tangent thirty-seven: NKOTBSB. OMG.

Pinch me.
No really. Do it. I didn't think magic was real. That dreams came true. That Lindsay Lohan had the tenacity of a cockroach. I have proven myself wrong, dear readers. Scratch that. NKOTBSB has proven me wrong. I believe now that anything is possible. There are things you come to accept and eventually love when you get to know me. One of those things is my love for pop culture. More specifically, my love for 90s pop culture. And even more specifically, my love for boy bands. An announcement was made the other day that two of the greatest boy bands are joining forces. New Kids on the Block, pioneers of the sub-genre and Backstreet Boys, the prized objects of my affection since I first heard them on Star 94, are teaming up to go on tour. Why hasn't this happened sooner? And to all of you out there who once chose 'N Sync over BSB: You may have won a couple of battles back in the day. But look who's winning the mother f-ing war. Sure, you had Justin Timberlake in your corner way back when. Yes, he is amazing. He did all the work though, and once he went solo it was all over for the rest of them. Plus, NKOTNSYNC? No way. The current acronym is perfect. I know that to most of you this event is meaningless. And that's fine. After Millennium, the boys' albums didn't take too kindly with most people. I have bought every single one (physically, not digitally) and believe in some karmic way that this tour was meant to be for those of us who stayed true. I don't want to bore you with the other umpteen reasons why this tour will be magical. All I know is that I will be there with bells on. I will elbow my way to the front. I will call girls bitches for elbowing their way to the front. I will scream. I will cry. It will be the greatest night of my life.

Peace. Love. Dear Kevin, retirement's over.

tangent thirty-six: shitstain.

Hi. 

Well, I wasn't going to address this subject matter, but I've had some tequila and feel like I should. I received a comment last week on my blog that said: 

Dear Ad Student, Besides being boring, shitty, and self-indulgent, your blog starts beneath the fold. Shitstain. 

-Anonymous

I was offended at first. But then I took a look at some of my recent blog posts. And I have to say, Anonymous. You are right. I have been boring lately. I think you took it a little far by calling me shitty, but I'll give you the boring and self-indulgent comments. If you were referring to my work/website then I suppose that's your opinion and I should respect that. Even though I dig my work. We're told not to take things too personally. I'm not a shitstain. Nickelback is a shitstain. I'm actually pretty fun to hang out with. Ask Matt Kappler or anyone in Mexico. You wouldn't know that though. And you probably assume I'm boring and self-indulgent. My fault. I have gotten lazy, and my blog has become blah. And, yes, it does start beneath the fold; however, I'm not entirely sure how to remedy that one so I'll need some help. I wasn't given many options when I decided to revamp the look. I guess I didn't revamp it all that much. If I used emoticons, this is where I would use one of those nervous-looking ones. Anyway, Anonymous, I'm not being facetious when I tell you that you're right. My blog, as of late, is boring. There. I said it. It didn't used to be. There are some gems hidden in its past. But lately it has not been good. It hasn't even lived up to mediocre at times. I am sorry for pushing you to become so very heated and comment on its staleness. I will try to be better. I don't like being called a shitstain. It hurts. And it's foul to think about in literal terms.

Peace. Love. Skid marks.

tangent thirty-five: ha.

I saw this sign today.

Peace. Love. Phallicism.

tangent thirty-four: I'm live.

melissalangstonwood.com

So I'm a copywriter. With a website. Now let's just get a dank job. 

Peace. Love. Go advertising. 

tangent thirty-three: repeat offender.

I think whoever is in charge of stock photos at NBC and ABC needs to dig more. If you pay attention to my blog, you'll notice that almost the same exact photo can be seen in tangent thirty. But it's a different TV show. The screenshot at the top is of The Gates (which is a new show about vampires, werewolves, and other things of that nature). I think someone needs to be fired. Or two people need to be fired. It's clear that Parks and Recreation and The Gates do not share the same hometown. I feel as if my intelligence has been insulted. The only thing different about this shot is that they didn't photoshop "Landmark Jr." out of it. But it's still next to the same seedy porn shop and it's definitely the same diner. Give me a little more credit, guys. And do your research about people who watch these shows in Atlanta. I'll notice. I'll notice every time. 

Peace. Love. Cheshire Bridge.

tangent thirty-two: Macs get ass.

Hola. 

I hope everyone is having a great day. I was having an awesome day until I saw the commercial above. I don't like PCs. Now, as a Mac owner, I'm sure it sounds trivial and petty. It's not. Recently, I watched a newer PC commercial (the one seen above) and my convictions about PCs were strengthened. I hope you don't mind, but I have chosen to list the reasons why Macs get college guys laid and PCs don't: 

1. It is obvious this kid's roommate owns a Mac. It's the only proper way to play iTunes while "privately tutoring" freshmen girls. 
2. According to Jason, TV time is a lot more valuable than sex. According to the rest of us, Jason will die a virgin.
3. Jason's not wearing shoes. I wonder if he left for class like that, noticed he wasn't wearing shoes, and returned to his dorm room only to find a sock on the door (which is still the universal code for doing it). I'm glad some things never change. 
4. Judging by the sock size, no wonder the roommate hooks up a lot.
5. Look at Jason's socks. 
6. In his dreams, Jason is an attractive white male with piercing eyes who is surrounded by women. But he's still in the hallway. Not in his room getting laid. Sounds like someone needs to be incepted. 
7. I bet Jason has a sweatpants boner. I guess that's one thing his PC is good for. 
8. DVR isn't that innovative. Everyone has DVR. Try inventing time travel, Jason. That's the kind of thing that will make seven ladies join you in a hallway to watch TV on your computer.
9. His roommate totally schools him in front of the camera. He's also probably wondering who Jason keeps talking to about his stupid computer. 
10. Jason admits to his perversion and stays to listen to his roommate have sex. All night. 
11. The roommate's girl totally schools him again. And she sounds really annoyed. Come to think of it, it's probably a different chick. Maybe even his third or fourth chick of the day. 

Peace. Love. I'm a Mac and this tangent was my idea. 


(Side note: This list honestly has nothing to do with the commercial itself. It's just a mere vessel for me to convey my feelings. Anything PC-related brings me back to those days in college when I used to fight with my Dell day in and day out about everything. So, to whoever created this commercial, bravo. I just can't bring myself to buy a PC ever again.)

tangent thirty-one: Justin Bieber remembers childhood.

Confession.

I like Justin Bieber. I'm not really sure why, although if you know me I guess you're not all that surprised.  It probably stems from my utmost desire to stay a tween forever. I purchased his EP a while ago and had forgotten about it until today when I discovered it in my car's CD player. I've been rocking the radio lately so I didn't realize it was in there. Whatever. That's not the point of this tangent. While I enjoy the high-pitched, soprano voice of Sir Bieber, I am troubled by one song in particular. In the song Bigger Justin belts out the lyrics:

"...I was a playa when I was little

But now I'm bigga, I'm bigga
A heart-breaker when I was little 

But now I'm bigga, I'm bigga
And all the haters I swear they look so small from up here
Cuz we're bigga, and love's bigga,
I'm bigga and you're bigga..." 

I won't subject those of you with decent music taste to the rest of the song. You can google it or click to hear it on YouTube. I don't really want to embed it in my blog. I may like the kid, but I do have some standards. Anyway. I'm not sure what Justin Bieber sees when he looks in the mirror, but last time I checked he was still the size of my kneecap. According to the lyrics above, Justin was a playa and a heart-breaker (but not a heart-breaka) when he was little. But now, clearly, he's bigga. Also, he promises that all the haters look small from where he's standing because he and love and even I are all bigga. I'm offended by the bold-faced lie he's telling to all of the fragile young girls out there. And the fragile not-so-young 25-year-old who dedicated an entire blog post to the young man. If, in fact, he is telling the truth then what I took away from the song was this: Justin Bieber matured at the ripe age of 12, where he ceased his pimping ways and instead of having his mom drive her minivan to multiple girls' houses on a Friday night, she now only drives him to one. Due to the recent maturation, Justin's haters are all smaller than him (meaning that his haters must include Verne Troyer, a leprechaun, and ants). And, yes, Justin is in love. All because he has deluded himself into believing he is "bigga". Ignorance must indeed be bliss. Cheers to adulthood, Justin.

Peace. Love. I'm a Belieber. 

tangent thirty: parks and atlantation.

Click to enlarge. 

I have major sleeping issues. As in I can never get any. But as I was catching up on my TV shows I noticed something. Okay, actually I can't take credit for noticing anything. My boyfriend noticed. So we were watching Parks and Recreation and one of the still shots caught his attention. Turns out it's the Landmark Diner. On Cheshire Bridge next to seedy porn shops and a tattoo parlor. Just thought I'd share. I don't know if any of you find it as entertaining. I think it's super rad. Then again, strange things bring me joy. Goodnight.

Peace. Love. ATL ho.

PS: Also, I noticed that I posted on a Tuesday without doing a tangent about music. My bad. Some of you aren't aware, but Tuesday tangents are referred to as "Tuneage Tuesdays" and although I don't really post on Tuesday that much it was a nice theme even if some of you weren't aware I was doing it. This time I did not follow through. Forgive me. It won't happen again. But it might. And probably will. 

tangent twenty-nine: update on tangent twenty-eight.

Click to enlarge. 

Well, it's confirmed. 

Peace. Love. More feet babies.

(A special thanks to Hilary Murphy for sending me this.)

tangent twenty-eight: put some sperm in your step.

Happy Sunday. 

It hasn't been too long since we last met. I actually just got back from NYC last night, and the only reason I told you that is so I could say that I was in NYC. Because it's cool to say that I've been in NYC. Probably because you haven't. Unless you're one of my followers who inhabits the Circus with me. In that case, you're cool too. Maybe. There are a few of you who could use some work. Yesterday, as the plane was taking off (leaving NYC, of course) I turned off my uber awesome iPad (because you can't have electronic devices on planes during takeoff, even in NYC) I started reading the SkyMall magazine. I must say that there are some pretty cool gadgets in that thing. Almost as cool as spending time in NYC last week. There are also some pretty lame gadgets and gifts in the mag, like those hanging tomato gardens. Then I came across the sneakers seen in the picture above. Notice anything weird about them? Other than the obviously atrocious art direction, there are sperm embroidered on the side of them. Yes, sperm. These shoes also guarantee to make you feel like you're defying gravity, which makes sense because sex is supposed to make you feel like that too. That's how they portray it in movies, anyway. I hope you can see the whole ad. It's a little absurd. Okay, I'm out. I have to regroup because I was in NYC last week and I am so tired from all of the coolness going on there. Truth be told, I don't think I'm cool enough to be there. I forgot the right shoes, and I'm pretty sure I have a stress fracture from wearing flip-flops all week. Too bad I wasn't wearing the sperm shoes. I could've had a floorgasm. Or something like that. 

Peace. Love. Feet babies.

tangent twenty-seven: trypophobia.

Holler.

So here's the deal. I'm in this screenwriting class at school, and our goal for the entire quarter is to write a one-hour original pilot script. Because of my recent Vegas trip I haven't really had a chance to sit down and research for my pilot idea. You're probably wondering what my idea is. Actually, I'm just assuming you're wondering what it is, and whether or not you're actually wondering I'm going to tell you anyway. The show's working title is "Phobia" and it probably won't change but I enjoy writing "working title" because I feel like a legitimate writer. It's about a community group headed up by a psychiatrist that meets in the basement of a predominately African American Baptist church where they talk about strange phobias. That's all you need to know. (Also, that's about as far as I've gotten with it which is why I'm not divulging any more info.) In order to create my characters I have to research weird phobias. There are a lot of people online talking about this and many sites on which to do so. I guess this whole Internet thing is taking off. Throughout my research I have found out that people are afraid of everything. From frogs to buttons to cling wrap. Literally everything. I found these people a little ridiculous until I read one thread that caught my eye. This one woman had posted something about being afraid of clusters of really small things, like holes, or ants, or spots. More people had commented on her post and had noted the same feelings of discomfort. As I was reading all of the threads about this particular phobia I realized that I was reading about myself. I become really really uncomfortable around clusters of small things. Things like lotus seed pods, fern spores, lobster eggs, chicken pox, bad cases of acne (and backne), a dead leaf skeleton, etc...If I see these things a chill is sent throughout my entire body, goosebumps appear, and I start scratching. The hair on my arms stands straight up, and I tilt my head to the side because my neck feels funny. All of this is very true. I honestly thought I was partially insane until a few days ago. Turns out I have trypophobia (also known as "cluster phobia"). If you google that word and look at the images it brings up you will understand what freaks me out so much. You may not understand, but you'll get a visual of the types of things that make me feel itchy and weird all over. When I googled the word it took me a couple of hours to get the images I saw out of my brain. Even thinking about them I have goosebumps right this very moment. If and when you google it you might discover you have trypophobia too. And then maybe we can join a support group and become besties and frolic in meadows that lack clusters of small things. Maybe. I'm not sure if you fix a thing like this or just live with it. It's not like I bawl my eyes out or scream when I see fern spores. It just feels like things are crawling on me. I don't really come into contact with fern spores that often, and I suppose whenever I have kids my husband will be on chicken pox duty. When they go through puberty and acne starts to invade I'm hoping that God will cut both my kids and me a break and not give them bad cases. I can deal with sporadic zits. I guess that's it for today. There are no pictures for obvious reasons. But google the word, and you'll see what I'm talking about. I don't think it's nearly as weird as being afraid of buttons. That guys has issues. Not me. Okay, until next time.

Peace. Love. Holey shit.

tangent twenty-six: happy joke day, fool.

Two tangents in one day. What a lucky son of a bitch you are. That or I have insomnia. This will be shorter than the previous post. I wanted to include a nice little video to commemorate this glorious day of humor (or humour if you're British). Oh how I love kids.

Peace. Love. Hardy har.

tangent twenty-five: duck me.

Hey.

I'm aware of the time. It's 3:27 AM. Don't go, "Holy crap, why are you still up?" That's obnoxious, and it's none of your business. It doesn't matter. This will be short. It also won't have anything to do with April Fools Day. I save those jokes for real people. Not virtual ones. There wouldn't be any payoff for me to play a joke on you. And if it doesn't benefit me then I don't really care. I'm vain. We've covered that already. I got an email from a friend tonight about this blog. I scrolled through and let out a giggle or two. Perhaps even a hearty chuckle at one point. I thought to myself, "These people suck. That face sucks. I am better than these people." Sometime later I checked my blog and noticed something. You might even notice it too. Check the top right corner (or the giant picture at the top of the post). That's me making a duck face. A small duck face. One might even say a duckling face. (How many of you laughed at that? I hope at least one and a half.) I am making a stupid face that girls make on facebook when they're trying to be sexy. In my defense, I'm next to a three-year-old and I'm mimicking her pacifier. I didn't take the picture so I could add it to my [insert popular rap song name/lyric here] album on facebook and have boys give me a virtual thumbs up. Regardless, I should be shot in the foot for such a pose. I think it's time for a Tangent M makeover. Be on the lookout.

Peace. Love. Don't duck it up.

PS: I stayed up a bit longer and changed the look. If you miss the old one or have already forgotten what it looks like (if so, bless your heart) then you can be reminded at tangent two.

tangent twenty-four: God must be mad at me.

All I wanted to do was go on this cruise. Tickets went on sale while I was out of town. I even begged my mom when I found out about it. Apparently it's not appropriate for 24-year-olds to want to do this kind of thing. And apparently I'm supposed to have a job by December 9 (when the glorious boat sets sail). Well I hope you're happy, Mother, because look what happened:

Peace. Love. Quit playing games with my heart, Mom (and God).

PS: If anyone wants to sign me up for the waiting list please feel free. I'll do whatever it takes to get on that boat. Whatever. It. Takes.

tangent twenty-three: everyone Googles everyone.

Hey kids.

It's nice to see your shining faces again. I'm a liar. I can't see your faces. I don't know if they're shining or not. And to be honest, I don't care all that much. Nothing against you. I just don't really know who exactly is reading this so it's hard for me to feel genuine concern for the matter. This is going to be short and sweet. I Google people all the time: celebs, myself, real people, the list goes on. I also happen to check my blog's traffic a lot. Tonight, after I exhausted my procrastination habits between twitter and facebook I decided to see who's been checking out Tangent M lately. I can't see your name so don't freak out. I can, however, sometimes see how you got to my blog. Apparently I'm not the only person who thinks Hodge Wooten is a stud muffin. So, whoever you are, you've been caught. Sort-of. I don't know your name. Only that you're from Marietta. But I know that you found my blog because you googled Hodge. I took a screenshot to prove it (click the picture at the top to enlarge). And I seriously doubt there are two Hodge Wootens running around Atlanta. If so, this city is a better place. Either way, I'm telling him. Okay, off to do work. Maybe. Probably not.

Peace. Love. Heart for Hodge.

tangent twenty-two: these are a few of my least favorite things.

Hey kiddos.

How is everyone doing today? I am in a good mood except for the fact that it's Sunday and I haven't done nearly enough work. That's usually how Sundays go. I freak out because I haven't done enough work, which is really just another form of procrastination. And tomorrow I will be freaking out even more because of my freak out today. It's just how it is. I've forgotten what a weekend is. Since I only have classes on Mondays and Tuesdays my weekend consists of getting sleep on Tuesday night and then freaking out Wednesday about how much work I have left to do. To clarify, the freaking out happens in my head. I do not rip off all my clothes, run around the city, and scream absurd religious convictions to no one in particular. Enough of that. I can tell you're already bored. It is finally sunny in Atlanta and that makes me happy; however, lately it has been grey, soggy, and rainy. But it's been bad rain. Spitty rain. Spitty rain is precipitation consisting of quasi-droplets that feel more like God's cold spit on your face and less like a well needed earth hydration. So until today I have been playing the role of Eeyore: gloomy, grey, and sans my tail (which is true because I'm a human and was born without a tail. I think). It's kind of weird that today is sunny because it would be more fitting for today's tangent to be written on a spitty rain day. It's just weird. It's not ironic, which brings us to today's tangent. My least favorite things. In no particular order.

1. Misusing the word, "ironic". I blame Alanis. She had no business writing a song about coincidences and referring to them as irony.
2. Juicy Couture velour tracksuits. Victoria's Secret Pink line also applies.
3. This season's Real World cast (Real World: DC). MTV, could you have found six strangers any lamer? Bring back Hawaii.
4. Bathroom stall doors that open inward.
5. Music snobs. Go ahead and put hipsters here too.
6. Fern spores. Lots of small things in groups make me extremely uneasy.
7. Cats.
8. Houses that smell like dog. And the people who own these houses and have become immune to the stench.
9. Bad singers on American Idol who get record deals.
10. The Progressive lady.
11. Phantom farters. Also known as Fly-bys.
12. People who tag themselves in facebook pictures.
13. Adults using the word "tummy" when a child is not present.
14. Fat Luke Wilson trying to sell me AT&T.
15. Putting liquids in quart-sized bags before boarding an airplane. What the hell does this prevent?
16. Girls who talk like babies when they're on the phone with their boyfriends.
17. When people act like they're the most surprised they've ever been when I tell them I haven't seen [insert greatest movie ever made that I have yet to watch here]. Or when they ask, "You haven't seen [insert greatest movie ever made that I have yet to watch here]?" No, jackass. Why would I lie about that?
18. Goatees.
19. Oxygen bars. Tap air is fine by me.
20. Broken escalators.
21. Idiots who ask fat women when they're due.
22. Larry the Cable Guy. Not laughing.
23. Snakes.
24. Cynical people who make lists about things they hate. I don't count.

Generally, I dig life. Generally.

Peace. Love. It's usually never ironic.