Fragile-ay! It's a Major Award!

Sure, it's no leg lamp in red pumps and fishnet stockings. Or a bowling alley like we had hoped. Nonetheless, people, it's a major award. Ralphie was psyched. He stroked it.

A MAJOR AWARD, I say!

Two Can Anne has been voted "Bestest Blog of the Day" by The Bestest Blog of All Time! Just ask Morgen from It's a Blog Eat Blog World!

What the hell does this mean? How the hell should I know. But can it be bad? It's a friggin' major award! I'm having a friggin' bitch ass week. This can't be bad.

Unless it can. This is entirely plausible. And then what. Well, we'll deal with that situation when come to it. Right now we're dealing with other crap. Let's enjoy this lovely surprise, thanks to everyone who reads my caca doody everyday. Or whomever is responsible for bestowing this major award on me. Morgen even gives props to the real superstar at Two Can Anne, and that is of course, Doodle. take a look at that sweet little thing with the red flowers in her hair*.




*She's pissed, by the way. A tom boy (or tom cat, I suppose) to the 10th degree, and I pimped her out in some pussy barettes with red flowers. Completely. Humiliated. Like I care.

Shit is Lame

Tough week here at Two Can Anne, folks. Who'd have thought Monday would be a day to look forward to, but 'tis true. My aunt is still in the hospital, I've had essentially 6 hours of sleep in three days, the refrigerator may join the toaster in the The Thing is Done Bitch Ass Broke Department, I've got no job, extremely irritating upstairs neighbors who drive a person to drink (more than usual) bills up the bing bang, and now you only have half of the story. Shit is lame, and there's more. But, c'est la vie. Who said it would be easy? Your momma? No, no she didn't. She told you there'd be days like this, so, deal. Friggin' deal.

Finger in the Subway Sammich? Finger This One Out

Here we go again. Not sure why another person would claim the old "Hey, there's a finger in m' fast food!" trick, considering the last broad who did it with the Wendy's chili was sentenced to prison for twelve years, but what else do you expect from someone from a place called Chowchilla? Puhhhlease.

Meet the Mets. In Spring Training.

Oh, man. What an exciting and painful, painful way to lose to the Cardinals last night. To quote Doodle, "This will go down as one of the worst losses in Mets history." And here I thought the ugliest thing about Beltran was that bulbous brown wart mole thing between his right ear and his face. Bases are loaded, and you need two runs to tie, three to win in game 7 of the NLCS? You gotta swing the bat, Carlos! Poor guy freaked out. It happens. Hey. That's baseball. Someone's gotta win, someone's gotta lose. I was feeling for those Met fans last night, I tell you what. We Sox fans had a moment like that back in '86. Ahem. I'm just bummed I have to look at Spiezio's friggin' stupid facial hair strip for awhile longer.

Go, Tigers!!!

There's a Party Over Here So You Might as Well Be Here

No, there's no party. Just a lot of crap. A lot overwhelming crap to deal with over here at Two Can Anne, so I apologize for the lack of posts today. I know you were constantly refreshing that browser of yours to find out whom Anne thinks is annoying, a jerk, sucks. But instead, you got creative and thought of those people all on your own. See? That's what I do around here, I inspire others. Don't thank me. Thank you.

xo

Anne and Doodle

Can We Talk About How Gross It Is When People Eat on the Subway?

Then again, why bother? It's gross! Nothing to talk about. Nothing at all. Except for the vinegar fries and cheeseburger in the lap of the broad next to me. All the way to Corona, Queens. Almost killed myself.

Horatio's Drive

Bud, 1903

I'm a PBS nerd because of stories like this. In 1903, on a $50 bet, Dr. Horatio Nelson Jackson, a Vermont doctor, set off in his Winton Touring Car (affectionately called The Vermonter) on the very first automobile trip across the United States. Along with him were his mechanic Sewell Crocker and his dog, Bud. It took him 63 days and cost him $8,000. Ken Burns' documentary, Horatio's Drive, does a great job in showing exactly how daunting this task was. Here's another great link with more information. Bud rules. So does Vermont. Oh, and cars are cool, I guess.

Sure, Tax Fraud is Appealing, Wesley

But it's got loads of embarrassing risk associated with it. Wesley, Wesley, Wesley. Yes, work bites. And "free" money is easier. But couldn't you have done some embarrassing overseas commercials instead?

P.S. Nice armpit

Some Broads Can't Do Rainy Days

But I can. And my hair? My hair looks amazing today. Long, bright and shiny and straight. Lookin' good, Anne. Lookin' good.

Alberto V05 Kiwi and Lime Squeeze? Forget about it. It's liquid green magic.

Happy 300 Millionth American!

That's too many Americans. Where the hell are we going to fit all these slobs? Where is Nietzsche when you need him?

Did Someone Say Ridiculous?

Doodle, 10/16/06

It's Already Been Done Decided

Yep. It's been decided, by me, that I make the best damned grilled cheese with store-bought wheat, Mexican Shredded Cheese Medley, tomato and Smart Balance in all the land. I challenge any doubters to a Teflon-y duel to the death. Look, I've had two. I'm telling you, you're going to lose.

Vote For Anne's Next Match

If I had a penny for every time I read "I work hard and I play hard" on an online dating profile...well, let's just say that I'd be able to afford name brand yogurt, shall we? How about handles like "debonair_iam?" You don't find those everyday, do you? Oh, that's right, yes you do. Here are the latest crop of dudes cruising me on the internet dating super highway. Vote for your favorite!

1)

This guy says: "Laughter is my biggest character."

Um, actually? I think your 'stache is your biggest "character." And possibly your orange yellow rugby which in addition, I don't think you're sporting ironically.

2)
This guy hails from Buffalo.

Hey, guy, I ordered "hot guy" not "hot wings," ok? Great.

3)

Don't forget about this creepy fella! 'Cause hasn't forgotten about me, no siree!

4)

No words for this. Not even the 12 I expended just now.

5)
Loves the ballet.

Bed Bugs Movin' on Up in Manhattan

I just read this gross article. Now my skin is crawling and I'm convinced I have them. GgggggRrrrrroSssssss! Preshistoric bugs in your bed? Positive spin for single folks: You're not sleeping alone!

A Coffee Mug is a Great Gift Idea

No, it isn't.

Have I Told You Lately How Much I Love Eleanor Roosevelt?

Eleanor Roosevelt, 1884-1962

Well, I do. I saw a PBS documentary on her life last night, and indeed, Eleanor Roosevelt was remarkable. She was born into bucks but had a crappy childhood because her father was a drunk and both her parents died when she was young. She was smart, tall, toothy, awkward and anything but a complacent society woman which was what was expected of her. Instead, Eleanor threw herself into social work and making the world a better place. It goes without saying, even though I'll say it: Without her eyes, ears, and legs, FDR wouldn't have had a chance at the presidency.

One of my favorite quotes happens to be by Eleanor Roosevelt:

"Do one thing every day that scares you."

And today that thing is: Clean the fridge.

Anne's Crazy

-Crazy-

~

I'm crazy

crazy for feeling so lonely

I'm crazy

crazy for feeling so blue

I knew you'd love me as long as you wanted

then someday

leave me for somebody new

(bridge)

worry

why do I let myself worry

wond'ring

what in the world did I do

crazy

for thinking that my love could hold you

I'm crazy for crying

I'm crazy for trying

and I'm crazy for loving you

- by Willie Nelson

Reciprocity

I'd compare my upstairs neighbors to barn animals, but that would be insulting to all barn animals. They're louder, messier, dirtier, and ruder than barn animals, and it's all for shame because they're human (allegedly) and should know better about respect for neighbors, indoor/outdoor voices, indoor/outdoor behavior. The kid was off the wall today. Too much Red Bull, not enough restraints applied, who knows why, but it's bedtime for Bonzo, a-holes. Be parents and tell the kids it's time to turn in. And vacuuming after nine p.m.? Seriously friggin' uncool. It's bullshit.

So, to summarize: They're ugly*, rude, selfish, and completely friggin' dirty, because they're constantly vacuuming. I swear they must have a steady stream of sawdust shooting out of their butt holes or something. Like a family of mobile wood chippers with huge honkin' feet and motor skill dysfunction. Compassion? Nope, you're not going to find it here, people. Not here. Not today.

I've decided a wake up call is in order. What would be more annoying to you, being awoken at 3:30 a.m. or 4:30 a.m.? Or both? Just curious. I have an alarm to set.

*Not relevant to this argument, but true all the same

Easy Like Sunday Mornings...Not

After a night of carousing with some funny people, I had an appointment this morning with a representative from the "boutique" matchmaking firm (I've been referring to as Prude Dude) which has been stalking me of late. We met at a Starbucks near my house at 10:30 this morning. Why so early? I was asking myself that very question when I was still in bed at 9:30. Most likely the incentive was to get it out of the way. Ever have the vivid dream that you're going about your morning routine like showering, putting on a pot of coffee, laying out your clothes...but you're not, you're still lying in bed? Did that! Hate that! Groan.

Anyway, I did my nails last night so I'd look polished. Get it?And did I ever! Long story short: the meeting was pleasant and not annoying. The woman was nice, and I actually don't have a bad thing to say about her. Rare, rare, rare indeed. Clearly I must have looked smokin' hot--even for that early in the morning-- because a guy came in with his paper and checked the shit out of me every time he took a sip of his coffee. I see you, guy. Take it ease'. Keep staring like that and I'm gonna have to charge you. Prude Dude apparently has a fellow in mind for me, some guy who is (on paper, anyway) very successful and wealthy enough to afford the thousands of dollars that this place charges. I'm picturing a balding midget in his late thirties with a private plane. That's fine, I guess. The midget part, anyway. I'm not getting in any planes. No thanks, John Denver, JFK Jr., Cory Lidle, et al. I'm good. You go fly your paper airplanes by yourself. Just make sure to put me in your will before you take off from Teterborough. Thanks. Bye. At any rate, the date should make for good copy. Stay tuned.

The least awesome part of the day has been the Tard Parade upstairs. The kid has been bouncing off of the walls and floors and ceiling since 2:30. It's now 6:45, and I not only hear him but also his bitch ass Yeti mother--someone easily 6' 7" in flats-- who uses every inch of the size 15 surf boards that are her feet when she clod hops around up there. I feel as if I've been babysitting them all day for free and I can't go home because they live with me. It's the stuff of friggin' nightmares. I already rang their doorbell once. The old Ring and Run Technique which is passive aggressive for : Shut the f*ck up already a-holes or take it outside. If that isn't passive aggressive enough, I may have to resort to boogers on the door knob or something.

It's Futile to Fight the Cute So Don't Even Try

Just like quick sand, the more you struggle, the more you sink.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again:

You simply cannot fight the cute.

Let Go and Let Doodle.














Doodle, 10/14/06