Say "I love you" just after a person is out of earshot.
Slam a door on someone after hitting them with an angry zinger, then put your back against the door and slide down it to a seated position on the floor, sobbing.
Consistently refer to the father of a friend's son as "Him" or "He," like just the thought of their name offends you.
Stock up on candles and see if your city officials can arrange a blackout.
Offer your opinion on anything and everything. Loudly.
Fire your mother from the CEO position you gave her at your super-successful clothing company. When she reminds you that she's part-owner of the company, stick your fingers in your ears and tell her to back off. Look around your flagship store (in small-town North Carolina) with a sense of contentment, allowing a masked ninja to break in and mug you. Tell your friends that your bruises, including two black eyes and literal handprint-shaped arm wounds, are the result of having fallen down some stairs. Get a gun. Practice shooting, a lot. Look both simultaneously strong and determined and victimized and full of self-pity. Shoot some more.
Hed: Nate Dogg Arrested for Stalking
Dek: If he had wings, he would fly ... let him contemplate.
SOAPnet OandU readers. This one's a bit of a doozy, but if you enjoy the smooth R&B sounds of Nathaniel Dwayne "Nate Dogg" Hale as much as we do, we think it'll be worth it.
The Associated Press reports that the crooner was charged on Monday with felony stalking, after his wife claimed he threatened and followed her on a freeway south of Los Angeles.
We know. Heavy stuff, right?
No word on how Dogg's attorney Mark Geragos plans to defend his client -- but we think a blueprint is pretty clearly laid out in Nate's 1994 song "Regulate." If we may:
First, this is clearly a misunderstanding. What's south of Los Angeles? Long Beach. And what could Nate be doing there? Hitting the East Side, on a mission trying to find Mr. Warren G.
Next, it's quite possible the prosecution will then distract the jury with stories of Mr. Dogg picking up a car-full of "skirts" and heading to the Eastside Motel. But there's no need to tweak. Adultery, while immoral, is not a crime. Besides -- one could then swoop in with the reminder that had our client not "regulated" in an earlier situation, the aforementioned Warren G would have had both his wealth and life taken (in his hometown, no less). As to the assorted bodies he may or may not have turned cold in that fracas -- well, nothing's been proven.
Finally, and we hate to have to resort to this, but there's always the intimidation factor. If the jury knows like WE know ... they don't want to step to this. It's the G-funk Era, funked out with a gangsta twist, after all.
We rest our case. And yes, we are insane.
What's your favorite '90s jam?
So I'm at the Hollywood Bowl last night, enjoying a nostalgia double-header of Elvis Costello (woo!) and The Police (eh). All is well -- even the irrepressible dancing glowstick guy two rows in front of me is manageable -- until the latter band launches into a slow jam I'm unfamiliar with, accompanied by images of destitute but happy children around the world. And it's at this moment, when I am stifling giggles, that I realize what a cynical asshole I am. Seriously. It might have even made me sad, if I had been able to think about anything other than the band meeting when this decision was made. Like --
"Hey, guys. This song is great, I really like it, and I'm totally not trying to start any of the famous feuds that made us split up in the first place. But don't you think this song would be really great if we showed images of destitute but happy children around the world while we played it? I mean -- like totally deep, and great?"
Followed by a chorus of --
"Yeah, omg, completely. I hadn't thought of that before. No one has. Brill, mate. Kids are so touching. Genius."
Thankfully, they then started playing "De Doo Doo Doo" and I snapped out of it.
...And that's all I have to say to you.
1. ...using the elevator to get to my second floor cubicle.
While one can get into the stairwell on the bottom floor, one cannot get out on any subsequent level. Taking the stairs = trapped in them.
2. ...exclusively buying ice cream, Hot Pockets (that's on the Solomonster) and Haribo peach gummies at the grocery store last night.
It was a name brand Trader Joe's supplement trip!
So! Hopefully my fellow Disney cable net employees who use the 2-11 elevator bank and the super judgey guy in a fisherman's hat buying two big boys of High Life at the Ralph's read this blog. Because after this, I think coworkers and drunk fisherman will be much more impressed with me than previously. And that is of the utmost importance to me.
..That in a 21-floor office building, I work on one of the six floors that has a defibrillator. Because I'm a hypochondriac and the elevators here are slow, y'all.
Also -- there's now a 5% greater chance that I'll have a legitimate reason to yell "Clear!" on any given day (no actual math done in the calculation of that figure).
Saint Mineato came to this point in Florence after being beheaded in the presence of the Emperor, picking up his newly-unattached noggin, crossing the Arno river and walking up a (trust me) incredibly long and steep hill.
We, on the other hand, arrived after a leisurely train ride from Rome and a stroll past the Duomo.
Meanwhile, back in America, I have a new job (for now...I don't like to get to comfortable, given my checkered past). It's here. And yes, you are correct. I have at last made One Tree Hill watching my bizniss.