Hi anyone who's still out there and not a pedophile/sub-part band/woman peddling moderate-to-severely pornographic pictures:

I'm on Facebook now.

Friend me!

I'm also putting out a book.

It's called:

EVERY ROSE HAS ITS THORN: THE ROCK N ROLL FIELD GUIDE TO GUYS

My sister, Heather Bradley, is illustrator.

Here's where you can Pre-Order on Amazon.

What's up y'all.

I'm writing a character profile on cheating 20 to 40-something men.

I've been doing some research, but I'd like to gather more personal ancedotes, stories, and opinions.

I've never dated a cheater (knock on balsa wood) so I feel like I'm at a special disadvantage.

How do cheaters looks/dress/act/behave? Where do they hang out? What do they wear? How are they in bed?

Send me a MySpace message with as much or as little info as you want.

 

All input is helpful and appreciated.

7th and final Neighborhoodie launched today.



GET IT NOW

5th new Neighborhoodies t-shirt.

Check it out!

Third Neighborhoodie shirt launched today.

Check it out!

I am selling Miss Information t-shirts with the gang at Neighborhoodies.

1 shirt per day, 7 shirts total.

The first one launched today.

CHECK IT OUT!

 

 

Piping hot weirdness.

Come grab a cup.

You know a Bon Jovi fan's mad when he forgets how to curse.

Is it me, or does the headline not go with the photo?

There's something fishy about Mary.

Bachelor 3 is homophobic, will pummel dudes that smile at you AND likes to sass cops.

Granny square ink. Because everyone knows tribal is old and busted.

I smell screenplay. Perhaps that hot Korean from Harold and Kumar?

Only rhinestone-studded turds need apply.

I hear 'favor' and I think borrowing a cup of sugar. Maybe I'm no fun.

I'm doing a Miss Info for a day contest. You should enter it. It will be fun. Do it now. Go. Go. GO.

Do it here!

 

I've always held that physical attraction trumps just about everything, therefore "Hi" is and will always be the best pick-up line.

But I've changed my mind.

Saturday night I'm showing my ID to the bouncer.

"You look like you listen to Prince," he says.

Cue hair flick, hoop earring touching, big shit-eating smile.

He wasn't even that cute, but I couldn't help it.

That one line said so much. About who he was and the girl I wanted to be.

And Prince is the perfect pussy catch-all. Go death metal and you run the risk of getting a cutter. Go too indie obscure and you look like you're trying too hard. Go pop and she'll roll her eyes and call you her grandfather.

Please note that this Prince thing does not translate over to text messages. Don't use "2" for "to" and "u" for "you" until you really get to know me. It makes doves (and vaginas) weep.

new newness on the third armpit blog