it?

OK, don’t physically abort (unless you want to, that’s your choice) your ex in the clothes hanger kind of way, but maybe in the verbal way to simply stop it. Move on.

5) Stab them with their own weapon.

Put on 3-d glasses or something that all of a sudden opens your eyes a bit more to the situation and beat them at their own game. Again, relinquish that power. Don’t let them stomp you to death in a video game sequence while “In a Gadda Da Vida” plays. Make it your boss level.

6) If all else fails, set them on fire or cut their head off.

Alright, alright, don’t do this at all. Just go back to step 2 and piss on them; metaphorically, of course. And if you’re having nervous bladder issues, just watch this Dokken video and everything will be a-OK.

*Please note that I don’t condone physical violence against anyone and that this whole thought process may have come to mind after consuming too much of a $4 bottle of wine.

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Puffy’s Right. I’ll Be Missing You.


A month ago, I lost someone incredibly important to me. My go-go-granny unfortunately couldn’t go any longer. She lived a wonderful life and went peacefully with her family by her side. It’s all we could have asked for. She lived 97 great years. I want to take a moment not only to remember and celebrate her, but also to talk about the grieving process.

My family lost Marie Helena Wilke on December 31, 2014. A week before this, I was contemplating what to do for New Years Eve. My grandma was a pretty active lady up until the end. Besides simply being 97 years old, she was mostly with it and would still show you her little daily exercises. When I heard she went to the hospital, I didn’t think for a moment that this was it. My brother and I’s philosophy behind my grandma was always, “4 more years! 4 more years!” Sadly, it was more like 4 more days when we heard the news.

Fortunately, I haven’t lost a lot of those close to me. I’m incredibly grateful for this, but it’s interesting to see how I work in times like this. Those few days were filled with so many emotions about not only my grandma, but my mom and also feeling torn about what is ultimately best for someone. My friends were nothing, but supportive not only to my waistline, but for simply being there.

My grandma (G. Wilke, The G, Grandma Funk) did not only impact me, but a lot of my friends growing up. Everyone knew stories about my grandma whether they were of her singing and talking loudly in her apartment, telling us that the kids “danced like rubber balls” during a viewing of Teen Witch, the time she gave me $20 on Mother’s Day for not being a mother, or her wearing the same clothes as some of my friends (and don’t get me started on that time when both my grandma and I bought a drug-related shirt without knowing it was a drug-related shirt. I thought the mushroom was cute, she liked the turtle on it.).

Sounds silly, but death is hard. I’m thankful that we were with my grandma as she passed, holding her hand, telling stories of her life and how much she meant to us. Those few hours were intense to say the least. As the final moments were passing, the reality sunk in that my little grandma would no longer be part of my physical life, but would now become something even more. It’s only been a month, but there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think about her.

Now on to the grieving, it is such a strange process. Of course there’s sadness, but there’s also so much confusion on how to feel. While I was home in Milwaukee after she passed, I was living in a bubble. I was staying at my parent’s house where I wasn’t dealing with the daily activity of life in Chicago. My roommates took care of my cats and my mom helped with my laundry. As much as I was there for my mom during those days of meeting with the funeral director, organizing lunches, etc., my mom was also there for me. I went home the day after the funeral and returned to the dead of winter missing my Chicago friends and lifestyle, but knowing that things are no longer the same. I didn’t know when I would break. Would I be sitting on the city bus and all of a sudden start crying? Possibly. Would I feel bad if I didn’t cry as much one day? Sure. Even though it has gotten easier, I almost feel guilty for moving on in some ways. I guess this is where that whole “gone, but not forgotten” thing comes into play. Now it just has to be practiced.

As my family closed out 2014 on a sad note, it was also uplifting as we know that my grandma is more than OK. She’s back with her husband (and she never had to wash anyone else’s shorts!) and most importantly at peace. Plus, my grandma knows that I really didn’t want to do anything on NYE anyway. She finally gave me a valid excuse. I feel we had a moment that night where she looked at me one last time and thought, “my little LeeAnn, if you’re going to cry a bucket of tears tonight anyway, it might as well be over someone you actually care about.” Boy, was she right. Now go hug your loved ones and take a moment to celebrate the ones who have passed. The softer side of Yops is out.

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Desperate Times Call for Missed Connections

Dating is the pits. Am I right, ladies? I feel like I’ve tried it all and I’m not even close to being done. I’ve met dating prospects at friend’s parties, classes that interest me, online, hobbies I enjoy, through ex’s friends years after the fact, at work and online through my phone (that pesky app that burns my phone battery and my soul).

Last year, I went to the Deck the Hall & Oates party thrown by the Fabulous Ladies of Fitness at Cole’s Bar.  It was a smooth, mustachioed blast. I danced my cares away to the smoothest of jams while wearing only the finest clothes borrowed from my very own mom. I was there with a guy friend of mine and kind of hit it off with another guy. I was torn for a moment on whether to entertain my friend or pursue something that might make my dreams come true. I’m a sucker and paused too long. I took matters into my own online hands the next day and decided to write this mystery Hall a Missed Connection on Craigslist. Here it is:

My Private Eyes Were Watching You

We met in a sea of Oates. Seriously, there were so many Oates. You were dressed as Darryl Hall, I was dressed like my mom. Well, not really, but I was wearing her loose fitting crushed velvet blazer. I commented on the wispiness of your wig and you pet my shoulder to feel the crushed velvet. That pet was not out of touch, but I may have been out of time.

I’m not sure if you recognized me trying to eye fuck the shit out of you because I was pretty busy body rollin’, but I was. I was really trying to eye fuck the shit out of you. Unfortunately that’s all that happened.

I’m a family (wo)man, my nephew once told me I was a man eater, but it was because he didn’t know what it meant. If I do eat men, it’s only because I really lack protein. Make my dreams come true because I can go for that (yes can do). I would like to make that eye fucking one on one because your kiss (or fist) is on my list. Your fist really isn’t on my list, but that song is a hell of a lot better if you replace the word kiss with fist. Turn off the light and trust me, but first respond to my desperate online attempt. Please and thank you.

Unfortunately, I never heard from my dream Hall. Instead I got less than a handful of replies from creepers who loved the Hall & Oates references. One guy emailed me and led with “tall, attractive, and professional.” I entertained it with a few responses. The adjectives he happened to forget with his initial response were “married” and “hard up.” I wish I had better stories of crazy Craigslist responses, but that’s all I got.

The Fabulous Ladies did not stop their hunt. They were hot on the case saying I might be able to see him in the pictures from the event. A few weeks ago, FLOF posted pictures and I saw him in the background. This Hall has moved away, but there’s another Deck the Hall & Oates party next Thursday, December 11 (https://www.facebook.com/events/898433633502848/?ref_dashboard_filter=upcoming).

My mom sent me home from Thanksgiving with a few coats so now I have options to lure in a potential new Hall or maybe even an Oates, although only one of us can have the mustache in the relationship. I have dark hair and am Yugoslavian. That’s going to be a tough one. If I learned anything from this adult education, it’s that I haven’t lost that lovin’ feeling.

For more about the Fabulous Ladies of Fitness, check them out here: https://www.facebook.com/FLOFChicago?fref=ts

They’re great!

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Yopsipes Vol. 2

Cooking for the holidays? Let me help! The recipe book for everyone’s inner fat girl is back with some great new treats based on everyone’s favorite holiday activity – enjoying reruns of your favorite TV shows in a separate room from your family. These recipes are sure to put some boob into a tube of cookie dough. I’m not exactly sure what that means, but I really like cookie dough.

Pork Chops & Applesauce


Pork Chops, milk, bread crumbs, garlic, rosemary, thyme, butter and a jar of applesauce

How To:

  • Buy a whole pig, cut off its chops (try not to kill its self esteem in the process because they might be able to fly some day).
  • Marinate the chops in 2 cups of milk and 2 teaspoons of salt for at least 1 hour turning over once.
  • While the chops are marinating, polish your engraved silver platter, build a house of cards, brush your hair for 100 strokes on each side, throw a football at your sister’s nose, go through puberty and sing a song about change, date George Glass, and preheat oven to 200 degrees. But whatever you do, don’t play ball in the house because mom always said to not do that.
  • Stir together bread crumbs, garlic, rosemary, thyme and 1 teaspoon of salt in a shallow bowl. Lift pork chops from milk 1 at a time, letting excess drip off, dip it a bunch in the bread crumbs and then place in tray. Once all of the chops are breaded, sauté the chops in sum butta and sum vegetable oil in 2-3 batches for 5-6 minutes or until golden brown.
  • Open jar of applesauce and place it in a pot, warm it up for a bit. Don’t warm it too much; think of the temperature as a chair an old lady just warmed up for you with her butt heat. That’s perfect.
  • Place pork chops on plate, drench with applesauce. Ain’t that swell? You now have a new Peter Brady identity and probably wider hips.


Donna Martin Graduates


Popcorn and ice cream.

How To:

  • Pop your favorite kind of microwave popcorn.
  • While popcorn is popping, play Skeletons in the Closet with your closest friends revealing secrets of date rape, diet pills and more. If your friends don’t answer your impetuous questions, make them wear your dad’s shit-stained underwear for 5 minutes (I swear I have no personal experience with this).
  • Scoop your favorite kind of ice cream into a bowl.
  • Place popcorn on top of ice cream. Enjoy a salty, sugary, fatty snack. Those torrid feelings aren’t going to eat themselves.


Got Any Cheese?


Cheese, fruit, bread and crackers.

How To:

  • Buy a buttload of different kind of cheeses (might I suggest Sharp Cheddar, Honey Goat Cheese, Asiago, Smoked Gouda? I’m from Wisconsin. Cheese is my middle thigh.)
  • Cut said cheese (not with the load of your butt… yet. Use a knife, silly).
  • Cut bread into bite-size pieces.
  • Wash and cut selected fruit as needed (might I suggest apples, grapes, and raspberries?)
  • Place cheese, fruit, crackers and bread on serving plates.
  • Eat all of it in one sitting because otherwise it will go bad. It’s how science works or something.


Got Any Cheese? (Modified)

Pub cheese and crackers.

How To:

  • Place pub cheese and box of crackers on the coffee table in front of the TV with the One Tree Hill marathon ready to go.
  • Open pub cheese, leave crackers in box.
  • Enjoy pub cheese with your finger to get the best scoopage (no need to sully anything besides your already disgusting finger).
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‘Cause Nothin’ Lasts Forever, Even Cold November Rain

I get confused by many things, most notably, the plotline to “The Bodyguard” and how my friend has never, ever tried Doritos in her life. Never ever! That’s absolutely ludicrous. Another thing that has always confused me was the video for “November Rain.” I first saw the video 22 years ago and thought it was the coolest thing in the world, but I didn’t understand how Stephanie Seymour died. I was creeped out by the open casket with the mirror through her face and took it literally that the rain must have killed her and no one else at that wedding. Read: I’m an idiot.

I have seen the video numerous times throughout the years, but have never actually taken the time to give a proper Google search of “meaning of November Rain video” until this year. I wasn’t the only one who wanted to know about this. Someone proposed the question on Yahoo! Answers 7 years ago. “November Rain” is based on the short story “Without You” by Del James about a blues singer who is dealing with guilt over his ex-girlfriend committing suicide because of his infidelity. It turns out that if you watch the Guns N’ Roses “Don’t Cry” video, a lot will be explained. As a kid, I recognized that Stephanie Seymour was in both of these videos, but I didn’t really put the two together that it was a 2-part story. I just wanted to rock.

But how does she die? That’s what everyone wants to know, right? Well, the mirror through the face is not just some cool effect to be somewhat reminiscent of the original Nightmare on Elm St. cover, but a mirror in a casket is used for head trauma and gun-shot victims (not acid rain that fell on multiple people, but only killed one person). In “Don’t Cry,” Stephanie Seymour is looking through old photos and is reminded of when she caught Axl Rose with another woman. In the video, she goes ape shit on the girl and not Axl. I never understood this. Sure, be mad at the other woman, but predominantly be mad at the guy who screwed you over, not the girl who he is also screwing over. Combine forces, ladies. Anyway, Axl comes back home and finds Stephanie with a gun in her hand. Actually paying attention to the videos and looking at Wikipedia led me to the conclusion that she did indeed shoot herself and that’s how she died. Mystery solved.

Reading up on all of this, I also found out that the Guns N’ Roses song “Estranged” is thought to be part of the unofficial trilogy. I had never seen this video until today. Spoiler alert: Axl lives out most of everyone’s dream and swims with dolphins. I don’t get how this video would really be considered part of a trilogy. Maybe because there’s a kid in it and that’s supposed to be the baby from the “Don’t Cry” video; besides that, it’s Slash playing guitar solos on water because he’s frickin’ Jesus (or Eddie Money with cooler hair walking on water) and Axl being a bitch not accepting help and swimming with dolphins wearing too many layers. That’s all I got out of this. Axl now wasted about an hour and 45 minutes of my time. First, for watching the 10 minute clip of “Estranged” and another 90 minutes or so when I watched “Stick It” instead of seeing Guns N’ Roses live when he cancelled their show 7 years ago (when I didn’t propose the question that led to this blog on Yahoo! Answers – it wasn’t me).

Now everyone can sleep easily because I know deep down you were all wondering about this too. All you needed was a little patience.

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Live at the Apollo: A Year in Stand-Up

A year ago today, I was a few days away from performing stand-up comedy for the first time ever. Sure I was involved in comedic endeavors prior, but stand-up scared the ratty-tatty, generic Spanx off of me. I stood by the fact that I remained behind the scenes living up to my high school persona of the quiet, not well known class clown. I was there to help other’s comedic endeavors and maybe write some of my own stuff, but never to perform it. Through the help of a beautiful, hilarious creative coach at Bold Brassy Creative, I set a goal of performing stand-up. The rest is history. Kind of.

The last year has been interesting. A lot of good has come out of it. I have met some really awesome people, finished the writing program at Second City (where later, my song was featured in a “Best Of” student show), earned a Screen Actors Guild credit, and most of all performed stand-up comedy which is something I thought I could never ever do. Every time I perform whether it is at an open mic or a showcase, I ask myself after if I still like it. So far, the answer has always been yes. Let it be known that it is not always smooth. There are times that I perform jokes to an audience that just stares at me with no response and then I end up berating them to smell my hole. Or there are mic issues or no mic at all. I have horrible stage fright and I mumble. Even though there’s usually a microphone, it often is just amplified mumbling. Add the mumbling to incredible self doubt leading up to performances and that equals a whole ball of nerves. Thankfully most of the places I perform have bars or I have my trusty roadie (you can’t smell vodka on the city bus, right?).

As with most things in life, I want to be the best at it right away. Why is that so much to ask? I’ve been learning that this is all a long process. One of the biggest things I’ve learned is how much you have to craft a joke. This could be anything from adding/removing details, pausing for reaction/awkwardness, completely rewriting or even scratching a joke. One of the most difficult things for me is to sit in a joke. I’ve tried it and it really works, but generally when I perform, I just want to get the hell off of the stage even though that’s the purpose of me being at that mic. Is this actual irony or Alanis Morissette’s version of irony? Who has 10,000 spoons anyway? Harumph.

People ask what I want to do with comedy. I don’t know. I don’t expect or actually think I’ll become famous or even successful for that matter, but I know that I enjoy it and I guess that’s what actually matters. And it’s really nice when someone finds my jokes relatable; a way to take the edge off of reality. Sure, comedy can be a really self-deprecating hobby, but for whatever reason it keeps on calling me back. All I really want is to eventually become a guest panel member on RuPaul’s Drag Race. I think that’s a perfectly reasonable goal or to write the facts for VH1’s now defunct “Pop Up Video” (bring it back again already). I swear I have career ambitions.

The moral of the story is that you can do things that you don’t think you can do. A year ago, I was still thinking about performing stand-up, now I’m actively performing. I have to keep on pushing myself out of my comfort zone and continue to awkwardly stand in the back at open mics even when I’d sometimes rather be finding new Shannen Doherty series to watch on NetFlix. Sidenote: “Charmed” is actually pretty good, guys. Before I thank the Academy (ahem, Angi Harris of Bold Brassy Creative), I want to encourage you to push yourself out of your own comfort zone. Good things come from it. Aw.

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Friend Testimonials Part Deux

For all 10 people who maybe read the last blog, here is the 2nd part to the Friend Testimonials from the Myspace blogs. The Internet sure is a beautiful place for memories.

I’m sure my friends love all of these backhanded compliments.  Ain’t my fault they have all of these mad skillz.  These are written purely out of love and adoration.

Michelle, 27

Michelle is my dearest college friend who provided many laughs when she fell down a step at a house party, did a belly flop onto Humboldt Ave. and told our old roommate that it was her fault and not Michelle’s that she had a buttchin. Michelle is a very caring person who is going to make an excellent wife and mother, just don’t let her throw a dog toy into your nuts or cut your dubes (dog pubes).  How bizarre!

Soup, 28

Soup is my only Asian friend, but he’s a good friend nonetheless. He likes to not ask for directions and be super late for weddings. He offers many skills in not being able to control his liquor. The results are him rolling in the grass spitting and crawling on my floor and then hitting his head on my TV. Ladies, even though he legitimately likes Pokemon, he assures me that he is not gay because he likes to play with that panty line.  Deez nuts!

Camille, 31

Camille is a wonderful woman who offers many laughs. Her skills include fantastic dance moves accompanied by the best faces ever, hilarious office jokes, and the ability to have Jesus Christ-like scars after she biffs it on her ankles. She is also very good at scaring people when they are “in the zone” at their desk. Camille extends her greatness to her lovely dog, Roscoe who hates the ruckin’ rats, but loves the Aflac duck. Together they provide the sunlight after the rain for a magnificent rainbow of love.

Mindy, 30

Mindy is my little red-headed friend who makes me giggle ever so. She has fine talents in imitating people and opera singing. She likes to be lifted up on the dance floor by gay men and is very entertained by fart and penis jokes. One of her passions is art. She displays her beautiful drawings on the bathroom wall at Pizza Shuttle. She is very missed in Milwaukee, especially by the innocent bystanders on the street who she politely tells they have the HIV. Come back, Miss Babycakes Hakes! Your tall, quiet (until you get to know her) friend misses you.

Julie, 25

Julie is a newer friend of mine who enjoys riding the city bus and Jazzercise. She has good taste in clothes, shoes and liquid cheese. She offers many skills in Michael McDonald impersonations, power walking, playing the viola, and lesbian jokes. Just make sure to not invade her dance space, that’s reserved for Jon Secada.

Chris, 27

Chris is fine lookin’ chap with very big hair.  He offers many skills in parody voices, fake falls, and starting fires in my kitchen with his hooligan friends.  Other skills include laughing at the fat kid going through the ringer on Double Dare and not returning my emails or phone calls.  When he does respond it is always hilarious so that must be why I keep him around.  He is also a good present giver.  Good thing my birthday is next.

Andrea, 27

Andrea is my oldest friend from the wee days of Kindercare and that class that teaches you how to cross the street properly.  She has no shame and will happily dance like Mike Myers in the “Cat in the Hat.”  She is a big fan of the back seat lovin’ with Bullet Belt Larry, Matt B-b-b-b-b-Budnick, and Buttman.  Yes, all at the same time.  Her passion for falling face first in the dirt after too many 20 oz. 1/2 rum, 1/2 Dr. Pepper drinks is what makes her my one and only Dirtface.

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