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Best o' tha Blogs

With our much-anticipated, big, fat and glossy Best of Houston issue (professionalism be damned, I'll say it — the real Best Of in this town) on stands now, thought I'd check in on some of the lauded blogs/sites in our City Life section. I'd gush about Matt Sonzala's HoustonSoReal, but Keith Plocek's kick-a feature does it proper justice.

Of course, I can't mention Best Blogs without first thanking you for naming HouStoned as the readers choice for Best Local Blog. We're flattered, grateful and a little hungover, frankly. We've received major love from our pals at Houstonist, Off the Kuff, Houmidity the Brazosport News and many others. Thanks also to PDiddie at Brains and Eggs, who noted that his favorite blog is "probably going to be HouStoned, the maiden voyage to Bloglandia by the eminent snarkers at the Houston Press."

I've been called a lot of things (filthy bastard, namely), but eminent snarker? Dang.

Navel-gazing aside, I had to pay a visit to Overeducated Nympho (seriously, where was she when I was single?), who celebrated her Best Local R-Rated Blog award with some bubbly and some friends, and then went on to type about it:

Um, have I mentioned that I'm tipsy? Really tipsy? It's taking me twice as long as normal to write this post because of all the half-drunken typing errorsI keep fixing. ARgh, this is why I normally just stop trying and let th etyping be as drunk as it wants. Yeah and I dont' care anymore so let the drunken typing erros go. WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

My two best friends each ahd a glass of champagne with me and then I went home and finished off hthe res t of th ebottle myself. And when I'm tipsy I tend to get the muchnies. Munchies. Wich usualy mean sweets. I found a half-empty bag of Chips Ahoy in my pantry (I finishe doff the oreos last night). Perfectg. they go suprisringly well toghetrer.

She's normally much more lucid. Here's Ms. OEN offering up some of the rules of f** buddies (vs. boyfriends):

  • No holding hands. Keep hands to the crotch-el region.
  • No spending the night.
  • Fifteen minutes of cuddling max. But affection is generally discouraged beyond "Aww, you're such a great f***!"
  • Don't discuss anything real. No family history, no favorite colors, no goals, no personal triumphs or tragedies. If you want to keep it real, you have to stay light: movies, bands, and favorite brands of booze.
  • No sweetie, honey, schmoopie allowed. The only pillow-talk is f*** me harder, ride me bitch, or suck this big c***.
  • No dinners, no movies, no "quality time" of any sort. If you insist on going out at all, meet him at a bar for drinks no earlier than ten pm. The hour between nine and ten is the grey zone between when a real date starts and when it's just a hook-up. So if you ever wonder why a guy asks you out for a date so late, it's because he doesn't want to have to go through the effort of buying you dinner and talking, he just wants to get to the good stuff.
  • Two guys in twenty-four hours is fine, just be discreet.
  • Break out the sex toys. Play up the freak factor and see how much you can get away with. Part of the fun of a f*** buddy is you don't care if he respects you or not and so you can let loose and reveal that sadist tendency of yours. Who says the nipple clamps are just for women?
  • Pee with the door closed. Just because you're using each other for sex doesn't mean you can't keep some decency.
  • Wow. I'll say it again: Where the hell was she when I was single?

    And then there's Press contributor Greg Wood's Keeping an Eye Out, voted Best Local Sex, Drugs and Rock and Roll Blog. Wood's a damn fine writer, to be sure, but the behind-the-music view of his life is the stuff that pure bastards everywhere can raise a glass to. Consider:

    "So there I am, pouring tea glasses full of Wild Turkey, inhaling fat lines, when I had a GREAT idea. Why be alone? Female company was but a phone call away, this being the great country it is. Let's see...where's the phonebook? Hmm, here it is, 'E' for escort services."

    Ah, to live such a life. Speaking of life, we at HouStoned have been huge fans of Slampo's Place, which was anointed Best City Life Blog. We're not ones to take Mike Royko's name in vain, but Slampo, a man late of the Houston Post who reps Westbury, seems to be a Bayou City incarnation of the dearly departed columnist. Sez Slampo of accused cop killer Juan Leonardo Quintero:

    And by the way: What kind of person packs a 9 mm handgun in his pants when he goes to pick up his daughters from school, as Quintero supposedly was doing?

    No argument here, Slamps. Hell, I feel weird carrying my iPod to pick up dry cleaning.

    Finally, there's the local site I'd like to think draws the most creepy Euro visitors: Anus.com, winner of Best Nihilist Web Site. Site founder and main contributor, Goat , who writes under the handle Vijay Prozak, notes that "...you need your anus as much as your mouth and your brain." Those seeking back-door shenanigans can look elsewhere; this site is a virtual ode to "highbrow philosophy and lowbrow metal music." But hey, isn't that how all ass sites start out? — Steven Devadanam

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