Happy Birthday To Ya!

I love birthdays. I mean how could someone not love birthdays. I also believe in the zodiac, and I think the sign I am most comopatable with is a Pisces. The majority of my close friends are Pisces. But today, I'm am celebrating the birthday of my favorite Pisces, Ryan Harris of the Denver Broncos. He turns 25 today. And my obsession with him borders on unhealthy.  In the off chance he's mortal and Googles himself, and this post comes up, and he clicks on it, I just want to say: HAPPY  BIRTHDAY RYAN EMERSON WILCOX HARRIS! From your number one fan.

When I say that Ryan Harris is the most alluring, gorgoeus man I have ever laid eyes on, I'm not joking. I started holding people to the Ryan standard. Which worked out quite well until I figured out that the only person who can be Ryan Harris is Ryan Harris, and that's most likely why my ass was single.  I first fell in love with Ryan when I was 14 (almost 15)  years old. I was sittin up in my room one summer day watching MTV. There was a new episode of True Life on called True Life: I Want The Perfect Body. It was about people who desired to change themselves without getting plastic surgery. The other people in the episode were a blur. As a matter of fact, I can only remember the mousy girl who wanted to be a fitness model. But Ryan, who was a senior in high school had to gain like 30 pounds of healthy weight in order to start for Notre Dame in the fall. When you first see Ryan in the episode he's sitting in class on the last day of his senior year. He's wearing a blue shirt and glasses and he seems like the hot guy who doesn't know he's hot. God he's so adorable, which is the first thought I had about him. But that's not when I realized that his milkshake brought me and held me captive in the yard.

The next time we see him, its at a graduation party later that same night. This was that cosmic moment that I knew he was put on this earth was for me. He leaves the party early to go to, get this, Chipotle! Chipotle is my one and only vice. I once suffered from a mild addiction to Chipotle, but that's another story. Ryan proceeds to prove that he's not a dumb ass and breaks down his burrito by nutritional value. So not only does he look good, he knows his shit and his voice is downright magical. His voice sounds like Fergie had a baby with Jesus. Just kidding. He talks like Jahiem sings, to me anyway. So you would think he couldn't out fantastic himself, we join him again making his breakfast. He makes one bagel with cream cheese and then says "I'm gonna make another one. I didn't get this big by eating one of anything." Whoa. A self aware man?!? I can dig it. And then I picked out a wedding dress.

Now all of this is well and good. Cute guy, great body, but the episode got a lot deeper than that. The one thing that I absolutely loved was how humble Ryan was about his entire situation and his work ethic. He had a job AND was exercising like crazy, so when he showed up to camp he was at his optimum performance level. Like he was steadily gaining weight and speed, and then started losing weight. But he was so persistant. A very admirable quality. So hot.

Fast forward to 2007, when Ryan has played four fantastic football seasons, even though the last one was a "rebuilding" year, and is in the NFL draft. Still hot. Still driven,  officially a Bronco and unofficially the sexiest man in the NFL. This was quite devesting to me because I'm something of a Steelers fan, and I wanted him to be a Steeler so bad. Now understand the Bronco to be when I was growing up was John Elway. But there was something about him that I didn't like, so I was anti Bronco and pro Cowboy, like every one else  in the 90s. Did I mention he also graduated with a 3.6 gpa?

Thank God I wised up. It was quite apparent to me that the Steelers were going to play as shiteous as possible just to spite me, and I decided to switch teams. That's right! After Troy's knee got rocked, I became a lesbian. Just kidding. I decided to root for the Broncos. So I purchased two tickets to see the Broncos play the Eagles. I got seats right behind the visitors bench so if Knowshown Moreno farted, I'd know it. But then Ryan got hurt and I sold the tickets for two seats higher up. I don't even know if Ryan was even at that game.  I was with my uncle, and when were stuck in the exit gridlock, I told him "if I just run away, I have my phone and my debit card, I just saw Ryan". As I side note, I believe Freeway of State Property fame was in the parking lot selling "Fuck Dallas" Tshirts after the game. The things you'll do for love, right?

So here we are, eight years later and Ryan has accomplished quite a bit, and he should be very proud of himself. Call me! Seriously. And once again Happy Birthday. 


I have also decided that I want a Boston Terrier puppy named Jesus Shuttlesworth.

Can Someone Tell Me What The F**K The Trillest Is Anyway?

This blogging thing is just a little weird. Like I know for sure that I have a few readers, but then what about all the other people who read my blog who I don’t know? It shouldn’t even be called a “blog” really. This is pretty much my thoughts thrown together in some sort of witty essay to make you, the reader, feel some kind of way about life. But today, I wanted to show a little fan appreciation. This person, honestly thinks I am the bee’s knees. He also suffers from insomnia and will text me at times that most people don’t even know if they really exist. Ladies and gentlemen, meet Camp Chris!

I met Camp Chris in 2008, my last year working as a slave camp counselor. This year at camp was by far my hardest. I got stuck working the voucher kids, and while I loved some of them, the others basically broke me and on the third day of camp I was in tears. Hence, why I hate other people’s bad ass children. Unfortunately, I didn’t have another job lined up like Camp Chris, so I was forced to endure slave labor summer days, while he quit and maintained some shreds of dignity and sanity.

Camp Chris is quite a character. He likes to play video games and music. In other words, he’s a cool dude. But today, he gained a bajillion cool points all because of his mad tech skillz yo! Thanks to him, I can now watch Freaknik: The Musical whenever I want. For those of you who were busy watching the Oscars to see what movie won for best picture, I was feeding my inner hood rat by watching the funniest shit I have seen in a long time. Freaknik: The Musical was executive produced by my new favorite genius T-Pain. Yea I said it, T-Pain. He is a genius, and I dare you to say something about it. I thought he outdid himself with the Bud Light commercial, but this, you need to see for yourself. I don't think there are any words to describe how good this really is. 

Freaknik: The Musical is an hour long special about the ghost of Freaknik and his voice is T-Pain in autotune. For the record, Freaknik is a festival in Atlanta. So these four rappers, voiced by Rick Ross, Cee-Lo Green, Young Cash and DJ Pooh are trying to make it to the Battle of the Trillest rap battle. Add in the voices of Charlie Murphy, Kel Mitchell, Andy Samberg and Kelis playing the likes of Al Sharpton, Oprah and Jesse Jackson. Hilarity ensues. Lil Wayne voices a character called Trap Jesus. Trap Jesus. Trap Jesus. Trap Jesus. I may or may not be the only person who finds that hysterical. I spent about an hour repeating Trap Jesus to my self and LOLz-ing myself into oblivion. I even waited four hours for the encore. Blanyway, the moral of the story is to watch Freaknik, download it, and take it prime time because it is an instant classic.

This Is How Twitter and Insomnia Kill Your Dreams!

The first order of business would be to apologize for my long break. I’ve been busy, and when the opportunity of sleep presented itself, I basically got it drunk and took extreme advantage of it. When I finally came to, it was twenty years later. I am now 41 and going through a midlife crisis, and am heading to get a tattoo to assert my “coolness”. Just kidding, it was the only colorful story I could concoct to explain my absence. 

When I woke from my coma long ass nap, I became something short of an angsty teenage zombie. I ate, I dozed in and out of consciousness, and I watched an obscene amount of television. Before this weekend, I could honestly say that I have never watched a show on MSNBC…ever. But then, I came across this late night gem called Lockup. It’s a show about crazy ass criminals, and jail. If you could out-fantastic Gangland, it would be this. Plus I’m a sucker for marathons, soooooo a big thank you to the MSNBC schedulers. I guess after watching all these hardened criminals, I was feeling especially bold; because I made a mistake that I don’t think I can come back from.

To get to the root of this, we need to go back and visit my stupid, fifteen year old self. Contrary to popular belief, my obsession with guidos did not begin with Angelo of Fordham Prep fame. It began with the cast of Growing Up Gotti. This is laughable simply because even then, I had a knack for bad television. I believe that as long as the packaging is good, I’ll feed into it. John, the middle grandson was having a 16^th or 18^th birthday party. I thought they were stuck up because Lindsay Lohan wasn’t invited, as she was “a crazy broad who likes my older brudda”. [Editor’s Note: This is probably what made her lose her mind and became the hot mess we all know and love today.] So, John insists that he needs a famous DJ for his party. Now, way back in 2004, 50 Cent was the bee’s knees, so his DJ, DJ Whookid was enlisted for this bash. It was then and there that I knew that when and IF I got married, I needed DJ Whookid to DJ at my wedding. Simply because I loved his name, and he was down with the Gotti-Agnello clan, he was the man for my reception.

Fast forward to present day where Fiddy is standing on the corner of Lost My Hood Pass Avenue and What The Fuck Am I Gonna Do Now Road, DJ Whookid is still who I want to DJ at my wedding. I began following him on Twitter, (when the story involves Twitter, you know it’s about to get real) and we had a Twitter spat, in which I think I condemned myself to DJ Whookid-less wedding reception. See, Sir Whookidd is in Greece and tweeted:

“Ahh Greece—the city that created this festive combining of many individuals called the ORGY which brought peace on Earth…amen!”

And out of my newfound hardness, from spending hours inside America’s maximum-security prisons, I responded with:

“Greece is a country the last time I checked”

This must have gotten him really ticked off because he DOUBLE TWEETED

“@purelygenius oops meant Athens – sorry for being an ignorant American – r u happy now”    and;

“@purelygenius I did say Athens on my first tweet -- Im not checking everything or spelling while Im on this Iphone”

Then DJ Whookid proceeded to start a #trendingtopic called #blockalltweetanalyzers. Now backslap me and call me paranoid, but I think he was talking about me. I was actually scared that this would burn my DJ bridge and ruin a VERY superficial part of my life. I was losing ground and had to retaliate with a double tweet of my own! So I said:

“I may or may not have just offended @DJWhooKid. I don't think he'll want to DJ at my wedding now...I'm legit sad about this.”

AND

“Thanks to my obsession with John Gotti Agnello, when I was 15 I decided that I wanted @DJWhooKid to be at my wedding, like John's birthday. Today is an extremely bad day”

Thankfully, he’s an extremely forgiving man, and he responded to my pleas with:

“@purelygenius HA! then u r not on my list - but there are some annoying ones out there and Im ready to block!”

I was relieved at the very least. I don’t think I could deal with that devastation. Also, feel free to follow me on twitter. I’ve been using it in lieu of Facebook.