Alcohol To The Rescue

I know I mentioned in my last post the rescue pups had eaten away at my ethernet cable and basically fucked me royally in my quest for famosity but I was wrong. They had feasted on the cable but that wasn't the reason for my internet's refusal to churn awesomeness.

Yesterday I spent all day trying to find a place where to use the internet and post about the time I worked for a porn reality show but the library was closed due to remodeling and then errands got the best of me and finally when I got to a book store I figured out my computer was the one with the problem when it wouldn't log on to the wi-fi service as I sipped my over-priced latte and cursed the day I decided becoming famous was a good idea.

I called Dell's customer support line to see if they could help me resolve the little problem but the Indian representative that answered after my twelve minutes of hold time said that in order to help me he needed my credit card information and "authorization of payment for fifty-nine dollars".

Then I told him he was out of his mind before hanging up and went on Facebook to post this:

A few minutes later my friend Dustin sent me the following message:

So I drove to Publix and decided some red wine might help me out but was torn because I can't write when I drink unless you guys want everything to be misspelled and senseless but I went anyway just to look at cupcakes but then I passed by the wine aisle and saw some on sale so I took a picture and sent it to Dustin.

Of course he replied with "Buy them all!" and I would have had I had more than $17.50 in my account so one had to suffice. I went home in a mildly contented state but after setting the wine down on the counter my anger started bubbling up towards the surface for not having $59.00 to fix my laptop's internet problem but also for not being a man because if I was I would've known how to fix things without having to call some customer service rep in India who's not interested in me as much as he in spicy curry (and I don't blame him either because that shit's delicious).

The more I thought about it the more enraged I became. I was more than capable of figuring this thing out without anyone's help! Who did this laptop think she was? I grabbed it and set it down on the floor in front of me as I pulled out all the Comcast cables and modems and wires and restarted the computer to be greeted by this message.

I was baffled as to why my computer would say that "The Annah" had to log on as an administrator because I was logged on as Annah and I am the administrator! So I continued to angrily push buttons and received the same exact message over and over.

Then as I sat there with my face buried in my hands praying for a virtual intervention, my Blackberry went off and it was Dustin asking how things were coming along so I replied with the following:

I walked over to the bottle of wine and uncorked it slowly. 

After taking a deep yoga breath I poured myself a glass and calmly sat back down on the floor next to the laptop and took a sip which immediately made me feel better. I messed with every cable, wire and button I could get my hands on until eventually:

It worked, guys. I had no idea how I fixed it but I was convinced that divine intervention and wine and Dustin (also known as The Devil) worked together to grant me internet once more.

I celebrated by drinking 3/4 of the Graffigna and finally making a fan page on Facebook for the blog. Dustin and I worked with names and catch phrases that would make people like it, such as this one:

But Facebook denied it so in the end I just kept it simple and pray that lots of people "like it" so that famosity is closer to my chubby handed grasp.

I've already written two other posts today so who says liquor trumps productivity?

Not I, guys. Certainly not I.

Update: Ahhhhh (insert smile here), I was writing back to all your wonderful and delectable comments and check out the ads Google had right under this post.

Fucking epic.

About Me

Annah Rondon was born in Cuba at ten pounds, five ounces.

Her mom wanted to name her Maria but her dad was completely opposed to it (thank God because she’s obviously so not a Maria).

Her birthday is December 12 which makes her a Sagittarius.

She's loved dogs since she was a toddler and prides herself in rescuing every critter in need of rescuing (and some humans too).

She likes dancing even if she's got no rhythm and has a signature chicken dance she does when she’s happy which she may or may not show you one day.

Annah really likes koalas and would probably stab George Bush for a trip to Sydney, Australia (her ultimate travel destination).

She’s prone to falling down stairs and bruising easily. She’s been doing a lot of both since her childhood.

She loves cake more than oxygen but not the chocolate kind. In fact, she doesn’t like chocolate anything, except dark chocolate bars (preferably with red wine).

On her eighth birthday, her mother bought her a yellow dress which she wore every day for three weeks.

Two months later her father was deported from Cuba for being against Castro's regime and her mother decided leaving the country was in Annah’s best interest. Annah wore that yellow dress to the airport, even if it already had three holes in it and the flight to San Francisco was a long, uncomfortable one to endure in satin and tulle.

At the age of ten, Annah’s parents left San Francisco for a more “Cuban lifestyle” in Miami. It was then she met Olivia, Lola, Penelope and Britt. Seventeen years later they're still best friends.

Annah suffers from hereditary stinky feet syndrome. She blames it on her father 100%.

Like every other Latin family, Annah’s parents wanted to celebrate her fifteenth birthday with a quince party (a formal bash resembling a wedding in which the birthday girl wears a big poofy dress and has thirty of her closest friends do choreographed waltz dancing in front of two hundred guests who complain about the food and talk shit about each other and the birthday girl, too). Annah said, “Fuck no” and her parents said “Fine”, but made her take the mandatory quince pictures and wear the stupid poofy dress as well.

 

Annah’s parents asked how she'd like to celebrate, since the quinces were obviously not happening. Annah said “A trip with Olivia to the Virgin Islands” and figured her parents would laugh and tell her to fuck off. They didn’t.

After that Annah became enamored with all things travel and has since taken flight one too many times.

In her late teen years, Annah had a tragic celebrity crush on Ricky Martin (even if her gay best friend Marcus insisted that Ricky wasn’t interested in women). She also had a huge crush on that guy from Chasing Papi that no one remembers but just like Ricky, he supposedly didn’t care for the fairer sex.

When she was 17 she decided she wanted to be famous. She interned in Univision, certain she’d become a newscaster or reporter a lá Diane Sawyer. At the insistence of her mother she eventually caved and changed her major to psychology. The degree has only served one purpose so far (ass wiping) but seeing that Charmin is a lot softer, it just sits in a drawer collecting dust while leading its useless life as Annah rots in unemployment hell and clings to dreams of famosity and days gone by.

When she turned eighteen, Annah eventually met one of her celebrity crushes.

She decided he was too pretty for her taste after all and that maybe, just maybe, Marcus was right.

Since she couldn’t have Ricky Martin, she decided her high school boyfriend would at least look like him. His name was Joey and he was a nice guy. Annah’s pretty sure he wasn’t gay either, which is always a plus.

After a string of failed relationships, Annah met Vin and four months later they were engaged.

Annah’s mom said she wasn’t ready for marriage so Annah felt compelled to prove her wrong. A few years later things fell apart. Partly Vin's fault, partly Annah's. Mostly bad timing, she thinks.

Vin is currently in a happy relationship with a beautiful girl. Annah is currently in a happy relationship with herself.

She lives in this apartment:

With these trouble makers:

There’s probably a lot more you should know about Annah but in order to do so you have to read her blog. It’s pretty clear she doesn’t take herself too seriously and neither should you because she’d hate to cause you an aneurysm or heart attack since she's got no money to pay for groceries, much less anyone's hospital bills.

If you still want to know more you can go here or here. Annah can be contacted at annahbanana@rocketmail.com and will answer any question your little heart desires, long as she knows the answer.

She still loves cake and Ricky Martin and as pathetic as it may sound, still clings to hopes of attaining famosity.

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But that's where you come in, darling...

Celibacy Is Fun!

It's pretty funny how I can write an entire post about the importance of mayo on sandwiches and I'll mention the word celibate in there and you're all, "Celibacy? Huh?"

Bearing that in mind, my little evil creatures, I think it's time I dedicate an entire post to this phenomenon. How it started, and how it will end (there's only one way, really).

First, I'd like to point out that "Sex & Celibacy" is now following me on Twitter and initially I thought it was one of you guys trying to pull my leg.

But then I went into their Twitter page and realized that this is actually a site dedicated to Sex and Celibacy even if both things are mutually exclusive.

That same day, I tweeted about how "Sex & Celibacy" was following me and one of my blog buddies Jazz sent me an email explaining how in an effort to find my blog she misspelled my URL address and instead typed redmeansgo.blogpot.com. Well, guess where that leads you?

It's apparent they've confused me for someone else.

At any rate, this little walk on the angelic side for me is still going full force, even if I've had my inner struggles. I can only presume that the experience of being celibate varies from person to person, yet I think the whole process can be divided into five stages. Here are mine:

Stage 1: Initiation

This is where it all begins. The idea just dawns on you and you're all "Ah-ha! This is the most ingenious idea I've had in years!"

Stage 2: Delusional Smugness

Your brain tricks you into thinking you've got things on lock. No one can come close to you and your newly achieved holy status. You don't need sex! Sex is for the weak of mind.

Stage 3: Creeping Little Doubts

Confusion sets in and uncertainty begins to permeate throughout your entire being, eating away at your ever growing sense of desire. Also, really pornographic dreams and cold showers become part of your daily routine and innocuous things you'd never pay attention to before catch your eye and resemble x-rated images.

You resent happy couples and all the crazy sex you can only suppose they're having.

Stage 4: Outrage

Being in bed with your dogs gets a little old and sometimes you just miss the warmth of a breathing human body next to you. During these nights, this is what it feels like:

Stage 5: Determined Resignation

The realization you've come too far to drop the ball at the end is palpable. You'll only end up disappointing yourself if you do (I just sounded like a parent there, didn't I?).

You're climbing walls with anxiety, but you've gotta pull through.

September 24th happens to be the day where my vow is fulfilled and although I have no intentions of going to the Blue Zombie and finding a candidate to help me celebrate in bed, it will be nice to know that I actually followed through on something and my reward will be a new sense of discipline (oh yeah, and sex too).

And absolutely I'll post about it because let's face it guys, you can't have a blog called Red Means Go with no adult content. I'm sorry but that's just not how things work. There will be sex, and lots of it (*crossing fingers*).

Hopefully, when and if it happens, it will be like this:

Instead of like this:

Update: We all know how prone I am to self-amusement by funny captchas. Well, fellow bloddy (blogger buddy) Sabrina sent me an email yesterday saying she was commenting on a blog post titled "The Ultimate Hoochie" and her captcha was this:

This is where I say how awesome this is but there's really no need. Have a vagical weekend and may the force be with you.

Change Will Do Me Good (And Bring My First Negative Comment)

This doesn't necessarily count as a post (I know) but regardless I find it my duty to let you lovelies know that coming very very soon, there will be some minor changes to this here blogster, starting with some ads on the right which will not disturb your viewing pleasure, but will hopefully make me enough pennies to buy a cup of coffee once a week (which will be great because I love coffee).

I have been told through the grapevine that the ads featured on the sidebar will reflect the content of my blog, so I'm sure my ads will be made up of the following products and services:

Now that I look at it, this pretty much comprises my entire blog (the products) so that's awesome! Also, I figured they'd try to sell crack or crack rehabilitation services too, but I don't think Google condones that sort of behavior so that's that.

I will be adding an About Me and FAQ section at some point as well (if I ever get my head out of dog poop long enough to have time and write a new post and conjure up the energy to make these sections happen). Okay, that was it. Resume your daily activities, my people.

p.s. New post coming tomorrow and it's about sex! Something tells me you're going to enjoy it.

Unrelated sidenote (sort of): I just got my first kind of negative comment while I was asleep but evidently I'm too slow to decipher its meaning.

I guess I'm new to this because my first instinct was to write him a poem! So here it is.

At any rate, I can't please everyone in this life (especially when I'm chasing famosity) so I'll take this time to say thank you once again to all of you and your fantastic comments and hilarious follower pictures which crack up even in the midst of job hunting which is no fun and all the other bullshit that comes along. Also thank you to Lucy Lopez from Power 96 (she's famous, guys!) for tweeting about my blog.

What else can I say except, you make my "blogger for the sake of blogging" heart sing. Big sloppy kisses and a forehead lick too.