Seriously, what in god's name are you wearing?

If I've said it once I've said it a thousand times(clever little american expression, doesn't even make sense)...but honestly, I've said it time and time again (ha, i'm on a roll here:) No, all jokes aside, it's like beating a dead horse (I'm stopping I swear. I didn't even plan this part of the blog it just kind of snowballed into this incredibly unnecessary waste of your time...

I'll carry on.In my very brief Christmas shopping time at the mall this year I was absolutely flabbergasted at the ungodly things people put on their bodies and call "clothes". First and foremost, we need to have a serious conversation about the Ed Hardy trend that is taking over the middle-american person's wardrobe. The faux tattoo print and studded heart thing is atrocious. They are ugly as sin. And you bat-shit crazy people pay a hefty price for those white-trash looking articles of clothing?! Gotta stop. It's completely unacceptable. And you're only wearing it because it's "trendy". No one in their right mind actually thinks that shit is attractive.

Secondly: and this one goes out primarly to women between the age of 35 and 50. There is a large gap between vintage and expired. Just because you bought something at a thrift store or saved it from 82'(pre-offspring years, you know, back when you were three sizes smaller and jeans up to your tits were in style.) doesn't make something "vintage". We've all heard the term "mom jeans" before. I prefer to refer to things like "mom jeans" or "puffy paint shirts" as EXPIRED. It's like an old gallon of milk or three week old lunch meat, ladies. Throw that shit out. And please don't get me wrong, men are guilty of sporting expired clothes all the time. Those light denim jeans that are too big in your bathing-suit area and have a giant hole in the ass belong on the homeless guy you just bummed a cigarette to. Expired. And throw out that old band t-shirt from a concert you didn't even go to that barely fits and has a permanent stain on it. Expired.

90's grunge should never have reemerged. no reason for it. Kurt Cobain is dead so quit trying to impress him.

Bare-midruffs are acceptable at the beach or any other destination where it is necessary for you to wear a bathingsuit. Intentional bare-midruffs at any other juncture are horrifying. No one, and I mean NO ONE at publix, the post office or the the local farmers market wants to see your belly button and stretch marks. No, really, they don't.

and last but certainly not least (ha, threw one in at the end there, ya see that?;)
WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOUR PANTS?! that's a tunic or a long t-shirt. It is NOT a dress. your dimply ass-cheeks are exposed and it's 50 degrees outside. Unless you're...no, wait. Let me stop right there because there is absolutely NO excuse to wear something so short that I can almost see your baby-maker. Go home and put on a goddamn pair of pants.

Now, I'm no fashionista, so don't get me wrong. My daily uniform consists of jean cut-offs, a cut up t-shirt and a pair of boots. But I am not going out of my way to wear something "trendy" or "hot" only to look like an Ed Hardy store threw up on me or like I'm about to go turn tricks on the corner of OBT. Take a good look in the mirror before you step out next time because you'll never know when I'll be around to observe and then write a blog about it;)

Merry Christmas:)

oh ay gah, cah I geh lie a sraherry in iss chamagne?!

I just wanted to point out to people that it is in fact necessary to close your mouth and use your lips in order to create the sound of a consonant while talking. I am perplexed at how some women (well, I'm trying to be polite but really they're dumb bitches) don't close their mouths when they talk and subsequently babble like fucking idiots. HELLLOOO?! you sound like a retarded monkey with a piece of candy in it's mouth. And why on earth are you talking with that high-pitched tone? You don't really talk like that. No one does. It takes more effort for you to talk like that than it would for you to talk normal. Were you just wondering why everyone in the bar is staring at you? I bet you think you're hot and they are all just checking you out, even the women...damn, you're good. WRONG! it's because you're talking like an asshole, so quit it...

smiley face:) (shit eating grin...)

alert the media

to the man who gave my friend Jen an hour of shit because you don't know proper wine etiquette and attempted to send back a perfectly delicious bottle of reserve wine because you didn't like it: may you and your idiot friends rot in hell:)

that's all for now...

yours truly,

 Sweetcheecks Delaney (cuz' i'm so nice an' stuffs'.)

here comes the fucking bride...

Every little girls dream...the dress, the church, the flowers, the ring and most importantly the wealthy, semi-attractive and horribly un-interesting man (with "old man" breath) that you'll get to spend the REST of your life with. Aaahhh, marriage. Forever wedded in "Holy Matrimony". Whatever the fuck that means.

Okay, I'm sorry. I realize that the previous statement is unecessarily bitter and sarcastic and probably provoked by the fact that I actually had those "dreams" at one point in my adolescent days before I realized a number of things about myself and the world around me. I understand the idea and the importance of "being married" and taking your committed relationship to the next and ultimate level. But the spectacle and hooplah surrounding weddings and marriages these days is absolutley mind boggling and down right disgusting if you ask me, but I guess no one did, huh?

I was recently a bridesmaid (which I'm sorry but the word alone is a kick in the taco; it essentially means "a person in a secondary position who never quite attains a goal".) So what do you say when someone asks you to be a bridesmaid? Thank you or fuck you? Allow me to provide you all with one of my ever-so-helpful disclaimers: I adore all of my friends who have ever asked me to be a bridesmaid in their wedding. I would do it time and time again for anyone who I loved. I am merely expressing my innermost thoughts in regards to the circuses that people are calling "weddings" these days. First, there's the engagement party, then the engagement party for people who missed the initial engagement party. Then there's the bridal shower for close family and friends. Followed by the bridal shower for people who you feel "obligated" to include. (seriously, don't even fucking think about saying anything about my unessecary use of quotations. I am well aware of my purposeful and excessive grammatical errors. This is a stupid blog not the goddamn Wall Street Journal and I'm certainly no Jane Eyer.) After the bridal shower there's the costly and embarassing bachelorette party where you discover which of your "friends" are capable of working a stripper pole about as well as their Daddy's can shoot a birdie on the 18th hole at the local golf resort. (where they are undoubdetly having an affair with the underage cocktail waitress.) And who could forget the Bridal Luncheon? What the fuck is a luncheon? a lunch that goes on for eons? I can only imagine that water with cucumber sandwhiches are involved. Along with light pink dresses and red lipstick. And please dear god (who isn't real) don't forget the rehearsal dinner. What could you possibly be rehearsing? This isn't fucking broadway. You don't need to learn 14 Bob Fosse routines people! On top of all of these pre-ceremonious ceromonies you have the ultimate ceremony...THE WEDDING. This is where you spend the entire day "preparing" for "the big day". Did you know that people actually clap at weddings? clap. they clap, they applaud. They applaud for the new married couple as if they were a pro sports player who just scored a home run. (which also makes absolutley no sense to me at all either. why the fuck do I want to sit and watch some tall, bowling-ball shouldered man throw an orange ball into a stupid net for two hours?)

Well, I think that I have driven my point home in a crass yet graceful manner. So I'll quit while I'm ahead. (and believe you me((<--dumbest saying ever) I could go on forever). To make a not-so-long story short: weddings have become ridiculous to an obscene level. No one wants to watch you stand in front of a church for more than 10 minutes. No one wants to celebrate your love for half a year. If you have good friends and family they will celebrate your love perpetually. You don't need an audience of acquaintances to validate your love and future together.

until next time,
the most bitter bitch in the universe:)

friends don't let friends blog alone!

two in one day! ya'll are so lucky! This one really is quick and painless: 

Please check out my friend Michelle's blog @ chellesncheese.tumblr.com

She is an up-and-coming local freelance writer who needs your support! she will also be writing for our show very soon! Check her out! 

Peace and love

dooood, braahhhh!

hello friends! once again let me apologize for the drawn out time between each of my blogs! you see, I killed my previous computer and due to the unstable and down right depressing economic times I have yet to be able to afford a new one. It's a goal though! right up there with "get the fuck out of the service industry!". I keep telling my producers to assist me in the assassination of Samantha Brown in order to then pitch OUR show to the travel channel and better our chances. It would be a win win for everyone involved, well, not poor Sam but I'm sure someone would benefit from the money she'll leave behind. Anyways, turns out their not too into that idea so maybe I'll have to start a fundraiser to get my new macbook. Even one dollar helps! If you want to read more of my blogs and want to help me achieve my goals email me at kaitlin@orlandolivestreaming.com Or make checks payable to Kaitlin Delaney and send them straight to full sail, soundstage 1A. cool thanks.

Anyways, the real purpose of this post is to vent about something that I've vented about before however I don't think I've ever been able to fully convey my true feelings on the matter. This will be quick and painless, I swear. 

There are several different kinds of people that exist in this world that make me absolutely sick to my stomach. Now, I pretty much like everyone, and get along with most people. But before I moved to downtown Orlando I never realized the amount of moron that is walking our streets everyday, polluting the social well being of our little town. Working in the service industry I have had the unfortunate pleasure of dealing with just about every kind of person there is. Although, I am honestly baffled everyday. One of my particularly favorite kind of morons to deal with are the "downtown dude bro's". You yourself might be familiar with these fine specimens but if not, allow me to enlighten you: A dude bro walks with a certain air of confidence and superiority. A dude bro typically talks with a nondescript half surfer dude half cave man kind of an accent and command. Dude bro's like to say "dude, bro". (betcha didn't see that one coming). When there are multiple dude bro's in one place they like to make fun of the douche baggery of their friends even though their own douche baggery far outshines any other douche bag around. Dude bro's think they can sexually, verbally or physically accost women whenever and wherever they damn well please. And most stupid chicks giggle and appreciate their dude bro gestures, accepting it as some kind of ass backwards compliment. ANY male attention is better than NO male attention, right ladies? (barf, please note the sarcasm). Dude bro's have severely bad taste in beer. Please, let me give you an example of how a dude bro orders a beer:

Dude bro: yea I'll take a bud light.

Server: we don't carry bud light.

Dude bro: fine, I'll take a heineken.

Server: we don't carry a heineken. 

Dude bro: What?! you don't have anything domestic? (he JUST ordered a HEINEKEN)

Server: we have an extensive list of microbrews and craft beers, it's on the menu I just put in front of you.

Dude bro: aw, dude, they have toucher! sweet, ill have a toucher!

(later on I'll bring his beer and he will inevitably correct me on how I'm pouring it. That's funny, do I go into YOUR job and tell you how to do it, asshole?)

A dude bro NEVER tips properly unless he's new to the scene and is still working out the kinks. I don't know if it's because they don't really make that much money despite their sweet embellished jeans and excessive bad tribal tattoos; or maybe they're on a budget and need to make sure they have enough money for their hair products for next week. (If I haven't painted a pretty decent visual for you yet then you're a goddamn idiot.) If you yourself are in fact a dude bro, please. enough. you are neither funny nor attractive. I know you think you are good with the ladies; but I hate to break it to you; the spray tanned chickadees throwing themselves at you don't have a single brain cell in their head and will probably make terrible wives/mothers. 

Anywho, as I promised I'll make this quick and painless. All I'm saying is this world would be a lot nicer place if we could send all the morons over to moron island and have them bask in eachother's moronness for eternity. But then, who would we make fun of, right?

cheers!

tip your servers and bartenders people!

I truly believe everyone should be required to take an ettiquite course on how to dine out and how to properly treat and tip your server or bartender. It is mind boggling to me how many people treat servers like slaves and how many people are under the impression that we get paid a decent hourly wage. WRONG. We make roughly 4 dollars an hour. Do I need to repeat that? FOUR DOLLARS PER HOUR! We literally live off of tips. That's our livlihood. You know your big house and nice car you have to pay for? Oh and your whole foods stocked pantry? and perhaps your wine cellar? We have to pay for all of those things with the small amount of tips that you give us after we've allowed you to have a lovely and memorable evening. I bet you didn't know that we have to tip out bartenders, bar backs and kitchen staff. So hypothetically If our tip percentage for the night is low we can actually end up making NEGATIVE money once we do our tip outs. Another bone I have to pick with you fine dining douche bags (now, not all of you are DB's. Some of you are great, polite and interesting people who know how to treat servers and who tip 20% or more and it's you fine people that keep me in the industry). Some of you on the other hand act as though a server or bartender is somehow below you. Which makes no sense whatsoever. A large percentage of servers are college educated and very intelligent individuals. Just because we don't feel like throwing on a monkey suit every morning and answering to some big bad boss after a long day in the office doesn't make us any less of a person. tip your servers and bartenders! anything less than 20% is unacceptable! we LIVE off of tips! that's our livlihood! Trust me, we don't bust our asses and treat you like gold because we want to! And if you treat us with respect we'll do the same for you. Come see me at Eola Wine Company and if you treat me like the human that I am maybe I'll buy you a drink! Cheers!

RIP Wood Family

May the Wood family rest in peace.

Urban Survivalists Unite

Recently I've found myself in a bit of a conundrum. and no, I'm not referring to the delicious white wine that goes by that name. Lately I've made some life changing moves and though they are for the better they are still pretty difficult to deal with. As I mentioned in my previous blog I broke up with my boyfriend and moved out of the house we lived in. Where did I move to? no where really. Technically...I'm homeless. However, I prefer a more cheerful term that I've been using: "Urban Survivalist". Sounds a little less dismal I think.Now, being homeless or an "urban survivalist" if you will (and yes, I'll use those unnecessary quotes all day long so be quiet, this ain't your blog) might sound terrible but it really isn't all that bad. To avoid actually dealing with the reality of not having a home you can partake in a number of fun and liver destroying activities. Liiiiike drinking....or you could drink? or maybe you could sit and drink? Isn't that what all homeless people do? I've gained a new respect for people who are actually on the streets and homeless...at one time they were probably really fantastic people who had a series of unfortunate events occur in their lives causing them to submit to a life of poverty and loneliness. Or maybe they were drug dealing crack heads...who knows?! I won't drag on in this blog but if you're in the same or a similar position keep your head up! you might find that there are actually amazing people out there willing to help you out. Sometimes life can be quite surprising even in it's darker moments.

peace and love to all my fellow urban survivalists...

ahhhh! real monsters!

Well Hello again!

So sorry for the delay on getting another blog up on this thing! I feel terrible as I have neglected all of you beautiful people. (and by "all" I mean all 3 of you:) I have been quite the busy gal', oh you know with moving two times in 7 months and all. And guess what? I'm moving again! Believe it or not me and that special boyfriend that I spoke of in my Hawaii blog are no longer an item and I'm moving out to find a place all on my own! I was thinking of just setting up a tent somewhere and becoming "one" with the earth but then I remembered how much I love comfy beds and nice bathrooms and got my head on straight again. I will spare you the details of the break up. If you've ever lived with someone and broken up with them you probably know what usually ensues. Hey, no one said life was always easy, right?

The details I WILL share with you are the spooky and absolutely true tales of the ghost that followed me and haunted me for a few months. It all started back when Ryan and I were first dating and he still lived on his mom's property out in sanford. Ryan and I were sitting on the kitchen floor talking (why were we sitting on the kitchen floor when there were more than enough chairs around you ask? hell if I know, sometimes hippies do weird things...anyways...) all of a sudden my phone, which was placed towards the middle of the kitchen table, flew off the table and landed 4 feet away on the ground. It was as if someone had pushed the phone with a forceful hand. The same thing happened with little cups of hot sauce a few days later so maybe the ghost just needed some toppings for his taco bell? Nope, hot sauce wasn't the answer and definately didn't exercise the deamons out of that house. The ghost and his antics persisted. One night I was laying in bed and I woke up out of a dead (no cheesy pun intended) sleep. I was instantly overcome with a feeling of terror and the room was freezing. I lied there with the covers pulled up to my face just staring into the darkness. The next thing I knew I felt pressure on my legs. Imagine if you were laying in bed and someone sat on your legs ever so slowly. I knew it wasn't Ryan because he was rolled over and facing the other direction. I didn't sleep a wink after that until the sun came up. A few nights later I was lying in that same bed once again sound asleep and I was startled awake by the sound of footsteps. It sounded like someone was running and then I heard a faint male voice screaming "jaaaake! jaaaake!". So, maybe some people are mediums? Maybe someone passed away in that house and they were trying to get someone's attention to pass along a message? I'm not sure but I don't really care to be that person. Surely if Ryan and I moved out of his mom's house and got our own place these crazy things would cease. So we moved into a cute little place downtown and things were looking good at first. I was home one night laying on the couch relaxing and decided I was a little parched. So I walked into the kitchen and went to grab the fridge door and as if it didn't want me touching it the fridge took a long demonic sounding breathe. In and out. This also happened once to Ryan when I wasn't home...so now there is no telling who this ghost was after. Have chills yet? no?...let me help you with that. So a few seemingly peaceful nights go by sans ghost experiences. no big deal. Then one night we are laying in bed (this ghost really got his jollies out of disrupting our sleep) and out of no where the shower in our bedroom turned on. Not a little post shower dripping...the full on deal. Now I realize this story is very anti climatic, i'm not trying to win any awards here...so I'll go ahead and wrap it up. After all of these supernatural, crazy (f*cked up) things happened our house actually flooded. We were forced to leave the abode but not until the ghost got in the last word and made a large mirror fall off of the wall, land on tile, all while remaining in one peice. Sweetdreams:)

vacation of a life time...no, really.

It was a Tuesday night in the beginning of January. I had already forgiven Ryan for his gift giving skills a month earlier at Christmas; after all, gifts aren't everything. Although, I feel you need an example of said skills.

Scenario: 1 week before Christmas

Ryan: Do You want an i-pod for Christmas, babe?

Kaitlin: um, not really. Gadgets aren't my thing.

Christmas Day: Ryan gives Kaitlin an i-pod.

Anyways, like I said...gifts aren't EVERYTHING.

So back to tuesday night sometime in early January 2009. Ryan and I went out to eat at a quaint little Italian joint near our home in Downtown Orlando. This alone was a rarity seeing as neither of us have very much free time. We were chit-chatting about traveling while we devoured our mushroom appetizer and Ryan just sort of blurted out the news as if he couldn't keep it in a second longer. "Well, Yea, I got us tickets to Hawaii." Needless to say I was confused/astonished/excited (all of the above) but given his facetious nature I wasn't sure whether to take him seriously or not. Turns out he was quite serious and he had gotten us tickets to Hawaii as a Valentine's Day AND Birthday gift for me! Completely redeeming himself from the tiny green nano. Spoils me rotten :)

So fast forward approximately 55 days later and here we are...the night before our flight to Kona! Now, Hawaii was not just a cliche or random destination for us. We both have friends out there and we had been trying to get out there for a few years. Ryan has friends on Big Island and I have a friend in the Navy who lives in Oahu. So we were not only excited to go on our first vacation together but also excited to see friends we hadn't seen for quite sometime! So the night before, as Ryan lounged on the couch watching a movie and I packed all of our bags (typical male) we prepared for our amazing adventure. 

Now, I'll spare you the details of us almost missing our flight, Ryan being the grouchiest traveler ever, and me having to spend one hundred dollars on my 77 pound bag....but subsequently, we arrived in Kalieau, Kona. Big Island.

Jet lagged, and Ryan still grouchy we grabbed our bags and waited for our tour guides to come pick us up. Ryan's friend Bryan from high school moved out to Big Island three years ago and we stayed with him. His crazy girlfriend, Corrina was also one of our tour guides. She also happens to have been born and raised on the Island and knows it like the back of her hand. So they pick us up we say hi and off we go to jump off of a 20 foot cliff. Now, I'm sure from watching our show you probably think of me as a high maintenance brat. But I assure you, you've got me all wrong. I live for adventure and I love sailing, surfing, snorkeling SCUBA diving and any other beach related activity. However, I'm fairly certain I was drunk with jetlag and the idea of jumping 20 feet into choppy water was a bit disorienting. Not to mention I was without contacts at the time and blind as a wombat. None of the aforementioned drawbacks deterred our gallant tour guides, so it looked like I wasn't getting out of this one. We changed into our suits in the car and proceeded to jump and fall 20 feet down at "the end of the world". This would be the first of many jumps we would make throughout our trip. In the days that followed we zip lined 1,000 feet up in the canopies of North Kohala (goofy helmets included as well as an instructor who wouldn't quit hitting on my boyfriend); surfed numerous "secret spots" throughout big island; visited/snorkeled at a black sand beach; and camped (sans tent) down at Makalawenas. Yes, that's right. We decided to "rough it" and not even bother with tents for camping adventure # 1.  And yes, it did rain on us throughout most of the night! To forget about our damp, rainy woes we indulged with some red stripes and another little Jamaican treat, which runs rampant all over the island. Needless to say, one of the major side effects of this green bedtime snack had me convinced that E.T. was atop a volcano rock next to us. Turns out it was more likely to have been a billy goat. Tomayto--Tomahto. And yes, that was the last time I puffed and passed-the-dutchie-to-the-left-hand-side. Hey, don't judge, I was in Hawaii.

When we returned to civilization after our trip down to Makalawenas the first thing I was after was a mai-tai and some Tuna Poke. A specialty dish that is popular out there, made with only the freshest grade Ahi. My mouth is watering just thinking about it.

After we did some grinding (a term the locals use) at a nice Sushi joint we went home, booked our tickets to Oahu and got some sleep. In a dry bed :)

The Next day my friend Ben picked us up from the Honolulu airport and took us to a beautiful lunch at the Navy base. There we sipped our local brews and caught up on eachothers lives. 

Oahu included dinner in downtown Waikiki (aka, Miami on crack); two days full of surfing at the North Shore. Ryan surfed pipeline and sunset beach. He's crazy!  A trip to Pearl Harbor complete with a tour of Ben's frigate; and yet another mad dash to catch our plane back to Big Island. Being on time isn't really my forte, just ask my producers.

Upon our return to Big Island commenced a pricey grocery store trip as we were going on another camping adventure the next morning. This time we would be camping out in the middle of no where, at the Southern most point of the United States, just yards away from an absolutely breathtaking green sand beach. This time we dropped 50 bucks on an Alpine 3 person tent in an attempt to make better choices for ourselves. The camping trip was amazing and the green sand beach could possibly be my favorite place on earth (so far).  But, it wouldn't be a good camping trip unless something went wrong or unless we jumped off a giant cliff. So we did the latter. This time it was only 40 feet though. I'm sorry. Let me try that again: HOLY SHIT FORTY FEET?!?!? yes, and if you need a visual think, like, oh i don't know....a three story building? So despite the inevitable butterflies; though for me it was more like dinosaurs...we all jumped. Some how I ended up being the last to go. For those of you who have never jumped off a cliff (<--that's an unusual sentence) let me tell you a little bit about how it feels. Basically you fall, and you fall fast, then you keep falling, and just when you think you should be about to hit the water...you realize you're still falling. And then, BAM. You hit the water, and if you're half retarded like me then somehow you'll sit into the water and smack your ass so hard that you bring a nasty bruised tail bone back to the mainland with you as a souvenier. You'll also feel as though...Okay, there's no good way to put this so let me provide those of you who are easily offended with a disclaimer. Close your eyes, scroll down a little or just click out of this blog.---- You'll also feel like you got ass-raped...by the Pacific Ocean. True story. 

So as the trip dwindled down we managed to squeeze in some touristy things like lounging at the Four Seasons, a snorkel boat trip on St. Patty's Day where we saw three humpback whales less than 30 yards away, and a trip to the Hilton where we wined and dined and spent our last few dollars. 

Now we're back to the same old same old except we're about 2,000 dollars poorer. But we are rich with memories and good times and it was worth that much money and more. And my dear  boyfriend has proven to me that he DOES know a thing or two about gift giving, even though gifts aren't EVERYTHING! We can't wait to go on another big adventure! We took amazing pictures and I'll get those posted on here as well for you guys! Aloha and Mahalo for reading!

Peace and Love, until next time...

Kaitlin