Serbian Prince Mihailo Obrenović :

Alas, I’ve been lack in my cocktail duties. That’s not to say I haven’t been drinking – after all, it is the season to get despicably drunk, call two men faggots for not kissing one another, throw a punch at someone for defending Joseph Stalin, and stagger home drunk alone (pausing only to occasionally walk headfirst into a wall,) despite having convinced myself that each and every woman I’d met that night had been absolutely charmed by me and clamoring for an invitation to share my futon. There’s nothing quite like Christmas to turn one into a walking insult to decency.

I have been sober for a few hours this season, and I’ve managed not only to record a Christmas song (Download it here as part of 8bitcollective.com’s Musical Advent Calendar,) but to invent a new cocktail.

You’d be forgiven for expecting a Christmas themed-cocktail. No luck there, I’m afraid. In fact, I put my foot in the yule log this year when my alcohol-authoro-colic-tarian mother demanded I concoct something original and inspiring using whatever she had lying around the house. I proudly set about my duty and poured out measures fit for a family of a sickly-sweet-and-sour toxic green compound. We tried it, it was so-so, and then my mother asked me what was in it.

As it turned out, I’d just made a big round of Margaritas without realizing it.

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Fancy Pants, Los Angeles, 2007

2008 was a rough one (or 2000H8, as my friend so appropriately calls it)!

My Steeez resolution is to start behaving like a real blogger by posting more, and chronicling my sartorial efforts. Hopefully I won’t still be dressing like Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen a la 2006 (ie, homeless girls) and therefore will be less embarrassed about photographing myself for this purpose/your amusement. But it depends on  the weather and how warm my new apartment is, because if it’s cold, I get laaaazy about dressing myself. My Photoshop isn’t working, otherwise I’d drum up some imagery for you….

Anyhow, whatever you do tonight, I hope you have a great night- I’ll most likely be curled up in bed by 10pm, with my dog Lou, and asleep by 10:05, with the aid of some Ambien.

See you in 2009 (or 2000FINE, as the same friend so optimistically calls it).

XX, Fancy Pants

But this gentleman does it quite well:

And it went a lil’ somethin’ like this:

1) Whitney Port (of The Hills) sees my picture on Facebook and thinks I’m her best friend who lives in New York.
2) Adam Devillo (The Producer) sends me a message asking me to call him.
3) I think this is the greatest pretend message I’ve ever gotten, and Colin calls back. Turns out it’s ACTUALLY ADAM DEVILLO.
4) I call Adam D. back and tell him that he’s nuts.
5) Colin and I wrote about it here.
6) Gawker gets a tip, writes it up; WE NOW KNOW WHO THE REAL SLIM SHADY IS.
7) I am so not the real slim shady.
8) The real slim shady is uglier than a leprachon getting a handjob from a potato in a gas station bathroom on a bed of pizza flavored pringle crumbs.
9) I feel kinda magical.

Thanks.

Update:

Fwends!

Discussion Board :(

<3 u Raven.

This Christmas, I totally scored. Allow me to not bother to go into the joyous friends and family thing that happened for a couple days, and tell you, instead, about some stuff people bought for me.

For example, THE ALINEA COOKBOOK. Oh, Grant, Grantgrantgrantgrantgrant. I already know what I’m going to do with my black olive powder. My birthday is in 6 months and I’m asking all my friends to get me hydrocolloids. THANKS SANTA KEEEZ. Santa Keeez also gave me an extremely fresh Mickey Mouse watch.

I can thank the Steeez’rents for other cool stuff, like approximately every book Ruhlman’s ever written. (Ruhlman, btw, is pronounced how J. Seinfeld says “Newman” at all times.) Also other books, like one by Russ Parsons, who has the coolest voice ever and is the only reason I’d ever move to California. Also, I got a toaster. PRAISE JEEEBUS. While I can surely braise the pork butt of your dreams, I cannot EVER toast bread without burning it beyond recognition. Anyone who ever has brunch at my house should send them a thank you note.

I hope you all had fun holidays too! And thank god we’re almost back to regularly scheduled life.

Mike Pea got me this for Christmas but I’m thinking about returning it:

My new favorite blog.

My favorite entry, Saturday November 29, 2008:

Brunch in Five Leaves, Brooklyn was fruitful in more ways than one. It rained all day that day, but I was happy as Green Point gives generously in ink. This is Baptiste and Rose and a couple of their pieces by Bailey Robinson at Saved Tattoo, Brooklyn.

I am embarassed to admit that I don’t have a SINGLE tattoo. At age 15 I wanted to get this symbol (from the cover of Selected Poems by Allen Ginsberg, 1947-1995) tattooed on the small of my back. Thankfully my dad was married to a dentist at the time who persuaded my father (albeit passive-aggressively) to veto the idea.

Then I fell in love with an Israeli who said he never wanted to be tattooed, because he wanted to die “completely nakeeed”. Ever since I have fearfully pictured myself wandering the hallways of the afterlife with some awkwardly inappropriate tattoo from an era of my life best left forgotten.

But now my passion is rekindled. How about a self-portrait etched across my right forearm that says, “forever myself”? After all, who the fuck else am I ever going to be?

Or, even better yet (in honor of one of my favorite nursing stories of all time:
A giant arrow directed upwards on my inner thigh that reads,
This Way To Sugarland.

Trying to impress your girlfriend’s folks this holiday season?  Afraid they will find you too “boyish?”  Then drop $12.99 on a mustache made from some sweaty stranger’s upper lip.  Spirit gum included.

I used to put mascara on my peach-fuzz-lip to try and score older chicks in the late 80’s/early 90’s.  I also called my enemies c*cksuckers, chicken-sh*ts, and h*ndjobs.  I also wore half-shirts.  I also slabbed a lady while she was taking a shower.**

**Sorry - I just watched Sleepaway Camp (1983) and it is kinda having too much of an influence on me:

NSFW??

Well, no one with a real job works during the holidays so whatever.