Almost Famous

I've decided to become a professional contestant.
That is, a pro contest signer-upper.
The job isn't particularly complicated.
Sure, there's a skill-testing question from time to time.
But I just answer those with a calculator.
The main facets of the job are living in poverty and going on lavish vacations.

I've finally had a successful person to retweet me*.
Twitter annoys me as much as Facefuck does.
Twitter is worse, in a sense.
You can't even look at pictures of ladies at the beach on Twitter (can you?).
The reason why Twitter will eventually come out on top?
Well, for one thing, Facefuck keeps updating the website into something no one would like.
But, more to the social media point, Twitter lets you address famous people (supposedly).
If I want to tweet at Bill Murray and tell him to put some pants on, I can go ahead and do that.
It's a familiarity with the unfamiliar not seen since the Star Map.
Incidentally, I've finally figured Twitter out.
I'm going to ask a celebrity of my choosing the question I have always wanted to ask them.
And I'm going to try to do that anew every day (this won't happen, but maybe we can at least make a go of it).
Until then, I'll practice on less-than-famous people.
First target:
Chuck klosterman.
Those of you who are arts majors over 25, you likely know who this is.
Otherwise, he should be drawing a vacuous blank.
However, I intend to fix that.
A journalist of sorts, he writes essays that I really enjoy reading.
Primarily, they entail touring with Guns 'N Roses cover bands and visiting Val Kilmer at his ranch.
He has managed to establish himself as an authority on sports, rock, and general fame (imagined and otherwise).
This makes him more than some four-eyed journalist dweeb, dodging bullets in Syria.
It makes him a cool four-eyed journalist dweeb, and so he's welcome here.
I've been threatening to write more letters to whom it may concern.
Once more, I'm threatening to write letters, I'm not writing threatening letters.

And ANOTHER thing, Dakota, I know where your live and I know what your cat looks like! 

Andie suggested I write him because "that's how he started out."
He'd write celebrities and ask to interview them.
I suppose he and I would agree that he's not a celebrity.
But he's made eye contact with Bono, and that's not bad.
We'll try to get him on the blog. I'll keep you updated.
(I'm serious. Also, if he agrees to an interview, whether you know him or not, it'll be really impressive that he's willing to go along with it).
He's likely a great guy.
At the very least, maybe I can get him to retweet me. 

*I can't embed the tweet properly because I'm inept.
I was replied to by Klei Entertainment. 

"Now This Is What I Call A Party!"

You get the Procactive. You get the balms.
They give you the skin-clearing wand and you rub that over your face.
Cured!
I had acne.
You want to know what the real cure is?
Aging.
Turning 20.
Or, failing that, you can use Accutane, which is what I did.
It worked incredibly well, but it's not for the pregnant ladies out there.
Then again, if you've got a croquette in the fryer, you probably have more to worry about than your complexion.
My good dear friend had two babies in one day recently.
Me first, though.

Alright, so I missed my own birthday, blog-wise, which I've likely never done before.
Need those calendar days to flesh out that tagged section.
It's only Chinese New Year so often.
Every time I stop writing for huge lulls, I come back trying to explain myself.
But there's no need for that, really.
We all know where I am when I'm not online and writing.
I'm off wasting time somewhere.
I'm grazing at some penny arcade, or I'm looking up women's skirts under the mall's escalator.
Explanation explained.
My birthday was great, from what I recall.
Andie organized a surprise party that everyone gave away.
On the bright side, having your friends squander your party is sort of fun.

Uninformed Buddy: Hey, is your party thing still happening on Saturday?
Me: I'm not aware of anything happening on Saturday, unless there's a surprise party for me that you're ruining right now.

I had this exact conversation a number of times.
The true surprise came as guests began trickling in, when I learned that I was due at a comedy gig somewhere.
Alas, the guests were surprised when they found out I had to "take off for a couple of hours."
It was still fun when I eventually got to enjoy it.
There was a mix of new friends, old friends, and some girlfriend I'd never met before.
They bought me a cake and Bill Wood did magic tricks (because he is magic).

Voila!
Diane (I haven't mentioned Diane. She's sexually active.) picked up my cake.
She instructed them to write, "It's Never Too Late To Start A Gang" in goo.
However, they fucked that because the cake guy always gets your cake wrong.
Instead, buddy handed her this:

Which is funnier in a way, really.
This cake seems like it should be for a recovering alcoholic.
Or maybe for someone who lost a child recently.
Or perhaps it's a great cake for a 30-something pervert recluse.
Andie really wanted the party to be great because "the post you wrote on  your last birthday was so sad."
Anyway, she did it.
I found myself laughing and snacking with people who at least bothered to come out.
Despite the number of times I have not.
It meant more that most of the guests never spend time with me in a one-on-one setting.
Any of them could have been anywhere else the night of the fourth (second).
But there they were. 
And sure, they ate most of my cake when I had planned to do that by myself.
But Aunt Barb baked me a backup.

Oh right.
So, speaking of birthdays, one of these guys has to share his with this other guy.

These are Turpin's new twins.
Their names are Grant (left) and Heartthrob Luke Perry (right).
Besides being a little early and a little tiny, they're healthy and ready to devastate.
Oh, and of course, one of them is evil (medically speaking), but we're not sure which yet.