Maybe it's just me

I don't know if This Bug has ever mentioned it before, but I absolutely hate moving. Hate. Moving. Feel me? The packing. The lifting. The unpacking. It'll be here before I know it. Honestly, I am dreading it with every fiber of my body but that's not my point. Presently I'm faced with the laborious task going through my closet to figure out what goes and what stays. This would be so much easier if I had a group of girlfriends sitting on my bed with Yay or Nay signs like Carrie did in the Sex and The City movie, but nope. No such luck. It's just me. Me, the iPod and my impaired judgment after hours of separating countless garments. I don't regret most of my fashion choices per se, I'm just annoyed that a lot of it no longer fits my new but old but new frame. (I haven't been this size since high school) Anyway, while going through this daunting accumulation of clothes, I came across something that I almost completely forgot about.

We all know there are some things in this world that you're just better off buying for yourself rather than receiving it as a gift. Everyone has something that you just don't trust anyone else to get for you. For me, it's watches. No matter how nice a watch may be- I am almost never fully satisfied unless I handpicked it myself, but I digress. Some things do not need to be given as a gift. Case and point: Leather pants. When I came across these ancient slacks in my closet the other day I instantly remembered how confused I was to get such a strange gift for Christmas. Grateful yes, but confused all the same. You see, I got these pants from a dude I was seeing off and on for the better part of a year. That may sound intimate enough to receive leather pants from someone, but the truth is- we didn't really know each other that well. Obviously. The pants were not something I'd get for myself, let alone want someone else to get for me.

Now, I would love to tell you that the infamous leather jeans fit like the pair on the left. Love to. But facts are facts. What I unwrapped that fateful December day many moons ago... looked more like the image to the right. When I tried them on...it looked like I had a penis. I'm not kidding. There's no other way to put it. The crotch was mad long, Son. It looked like a nice sized package behind the zipper. What the? But I accepted them graciously and promptly put them away. Needless to say they never made it outdoors. Until now.


Anyway, in my quest to rid myself of excess baggage at my new place- someone at the Salvation Army is going to reap the benefits of my no longer impaired judgment. I'm talking about the guy, not the pants. We stopped seeing each other shortly after Jesus' birthday that year. Maybe someone else can fill them out in ways I never dreamed of. Who knows. What I do know is that by far, that was the weirdest gift I've ever gotten. It just completely missed the mark. This is what I have to look forward to. Sorting. Tossing. Keeping. Regretting. And rejoicing that I can part with horrible articles of clothing like that one. Word!

And now, a word from our big package sponsors:

Superheroes, Eskimos and Hookers, Oh My !

"Happy Hoe-La-Ween!"

So some of you may remember how badly I wanted to dress up for Halloween last year. It had been quite some time since I put a costume together and just went all out for the festivities. Well, I finally got my chance to dress up as Holly Golightly from Breakfast at Tiffany's but that's not entirely what this post is about. I want to talk about the spooky, scary things I witnessed this past Halloween night. I know that holiday in particular gives people a chance to release their inner child freak, but I had no idea how much freak-a-leek most people have pent up just dying to bust out. Damn!

Not too long ago, my girl in the blogosphere, Happy Hour Sue lamented that the only costumes left for her tween daughter were slutty little get-ups that she found inappropriate for her child. Check it out here. Well it seems that most of those costumes were snatched up by the ladies (and I use that term ever so loosely) who attended the Masquerade Party I went to on Saturday. Lord have mercy. When my good friend mentioned that females jump at the chance to let out their dormant whore, I balked until I witnessed it with my own eyes.

Okay, let's start with the more tame outfits floating around that night. Disclaimer: Before anyone gets all up in arms over my posting the photos, let the record show that these women willingly posed for these pics- knowing full and well that they would later be posted on a social website for local parties. The eyes aren't blocked over there, by the way. I looked out...big time.

"BOO!! tylicious"

From left to right we have what I believe (the jury's still out) is supposed to be a Super Hero, a German Beerfest Girl, a Can-Can Girl and an Eskimo. Honestly, the only one I'm really sure about is the Eskimo. She was the most reserved one compared to Bumble Bee Super Chick who felt the need to bend over every 2.5 seconds for the photographer. I just sat there wondering....does she know any other poses? Yikes. Beerfest Girl seemed to turn the other cheek more than a few times as well. But maybe if This Bug had a whole heap 'o ass, I might throw it all up in the camera, too. Riiiight....

Let's move on to the lowdown dirty shames. A prize to those of you who can guess what these females were dressed as. And... Go! It's okay. I'll wait.

"Trick or Treat?"

Alrighty then... A big bag of candy corn to those who figured homegirl in the middle was a Leprechaun. At least, I think she was. She stood about 5'10 and was built like a brick shithouse. She may be sittin' on a big ole pot of gold, yahnahmean? Or perhaps she's Robyn Hood. She looked kinda 'hood to me. My third guess was that she was from the valley of the Jolly Green Giants. (Insert Ho, Ho, Ho jingle here) The other three just slapped on some Frederick's of Hollywood, hats and a mask and were good to go. No mystery there. No creativity and absolutely zero left to the imagination. But fun was had by all and I suppose that's all that really matters.

"My thigh. No lie."

To be fair, I have to say that I didn't just let my inner prude shine this Halloween. If you know the back story on Holly Golightly, she was a small town country hick who reinvented herself as a New York high society girl. She made her living coaxing dollars, jewels, et al out of rich, older gentlemen. In my book, you can't be a gold digger and not be coming up off a little somethin' somethin' by way of the goodies. But she made it look classy. Tasteful. Something the aforementioned ghouls girls forgot to employ when they put on their glad rags that night. I had a naughty side, myself...complete with (hidden) thigh highs and a suggestively clenched cigarette holder between my teeth all night long. Anyway, I'm not judging. This Bug knows all too well you can't judge a book by it's cover or in this case, lack there of. For all we know- those were good little church girls who run the bake sale at the end of every month. I'm just saying that there is an art to being sexy... and using all the subtlety of a jackhammer isn't necessary. I guess the freaks really do come out at night.

The End

How 'Bout That?

Hola Peoples. I'm coming off a "weak-end" or should I say a strong beginning that started on Friday. After a strong cocktail of laughter, alcohol, pain, debauchery and Hip-Hop blended perfectly- This Bug would like to share a few things she learned about herself and the world in three entirely too short days.


Women are by far more outrageous than men when it comes to strippers. If you've ever been privy to an 'exclusive' party- read: no club regulations, you know what I mean. Suffice to say that male dancers probably enjoy their jobs a helluva lot more than their female counterparts. In short- I think they get away with things that are probably illegal in most states and a few prudent countries. Ever seen a chick get her ass lit on fire? I mean...literally. He had to be violating a few Fire codes during that process. My memory card is holding enough blackmail to set me up for life as we speak. Did I mention there was a midget?


Before this weekend, I never knew how much the sight of a 13 year old appreciating Hip-Hop from my era could warm my heart. Seriously. I was touched. And this is not a passing curiosity, either. The boy goes IN. Perhaps the apple doesn't fall far from the tree after all. Who knows. It just pleases me to know that that kinda love lives on. Ain't no Old Skool. Ain't no New Skool. The boy is proof that there is only True Skool. "I used to live downtown! 129th Street." Next time you ask Young Blood, "What you know about that?!" give an open ear...you might be surprised at his response.


Everybody and their Momma will be looking for you at the party you committed to weeks earlier. So maybe you shouldn't drink so much at the stripper party previous engagement and there will be no need to clone yourself or send back numerous "I'm on my way" text messages to inquiring minds. I'm just sayin'...

After two wisdom teeth extractions, there is no comfort in knowing what's to come. I woke up this morning with one half of my face looking like Slappy Squirrel. I'm not sure if it was a reaction to the medication I was taking or how ineffectual I made it by guzzling Goose & Cran and few Jello "Shots" that were made in plastic syringes. (Don't ask.) But nothing compares to the real needle I will soon face. Yikes.


So that's my Weekend Wrap-up. Just a few things I took with me. And a few I'd like to leave behind. Did I mention there was a midget?




Photo Courtesy: Corbis

don't know why I love you, but I do

Disclaimer: A totally random and overtly superficial entry by This Bug. There are few ugly hot men skulking around Hollywood. I know, I know. I've heard it all before. We are all God's creations and therefore all beautiful, yadda yadda yadda. But seriously- there are a handful of them out there who at first glance do not fit the "Awesomely Hot" bill, but the longer you have a gander- you find yourself drawn to a mysterious sexiness about them. Well, this Bug does anyway. They are in stealth mode...and they can get you too.

Topping my list of ugly hot Hollywood guys is none other than Marc Anthony. I don't know what it is about him. After seeing his performance in El Cantante, I've had the biggest crush on him. I am baffled by my newfound attraction to this guy. I mean, look at him.

He's gangly and awkward and his face sort of reminds me of the Geico Caveman minus all the facial hair. But then you start thinking, "This dude bagged J-Lo, man. He must have something about him!"
Well, whatever that little magic trick may be- I wouldn't mind being his assistant when that rabbit emerges out of the hat. I'm just sayin'. I don't really want to look at him. He can just stand really close beside me and sing Todo Tiene Su Final into my hair. Kinda like 0:44 in this vid...Yeah, that'll work. Fuego!

Next up is Adrien Brody. Hmmm...where do I begin?
Huge nose, sad eyes, crooked smile. All of those wonderful things give his odd face character. Also, he wears his clothes well. This Bug has always been a sucker for a man who looks good in his clothes. Because let's face it- if I don't like how you look in your clothes, I'm not going to wonder what you look like out of them. Though, in Adrien Brody's case I would rather not picture that lanky frame unadorned. There's also the passion factor with him.
What woman doesn't want a man to swoop down and plant a kiss like that on her? You can watch the famous smooch here. And just like that, a sex symbol was born. I'm still hatin' on Halle for this one...that bitch. Show me a woman who doesn't want a man to kiss her like that at least once in life, and I'll show you a raging, muff-loving lesbian.

Rounding out the list is my current favorite British thespian, Clive Owen. He makes me weak.
That craggy face. The wooden stare. His intensity is unmatched. He's like the second coming to Richard Burton- only hotter. Way hotter. He is the cad Mum warned you about. His accent is pure class, and it doesn't matter if he's saying something cheeky or completely vulgar. Case and point, the strip club scene in Closer. I always refer to him as my future ex-husband, because it will never work between us, but on the road to ruin- I'm going to have a bloody good go at it with this shaggadocius bloke. In the words of Mos Def: Y.E.A., Yeah. You could get it.

Honorable Mentions:
Vincent Gallo What can I say? He's stylish. He looks weird and he loves Hip-Hop. And he could give two shits what the critics had to say about Brown Bunny.




Mickey Rourke Let me clarify. Mickey Rourke circa 1986. He was at his sexiest in 9 and 1/2 Weeks before Botox and Boxing completely destroyed that curiously rugged, unshaven face.

Chiwetel Ejiofor



More ugly hotness from across the pond. Sure, he's no Idris Elba- but there's something about him that is alluring. He does a great American accent too, which shows some versatility. And that scar in the middle of his forehead just does it for me. Is that weird?