The Dredges of Society Work Out in the Sauna

Have you ever gone to a gym and looked around at all the hot and impossibly fit people running on treadmills at a rate you know your tubby ass could never achieve? Does it make you bitter or give you low self esteem? Worry no longer my friends, your next ego boost in down one level - in the sauna.

I don't know how many of you go to a gym that even has a sauna, but I beg of you to check it out if you do. The scene that takes place in the swimming pool area is one of horrendous delight. That sweaty, fat, creepy dude from work that always stares at you? Yeah, he's down there.

Every time I go into the sauna, my eyes are assaulted by what awaits me; I always take an uneasy pause before entering. For example, today, Obese Fat Man with random patches of back hair sat wheezing away before me. After 30 seconds of sweating out what I can only guess was McRibb grease, he left only to be replaced by an Old Asian Man who curled up like a cat. Not too bad until I look down and realize that not one, but all of his toenails are 3 inches too long and very possibly dead. (Yum.) Finally, Anorexic Crazy Lady strolls in donning a fur coat. (Really?)

The plethora of questions I have can only be answered by the obvious - homeless people have finally discovered that there's a back door that's unlocked AND old, fat men refuse to do any more "exercise" than sit and sweat somewhere. It's a safe haven for these special people where their freak flags can fly high and proud. And I have to hand it to them, they don't give a fuck what you think, proving so by presenting their rockin' bods like a gift to the sauna gods.

Unfortunately, I love me some sauna. So I guess I need to start making friends... I think I'll start with one of the obese guys because then we can trade fast food combo secrets. Mmm, McRibb...

Old, New, Borrowed, and Jew

Have you ever had the pleasure of planning a wedding? How about being in one? Was there an open bar? Approximately how many times did you roll your eyes throughout the ceremony?

Our society has made weddings the equivalent of a very expensive circus. Flowers, dresses, food, cake, midgets. Do we really need all this crap to express our love and devotion in front of our friends, family, and legal system? Maybe Vegas has it right - wham, bam, you're married ma'am... oh, and you also have the clap.

My poor sister is getting married in less than a month. She's still trying to nail down the cake while I've been on a two week internet hunt for the perfect bling-y decorations for her peacock themed extravaganza. I think my mom is in a self induced coma over sticker shock and I've been invited to three bridal showers and a whole weekend of bachelorette festivities. Don't get me wrong, I know my sister is loving the attention and gifts, and none of this she planned, but why do we go to such lengths over one day?

What it comes down to is ME. And you. We go all out for other people's crap in the hopes that when our time comes, we'll get an entire year of ooh's,  aah's, parties, and bridezilla bitchiness.

So I'm taking a stand and giving my sister a gift that costs nothing but means a lot:

Something old - My constant sarcasm and mockery throughout this whole ordeal, including the wedding day.
Something new - A bump it. (Someone gave it to me but it won't work in my hair.)
Something borrowed - Remember that cute shirt I stole from you a few years ago? I'm giving it back.
Something Jew - My best friends, Nina and Kat (two of my all time favorite Jews - Sorry Barbara S!), are gonna be your little helper bitches at the wedding. Even though some of them are still bitter about not being bridesmaids...


CONGRATS Chris and Sarah!!! Can't wait for the big day! <3 <3 <3

Awesomely Gay Songs I Listen to at the Gym

Everyone has a playlist or a set of songs they listen to while working out and hidden within these lists are some pretty embarrassing choices. Below are some of the awesomely gayest songs that I LOVE to jam out to while I'm at the gym. Honestly.

Oh Sheila by Ready For The World

Qualifying awesome lyric: " I love you baby honestly/ Deedle, deedle, deedleee/ Deedle, deedle, do!"


Shake Ya Tail Feather by Nelly ft. P.Diddy
Qualifying awesome lyric: "Is that ya ass or is ya mama half reindeer?"/ They be like he the man when I'm really a Thundercat."


Summertime by The New Kids On The Block
Qualifying gay lyric: There really isn't one. It's just gay that I'm not even listening to their 80s/90s hits. I'm listening to the single they just released.


True To Your Heart by 98 Degrees ft. Stevie Wonder
Qualifying gay lyric: Again, there actually isn't one. This is super gay because not only is it the least successful boy band of the late 90s, but also the theme song of a Disney movie. Combined, the gay factor shoots off the charts.


I Love New York by Madonna
Qualifying awesome lyric: "If you don't like my attitude, then you can 'F' off/ Just go to Texas, isn't that where they golf?/ New York is not for little pussies who scream/ If you can't stand the heat, then get off my street." And of course it's gay, it's Madonna.


Control Myself by LL Cool J ft. Jennifer Lopez
Qualifying awesome lyric: "You know I know you like it/ Let me hit you on your sidekick/ Because the after party is at my body/ Meet me your invited....
Her top was short and purple/ Belly dancing in a circle/ When I feel like this I can't resist/ Stop it don't make me hurt you! (make me hurt you)...
Zezezezeze zezeze zezezezezezeze ze zez zezez ezezeze zezezez ze!"




What awesomely gay songs are on your iPod?

It's Called Magic, Bitch. Tricks Are For Whores.

It was a trifecta of friends' birthdays this week and the result was a fabulous trip to the Magic Castle in Hollywood. For all of you who have never been, it's invite only to a 100 year old, multi-level mansion where you pay out the ass to be shown magic. The dress code is strict, the parking is valet, and the magicians are not fucking around.

Before the evening begins, our Jersey homeboy, Gasper, strolls up to us (and a crowd of old people) and loudly announces how "Some fuckin' guy just yelled at me 'Shorten your tie, douchebag!' and then I grabbed my balls at him!" Douche bags and balls are always needed to begin a night of class.

We get herded into a lobby and pay two stuffy bitches to scream at us that we're not good or rich enough to be at a place of this caliber. Someone screeches into a bookcase "Open Sesame!" and we enter a world of creepy portraits, rickety staircases, and fully stocked bars (yes!) where we immediately order drinks.

There are small 10 minute magic shows in every nook and cranny of every eccentric room. We catch one of an older Australian gentleman who refuses to perform any trick without involving a kangaroo, but his accent is so entertaining that we stay anyway. Quickly after, we hurry upstairs where our dinner reservations await... and more drinks.

Next up, the main attraction. Justin Credible, host of Cupcake Wars, puts on a delightful show including a ring popping up in a lady's cleavage, a floating table, and a box that I suspect a fully literate midget may live inside. Then, he calls on Gasper. Justin proceeds to call him Casper, Jasper, Gasper, and then Jasper again for the next four minutes. I'm pretty sure those two hooked up after the show because they had quite a flirtation going on and Justin swore this mishap would be his FB status update. Oh, and I totally saw them making out later.

What next? More drinks! And more nook and cranny shows. We stumble upon an old school magician who's throwing back Jack and Cokes like it's Kwanzaa and telling jokes that intermix racial slurs with anecdotes about Frank Sinatra. Never have I heard such a creative use of the word "wetback." Classic.

I'm on my 100th glass of syrah when I'm yanked down into a possible sex dungeon where two ametuer magicians are doing quick sets. I try to hook up Devon with the first guy, but he leaves the room annoyed. (I thought I was being subtle.)  The second magician notices my horrifically purple mouth and thinks it's a good idea to have me help with his set. After a few slurred suggestions at what card he should pull, I decide the eight of spades would be great. He pulls the eight of hearts. Unfortunately for him, the best magic trick in that room was me making yet another glass of wine disappear.

The night ends with everyone sitting in the basement, listening to another magician talk about doing cocaine in his hay day at Studio 54. I sway to the melodic tunes from a Tina Turner look-alike on the piano and realize that my body is ready for Jack in the Box. Before parting ways, we reminisce over all the times we screamed things like "What?! That's impossible!" and "Where did his pants go?" A lovely evening indeed.

We couldn't truly end the night without a quick encounter with a wizard dog and a run in with some rent-a-cops on the 405, but everyone made it home safe, sound and full of magic (alcohol). Happy birthday to my beloved Freaky, the gorgeous Lori, and my BFF/Boyfriend Jeff!

You Know What I Hate? Part Three

These are even more things that I hate:

5. People who take sports games WAY too seriously. Crying over your team missing a goal or a touchdown is completely unnecessary. Are they saving someone's lives on the field? Did Beckam just rip his shirt off? No. You're just wasted and have been surviving off nothing but hot wings and cocaine all day and you're being a little overemotional, you man baby. Get off my street.

4. Guy that trained his dog to ride a skateboard and almost hit me with it. Okay, so it's pretty cool that your dog can ride a skateboard, but when you get drunk and decide to not look at where you're whipping your skateboard, that's when I start hating. Because as soon as I leave my apartment, if I have to dodge a 100 pound bull dog flying at me on a skateboard aiming at my right shin, it is likely to scare the shit outta me, not make me clap in appreciation. That could've ended badly for all parties if I had not been such a graceful athlete with a healthy fear of dogs. Brenna - 1, Skateboarding Dog - 0.

3. People who poop on my couch. (*See Fuck Yo Couch, Birfday Girl below.) Yep, still bitter.

2. I hate being on a diet and eating healthy. It's no fun. I want to be on a show like Man vs. Food where he gets paid to eat 6 pound burritos and multi level ice cream sundaes. On top of that, people are cheering on his fatness and impending diabetes! God, what I wouldn't give for his luxurious lifestyle. And a steak/french fry/egg/cole slaw/hot dog/fried jalapeno/onion ring/caviar sandwich without a side of guilt.

1. Hairy man backs. You know when you're a hairy man beast and it is a living breathing choice to expose your funky to the world. I don't want you guys getting any crazy ideas like "This is the way I was born and I shouldn't have to change according to society's standards" or "Who cares?" because I'll tell you who cares - EVERYONE ELSE. You look like you got cold one day, covered yourself with a fur blanket and kept it on so long it sunk into your skin. When you could be cast in Teen Wolf: Spring Break!, it's time to seriously consider your options... like waxing or just killing yourself.

Fuck yo couch, birfday gurl.

Birthdays. A day where each and every person can feel special, have friends and family celebrate their birth, and, most importantly, you get a free pass at Disney (The rides suck but there's a little thing called "drinkin' 'round the world" at Epcot that is pure de-light.). As a world renowned narcissist, I consider my birthday a thing of magic and wonder and free stuff. So when my special happy day goes wrong, people are going to hear about it.

I won't bore you with the details of a severe sunburn, horrible weather, an earthquake, and a general lack of communication from a lot of important people, but I will fill you in on a much more interesting and disgusting reason why my 25th sucked balls.

I didn't plan on doing anything for my birthday but last minute I ended up going downstairs to a bar for a few drinks with the Nasty's and the Freaky's (a weekend routine). An outside friend was brought in - we'll call him Jerry - who no one knew but was welcomed all the same. As we hung out at the bar, everyone had some drinks and were feeling pretty good, but Jerry was was feeling GREAT. He danced and sang and downed drink after drink.

I was getting hungry (big shock) and wanted to pay a little visit to my not so secret lover, the quesadilla from Los Muchachos, so we headed back to my apartment - my brand new apt with brand new carpet and brand new furniture. Before I was done with my cheesy meal, Jerry was getting destructive and then started not to feel so well. 

Do we see where this story is headed?

If you guessed that he would start barfing next, you'd be right. If you guessed he would take out my new, never been used pot to throw up into, you'd also be right. And if you guessed that he would use my beach towels instead of the roll of paper towels next to him to clean up, you would basically be psychic! So congrats on that. But like I said earlier,  still, no one knew what was coming...

I woke up the next morning to discover three things: 1) Jerry was gone, 2) Jerry shit his pants while sleeping on my couch, 3)  Jerry had left the vomit/poop mess for everyone else to clean. HE POOPED ON MY COUCH AND ON MY FLOOR AND ON MY TOWELS and then had the nerve to leave it for everyone else to clean. He left poopy underwear in my trash can. He left vomit in my pot in my sink. He left a smell that still haunts me to this day.

A lot of the mess had been cleaned before I had to deal with it, but after an ottoman was moved, a new stain was discovered - A POOP STAIN THAT LOOKED LIKE SOMEONE DRAGGED THEIR FINGERS THROUGH IT. (Did he scoop his poop and then wipe it on the floor?  And then after that put my ottoman over it to hide the stain? And did I mention that this is the first time any of us had ever met him?)

So there I was, on my fucking birthday, scrubbing someone else's shit off my carpet. So Jerry, if you're reading this, I know I am super hilarious but you shouldn't find this funny in the slightest. And if you do think this is funny, I don't even need to insult you, you shit yourself.

This may be a vengeance blog (the best kind of blog, in my opinion), but also an educational one. We all learned a lesson here - don't poop and run, it's rude. And if you do, at least offer to pay for steam cleaning.

***** ALSO: Actual birthday "card"  I got from a family member suggesting I donate $10 to the Catholic Church for my birthday...

Get Out My Face Space!

"Facebook is like a hot tub time machine; it's an amazing invention that can bring joy to millions, but if abused, could tear down civilization as we know it." - Brenna E. Kelly

Most people use Facebook to share pictures with loved ones or to catch up with friends from the past. (I use the site to promote my many bidnesses such as comedy writings and an ever popular sticker club.) This site was given to us so that we may tell all of our friends what we're doing at any given moment of the day. So when the holy grail of internet stalking is being threatened, when is the time to take a stand for what's right?

It has become acceptable for small children, old people and even cats to have their own pages. This cannot be tolerated. The children bring in fan pages for "Sunshine" and "Flip Flops". (You want me to believe that a pair or flip flops as an entirety got together and decided to make a page on FB because they felt left out? Impossible - flip flops don't have opposable thumbs and thus cannot type.) The old people make fan pages about "God" and "Missing the days when I could see my feet". (No one cares. Die already and free up the space so I can make a fan page for my cat.)

These outcasts bring not only those inane fan pages but also appalling games like Mafia Wars. Then, when you don't join their dumb ass game, they repeatedly resend you the invitation over and over until you have to have an incredibly uncomfortable intervention via your blog page. (You know who you are, KRISTINA LAUREN PAULOS.) Seriously, stop sending that shit out, everyone is talking about you behind your back on FB chat and calling you all those names you suspect.

The worst, by far, are the people airing dirty laundry on their status updates. I suggest not telling the world about your cheating husband and raging bout of hemorrhoids for fear of coming off as less than classy. When you write an entire paragraph detailing the minutia of your daily chores, everyone thinks you're a loser and your mother doesn't love you. Why? Because if you had people in your life, you would talk to them about your "way too hot cup of coffee" and not a computer screen. Song lyrics referencing a hostile situation you're in isn't any better, it just makes you a passive aggressive idiot. Taylor Swift doesn't want you using her words to tell your ex what's up in a public forum. In fact, she hates you.

With great power comes great responsibility. It is in our hands to keep prestigious networking sites such as Facebook a safe place to connect in the cyber world. After all, if we don't protect the integrity of this holy site, we'll be left with nothing but another Myspace. No one wants that. Not even Tom.