A 6 STEP PROGRAM TO FASHION REFORM
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Posted:Jun 26, 2009 6:42 pm
Last Updated:Jul 17, 2009 5:05 pm
3007 Views
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Now I know fashion is all about making a statement. But is the statement you want to make about yourself a bright neon flashing sign over your head that says: “I am special. I chose my clothes while blindfolded. I have the fashion sense of a Hari Krishna, I don’t realize how ridiculous I look”?
Step 1. Buy clothes that FIT!
I often look about me and wonder if people see the same thing I do when they are getting ready to leave the house. Do they look in the mirror and say DAMN! I look HOT!” ….while wearing a size 8 tank top over a size 22 body? Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not knocking weight here. I’m no anorexic stick insect either. I’m just saying LOOK. Take a really long good look at yourself before inflicting that image on an innocent and unsuspecting public. And the old adage is a failsafe….”just because they make it in your size doesn’t mean you should wear it.”
While the girls are wearing clothes way too small for them, the guys are sporting gear that could provide tent shelter for camping. The legs span about 3 feet in width, the crotch is down by their knees and no wonder the pants is below their butt, the waistline is fit for 8 people. Are they planning ahead in case they have to jump out of a plane with no parachute? Possible. After all, it happens in the movies all the time.
Step 2. Underwear is for wearing UNDER !
I know….what a concept. Maybe dress yourself instructions are needed on clothes now.
How about the “I’m wearing my underwear so you can see it because I know you want to” fashion. Oh please! STOP! We don’t want to. Really! Not the mismatched bra straps showing under the spaghetti strap tank/dress you are wearing, girls… and not the underwear hanging out of the back of your jeans with your crack on show to the world, guys.
Step 3. If it’s ugly….JUST SAY NO!
Then there are the lemmings. Ah yes. These are the fashion slaves. The ones who will buy every new fad irrespective of suitability to their body type/size etc. And also regardless of the ugliness factor of the fashion. On an ugliness factor ratio of 1 to 10, I’d have to say that Crocs rate about a 28. Big bulbous rubber clogs. They have to make holes in them so your feet won’t sweat. And you know shoes have to be unforgivably ugly if one of their marketing strategies and selling points is that you can eat them if you are stranded on a desert island. That alone should be a red flag in your face. Then there is the other warning sign that they actually sell a whole sideline of croc décor that you can add to your Crocs in a futile attempt to make them more eye friendly. And to compound the manufacturer’s sin, instead of allowing those of us with more taste to avoid looking at these monstrosities, they make them in bright neon colors that scream at you to look at them. They make my eyes bleed. It’s cruel and unusual punishment I say.
Or what about Ugg boots. You at least have to give these manufacturers a thumbs up for honesty. I mean they were named Ugg for a reason!
But if you are looking for atonement for past sins and uber bad karma retribution, there can be no crueler punishment than to come face to toe with Cruggs!. Some lunatic obviously escaped from an asylum or mistakenly allowed out on a day pass invented the concept of mating crocs with Uggs. There are no words…..
Step 4. Spandex is a sin
Spandex - Don’t do it! It doesn’t look good on anyone. This especially goes for those dudes that wear speedos. Everything you own down to the last goose bump will be on display. I know you might think you want to do that. But really DON”T. There’s something ….in fact a LOT to be said for a little mystery. In the case of women, it is often a judgment issue. At what pound to height ratio does spandex become a sin. Even with a great body, spandex is pushing it. My advice is …don’t risk it.
For men, there is no winning option really. You either look like you should be arrested for public cruelty, or you look gay. That’s it. Those are your choices.
So safety first! How about we all just give spandex a miss!
While we are on the subject of gay…..a not so honorable a mention ought to go to guys wearing g-string underwear/swimsuits. One word. Gay. And absolutely never ever a thong! Underwear/swimsuits should always be of the boxer variety. Let’s leave the panties to the ladies shall we?
Step 5. Don’t be a part of the mullet crisis
Make a decision folks. Long or short. But not both. Hairdressers should have their licenses yanked for performing such feats of atrocity. And this particular crime is perpetuated by men, women and alike. Widespread criminal ugliness. And all committed in total oblivion. These fine mullet sporting folk think they look spicy!
There is even a website where people submit their photos for the general public to rate their mullet. I advise only the strong of heart to attempt this. It is not for the squeamish You may come away experiencing queasiness and a feeling of light headedness. Should these symptoms persist after four hours, please contact your primary care psychotherapist.
w-w-w.ratemymullet.c-o-m/show.p-h-p
In fact these people are so proud of their mullets, in a cult like attempt to convert the world, they actually sell mullet wigs! How can this even be a self supporting market????
Don’t give in. Say no to the wig…Not even on a lark to try it out. It could be like crack and suck you in after one experience! In a decisive executive manner let us do away with the mullet!
w-w-w.ratemymullet.c-o-m/?page=merchandise
Step 6. Mix and match within reason
Now I know we are taught to layer our clothing in the temperate months to adjust for sudden weather change. But this is going a bit far. This is beyond an eyesore. If you are a perpetrator of this particular faux pas, get help. Immediately. Should you see someone else committing it and do nothing to prevent it, you are still equally guilty. This is definitely a fashion crime. Stop and think before committing such a heinous act.
We must end this ‘socks with sandals’ crime against humanity. It is just unnecessary. Choose. Shoes and socks, or sandals.
Now I know I’m a little older. And my tastes may run to the slightly conservative end of the spectrum. But I feel justified in saying that none of the above trends are forgivable regardless of age or culture. I also realize that I have possibly offended minority groups with this blog. Black, gay, lesbian, larger sized, and special people. I would like to say that the offense was not intentional. However, if your minority group particularly identifies with one or more of these fashion don’ts, then I strongly urge you... Pick up this baton and begin crusading for reformation. Don’t be a fashion victim. Just say NO now!
STOP THE MADNESS!
**For the links just delete all the "-"s that are inserted in the addresses
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THE PANTRY, THE PIG CAGE AND OTHER ASSORTED TALES OF STUPIDITY
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Posted:Jun 8, 2009 8:31 pm
Last Updated:Oct 3, 2009 5:44 pm
4448 Views
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You might be wondering right about now what a pantry and a pig cage have in common. The answer to that my friends is stupidity. Of the monumental kind.
I am forever locking myself out of places I need to be and in places I don’t need to be. Everyone locks themselves out of their car once in a while right? What’s so dumbass about that? Well nothing really. That is…unless you do it on a monthly basis. I had more AAA callouts for locking my keys in my car in any given year, than the rest of the nation put together. And it wasn’t limited to just cars. I have climbed up more trees, up walls and through windows (either previously left open or subsequently opened with a brick) than I care to talk about. It’s funny how, with enough time and practice, you can actually become functional within your dysfunctionality. I started leaving a set of my house keys in my car, so that when I got locked out of my house, AAA could break into my car for me and indirectly get me into my house. I found out this was in fact, way cheaper than a locksmith.
It was midnight and I was coloring my hair. Quite aptly….blonde. The hair dye was in for almost an hour when I decided to take the garbage out. I should mention at this point, that this was back in the days when I lived in a terrible neighborhood. I used to run in a zigzag to collect my mail in order to avoid the drive by shootings. So I dashed out, threw the garbage in the general direction of the roadside and sprinted back to my door while looking over my shoulder. Except that some damn fool had locked it on their way out. Ok…don’t panic. There’s got to be a way in. So I skirted the house testing the windows. No such luck. The house was sealed tighter than a girdle on a middle aged bridesmaid. For an hour, I skulked in the shadows hoping to avoid being either arrested for breaking into my own house; or being mugged, , shot and gutted. This proved to be a little difficult as my hair was rapidly approaching the blonde brightness of a halogen beacon. It was now 2am and I was faced with the appalling realization that if I didn’t want to graduate from my very recently acquired Marilyn Monroe look to a Yul Bryner look, I was going to have to wake the neighbor I had never met or even spoken with for that matter, and ask if I could call a locksmith *and* wash my hair in their sink. Words can’t really begin to convey the depth of humiliation of washing your hair in the kitchen sink of a stranger you just woke out of bed while they stand there swaying and looking at you with a bemused expression. The locksmith finally arrived, and $150 later I was safely ensconced in my bed and feeling 100% better about the security of my house, if not my new hair color.
The pantry incident happened on my last night in England. I had shipped all my belongings to the States and was flying out first thing in the morning. I had a taxi scheduled to pick me up at 4am. All that was in the house was my suitcase of clothes. It was 2am and I decided to do one more walk through to make sure all was in order for the landlord. Come to think of it, if I went to bed like a “normal” person at a respectable hour I wouldn’t get myself into half these fixes. So it’s 2am and I find myself in the little pantry area behind the kitchen. There is a door leading from the kitchen to the pantry with heavy beveled glass, and an external door leading from the pantry to outside. I took a look around; all was as it should be. Except some damn fool had locked the door through to the kitchen on their way into the pantry; and the external door locked with a key (which of course was in the kitchen.) An hour of pacing the 5 foot area convinced me there was no way out. There was not so much as a crumb in the pantry and I couldn’t break the heavy glass with my hand. The clock was ticking. Taxi ETA in one hour. If I was late for my flight I would lose my air fare. Panic set in. After a considerable amount of self flagellation and trucker swearing, I remembered there was a cat flap in the external door. So I got down and peeked through. Pitch black out there. I stuck my hand through and of course there was nothing within reach. A couple more frantic sweeps however, and my fingertips grazed a solid mass. I spent 30 more harrowing minutes edging what turned out to be a brick, closer and closer with the barest edge of my finger tips. Finally! Who would ever have suspected that a miracle could take the form of a dirty brick? Much broken glass and a very apologetic note to the landlord later and I collapsed into the back of the taxi saying every thank you prayer I could think of.
Now all this isn’t my fault. It’s obviously genetic and beyond my control. I even have proof. My brother has the same problem. He lives in the boonies. Like wild animals running around willy nilly kind of boonies. He decided he was going to trap himself a baby wild pig that he had observed doing the rounds on his property. So he built a cage and rigged it with a spring loaded trap door triggered by bait at the back of the cage. He placed it at the edge of the property out by the main road. And waited for the pig. And waited for the pig, and waited, and waited. No pig. My brother then decided that the bait wasn’t tempting enough. So he climbed into the cage to switch it with some other kind of piggy heavenly gourmet treat. And triggered the trap door. My brother is 6’2” and was now stuck in a 3.5’ cage. He was jammed in too tightly to turn around and let himself out. So he had to wait to be rescued. Now when I mentioned “main road” earlier, I was being generous beyond belief. This was the boonies after all. But three cars did pass by during his sojourn in the pig cage. One even honked. Some weird charity stunt maybe? I bet it was cause for much speculating for the rest of their trip anyway. But the fact of the matter was, no-one stopped to help him. There he knelt humiliated, with his face pressed up against the side of the cage. The pig however, did come to visit him. He sat there watching my brother with very wise, all knowing eyes. Silly human. Doesn’t he know enough to stay away from spring loaded baited traps? Finally my brother was rescued by his wife, once she picked herself up from the ground after 20 minutes of laughing that is. He’s never been allowed to live the incident down. I however don’t participate in the ridicule. I get very quiet and slink away when the topic of locking ourselves in/out of places comes up. Because I know.
Anyone with tales to match levels of stupidity such as these?
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THE DAY I ATE MY PET
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Posted:Jun 3, 2009 8:21 am
Last Updated:Aug 6, 2009 6:28 am
2769 Views
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I recently read a heart-warming blog post about a mom who told her a dead bird was really in a coma to spare their feelings, while her were really trying to spare hers by not telling her they knew it was dead... Thank you phillygirlindc for [post 1962892] and [post 1963431]
It made me think of a not so warm and fuzzy childhood story of my own. First off, I should say that I had the most awesome mom in living (and past) history. She raised us single-handed and we never missed out on any love whatsoever from growing up in a “broken home.” But I was born and raised in the islands and they have quite a different perspective on animals and pets than people here do.
At 8 years old, my mom fed my pet chicken to me. This wasn't just any chicken. I raised this chicken from a ball of blue fluff by myself. (Do they still dye baby chicks at Easter or has PETA put an end to all that?) This chicken shared every meal with me straight from my plate. This chicken came when I called him and we often sat on the porch communing with nature and solving all of the world’s political and socio-economic problems. He was a smart chicken. We were bonded by spirit. His name was “Badgon.” Island-ese for “Bad One.” As I said...we were truly bonded in spirit.
Anyway, one day I came home from school and couldn't find my beloved. Even at dinner time, he was nowhere to be seen. A few days later I overheard how my dear sweet Badgon had indeed shared in the dinner experience that night. Just not at the end of the food chain that I would have preferred. (Or he for that matter.)
I was devastated. People don’t realize just how far-reaching the consequences of a tragedy in a ’s life can be. I blotted it out but developed Post Traumatic Stress Disorder nine years later triggered by an incident involving me, a local hunter, guns, a dead pheasant in my yard and the police. Suffice it to say that this bear of a man was emasculated by a petite girl of 17 in front of his fellow hunters. It was not a pretty sight. He did not enjoy it. In fact he came back to my door the following day to let me know how much he did not enjoy it and to put me in my place; whereupon he was promptly emasculated again. I was indeed a “Bad One.” But seriously, watching some dude club birds to death while trespassing in your yard is liable to bring the bitch out in anyone. and even more so for someone who once lost a fine feathered friend.
Anyway, that day the result of my delayed decline into Post Traumatic Stress Disorder was that I gave up eating meat altogether and have been a vegetarian ever since.
But the memory of my Badgon lives on.
Worst (minor) childhood experience?
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IS IT A HOWLING? IS IT A BANSHEE WAILING? IT
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Posted:May 31, 2009 12:57 pm
Last Updated:Jun 26, 2009 9:28 pm
2805 Views
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I was talked into a night out at a Karaoke bar last weekend. Karaoke has always been a great mystery to me. I think it acts as a hallucinogen. Or maybe it just inspires the psychological phenomenon of mass hysteria. As soon as someone picks up a microphone and steps in front of an audience their brain fires (or maybe it would be more appropriate to say disconnects…) and they think that they are Barbara Streisand or Frank Sinatra. (Yeah I know….I’m old.)
Whenever I bring this up to others, their immediate response is, “but it’s fun!” I’m not disputing the fun factor. The part I have difficulty with, is when the person up there thinks they can actually sing. Now there are some very talented Karaoke singers out there. I don’t mean them. And there are some really awful singers that know they are awful and obviously in it for the fun or are mind numbingly drunk. I don’t mean them either. But there is a huge group of Karaoke singers that honestly believe they are the next big star waiting to be discovered. Yet they could shatter glass and set the neighborhood dogs howling…. From ten miles away. And the fun part? It’s not people laughing with them, it’s people laughing AT them.
This particular Karaoke event was no different. There was a big billboard outside for someone called “JMoney.” I figured he must be a local Karaoke star. He had a huge fan base there cheering for him. Everyone was saying they couldn’t wait for him to perform. I met JMoney and he said he had been practicing all week. Looking at him I thought to myself this guy has GOT to be good, because he certainly didn’t look the part of a major celebrity. He was short and stout like a teapot. He bobbed his head up and down while he talked and had a nervous twitch and an even more nervous laugh. He wore really thick glasses and kept tripping over his own feet. In fact he looked exactly like someone who would be into Karaoke (and speak Klingon.) JMoney said he had chosen three songs. I couldn’t wait. The suspense was killing me.
In the meantime I sat back and watched the parade on stage. I am always surprised at just how many people are comfortable with going in front of a room full of people and yodeling into a microphone so that every single wrong note is amplified to ear splitting decibels. I think that alcohol is a necessary ingredient. Not just on the part of the performers but also on the part of the listeners. I was the designated driver and so did not have the luxury of numbing my senses through a haze of vodka.
It never fails to amaze me how big, rough, hairy, goateed, tattooed bikers who would gut and hang anyone looking at them crosswise feel perfectly ok singing Shania Twain and Miley Cyrus songs.
One of these bikers in particular had to have had balls of steel, which he must surely have developed throughout a childhood fraught with severe beatings by neighborhood bullies; because he was introduced as “Gaylord Focker” and it was his real name.
Finally JMoney was called up. The bar erupted into cheers. I twisted in my seat excited to hear this shining talent. He stood with his nose about 2 inches from the Karaoke screen and bobbed his head skillfully consistently out of time with the music. And then he opened his mouth. Oh dear God. This poor man. And he had practiced all week! There wasn’t enough alcohol in existence to accomplish that level of delusion. It had to be clinical in nature. Everyone was egging him on, his friends were recording him for Youtube, his groupies were going wild. And he was soaking it all up, convinced that he was on the way to stardom. When he was finished his first song, everyone clapped him on his back, congratulated him and cheered. Some wild eyed woman approached me and shouted “He is so AWESOME.” His next two songs were much of the same. I should say that his song choices were Michael Jackson, Miley Cyrus and Britney Spears. It was amusing because the Karaoke host came over to him before the last one and said “I have your last song ready to go. Are you sure you want that one? Do you want to change it?” And JMoney said “Oh no. I want to sing Britney Spears. I practiced.” There is just no helping some people.
I have to say, despite all the banshee screeching of the evening, I had a great time. There was some true talent there and for the delusional ones….I have never been one to pass up an opportunity to laugh at stupid people.
And when it all comes down to it, every single one of them is braver than I. I'd take my hat off to them. (If I wore hats)
Are you a Karaoke singer?
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DID THAT JUST COME OUT OF THEIR MOUTH?
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Posted:May 29, 2009 9:14 am
Last Updated:Jun 26, 2009 9:27 pm
2912 Views
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I have been known to say some dumb stuff in my life. I know right? Shock! Horror! But yes it’s true. For the most part I am a precision wordsmith. I say what I mean. And I mean to say it. I’m usually fully aware of what is about to come out of my mouth, having thought it through beforehand. (Which kind of makes the moments when I say stupid shit even more embarrassing.)
I often come across people like my boss (see blog post The WTF FiLES) who appear to have issues synchronizing speech and brain functionality on a regular basis.
Writing my last blog where I mentioned my ex describing me as “the ditziest intelligent person” he knew, made me think about people who gave backhanded compliments. You know the kind…where they are being all charming and sweet on the front side and delivering a Chuck Norris roundhouse kick to your back.
My ex and I were in bed making out once and he said to me, “you have such a beautiful face, and your legs are fantastic. If you could just lose some weight you’d be HOT.” Ummm What? Especially given the fact I was only ten pounds overweight at the time…. Not that that comment would have been acceptable at any weight. But it had the dual effect of the Chuck Norris compliment as well as WTF are you talking about???
On another occasion we were having hot wild kangaroo sex, and in the midst of it all he pants “I wish I could have fucked you when you were 18.” Did I mention that I was 39 and he was almost 50? I actually heard the screeching brakes and saw the skid marks as I hauled up off him and looked him square in the face for a long moment. Then I asked very slowly and evenly…”what did you say?” He suddenly got that look. That look that says I meant to say that other thing. What other thing? Anything other than that. He did a phenomenal job of trying to say that he really meant he wished he could have been with me for all those years instead of just the last three. But it didn’t earn him a pass out of the doghouse.
I went on a date once with a guy that drove 40 minutes to get me. I didn’t have a car at the time. He knew this before making the plans. At the end of the date he said to me “I like you a lot but you are geographically undesirable.”
And then there are the old faithful that crop up on a regular basis.
“You look great for your age”
“I am attracted to old women”
But I think the all time winner for a Chuck Norris Roundhouse compliment goes to this one I received some time ago. “For a black chick, you’re pretty hot. I’d screw you.”
Have you delivered or received any “compliments” like these?
*** I’d like to apologize for any pain and suffering I have caused to Chuck Norris by associating him with these less than stellar candidates for Hallmark’s inspirational cards. As a gesture of goodwill, I’d like to include a few of my favorite Chuck Norris jokes here.
Some people wear Superman pajamas. Superman wears Chuck Norris pajamas.
When Chuck Norris runs with scissors, other people get hurt
When God said "let there be light," Chuck Norris said "say 'please'"
Chuck Norris built a time machine and went back in time to stop the JFK assassination. As Oswald shot, Chuck met all three bullets with his beard, deflecting them. JFK's head exploded out of sheer amazement.
Chuck Norris once had sex with a nun in Alabama. He was in Texas at the time.
Chuck Norris ordered a Big Mac at Burger King, and got one.
Chuck Norris likes to knit sweaters in his free time. And by "knit", I mean "kick", and by "sweaters", I mean "babies".
When the Boogeyman goes to sleep every night he checks his closet for Chuck Norris.
It took 10 days and 4 women to give birth to Chuck Norris.
Ok so they were corny, but kinda cute don’t you think?
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NOW YOU SEE IT, NOW YOU DON'T.
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Posted:May 29, 2009 1:12 am
Last Updated:Aug 9, 2009 5:37 pm
2951 Views
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Have you ever had one of those days? The kind when you wake up and think you must have been sniffing bleach in your sleep because you feel at least 30 IQ points more stupid than the day before?
I had one of those days today. I decided I wanted Subway for dinner. I don’t really know the area that I live in very well as I am an anti-social recluse. But I did recall seeing a sign for Subway somewhere along the main street, so I took off in search of it. I drove up and down the stretch three times with no success. There was a billboard stating it was somewhere nearby. (Why do they do that? Put it right beside the restaurant for fuck sake.) It is now clear to me that the real reason behind Jared’s weight loss success was that he could never FIND a Subway.
Much later I finally stumbled across one purely by accident, interestingly enough in the shopping plaza that I frequent quite often. Who put that there??? SOMEBODY had obviously picked up the Subway and moved it miles away *and* to the other side of the road. And it was CLOSED. Wtf? It was only 9:30! What is the point of convenience food if it isn’t in the least bit convenient???
So I ended up eating ramen noodles for dinner. (it’s difficult to do too much environmental damage from three minutes in a microwave)
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FUCKIN' A FF STYLE
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Posted:May 18, 2009 5:37 pm
Last Updated:Jun 26, 2009 9:30 pm
3074 Views
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A FF has been a truly educational experience. Until I came here, I had no idea of the variety of things I had been missing out on.
They say that the Inuit’s have many different words for “snow” to describe the subtle differences between types of snow and the nuances of the experience. In my time here at A FF, I have come to realize that there are many different types of “fucks.” Who knew that a fuck wasn’t just a fuck? This has been an eye opening experience for me.
I thought I’d share a few that I have come across.
“Drive-by fucks” - “I’ll be passing through your town….”
These guys have wives that keep them on such short leashes at home that when they get to leave their state they try to rack up as many frequent fucker points as possible. I’ve even had a guy try to arrange one of these for 4 months down the line. Sorry but I’m hoping to have sex slightly more often that my dental checkup.
"Proximity fucks" - "hey we're only 2, 5, 10...miles apart, let's hookup tonight." You can usually spot these coming when they announce, hey I’m in Study Butte, Texas too!” (**real town name) Yeah but so are 267 other people, do I have to fuck them all too? (**real population of Study Butte, TX)
“Discreet fucks” - And here I was thinking all this time that discreet meant you didn’t fuck on your front lawn in front of your neighbors or project your home made porn movies against the side of your house on a warm summer night. It is in fact actually someone married and looking for a partner in crime to aid and abet in their cheating. Don't be surprised if he shows up in a balaclava.
“Daytime only fucks” - No he’s not got poor night vision. See discreet fuck.
"Dear God please fuck me...someone...anyone...please... fucks" - These tend to be offered at 2 am in a chat room and he says "Hey you I'm horny, how about you come over right now"
“IOU fucks” - “Well I bought you two drinks and spent $7.50 on you so why don’t you at least suck me off?”
“Trekker fucks” ‒ “I drove 4 hours to see you so spread ‘em.”
“Mercy fucks” ‒ This is actually a charitable act which you should in fact be compensated for at tax time.
“Manic on a mission fucks” ‒ If you have spent any time at all in a chat room you are sure to have come across someone who specializes in these. They usually employ the grenade fishing technique for finding a willing partner. They can proposition 16 different women in the same chat room simultaneously without missing a beat.
If I missed any, please feel free to add them. Or share your experiences of any of the above.
** Disclaimer for the overly sensitive.
- I am aware that not all men are pigs.
- I am also aware that some women are capable of equally asinine behavior.
- I am a woman, therefore my experiences are mostly of men.
- Get over it.
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A MAN MEAT FEST
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Posted:May 15, 2009 9:50 pm
Last Updated:May 23, 2009 6:27 pm
2660 Views
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I’m watching the movie 300 for possibly the 28th time and I felt compelled to offer written testimonial of my unstinting appreciation. I never get tired of it and can recite huge portions of the script. One can only be thankful to Hollywood for providing us with wonderfully testosterone heavy gems such as this. Action filled scenes awash with scantily clad, bulging pecs, rigid six packs, and super cool slow motion sequences with close-ups of rippling thigh muscles; all filmed against a backdrop of appropriately manly sepia tones. What’s not to like?
Seriously though, each time I see this film I am amazed at how beautifully and artistically it is filmed along with its delightfully witty dialog. Even though this is the real reason behind my enjoyment of this movie, I am aware of the irony and that it is eerily akin to those men that say they read playboy just for the articles.
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THE WTF FILES
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Posted:May 15, 2009 8:07 pm
Last Updated:Jun 26, 2009 9:29 pm
2853 Views
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You’re having a normal conversation, or minding your own business and all of a sudden someone says or does something that leaves you feeling quite speechless and with a sensation that can only adequately compare to what you would imagine sticking a swizzle stick in your ear and scrambling your brains would feel like. The world tilts on its axis and you’re left feeling wobbly, shaking your head and sure that you just got dropped into another dimension. I call these WTF moments.
I called the cable company to find out how much it would be to add another movie package to my channel line-up. The woman said, $10/month for six months or $12/month for twelve months. I said “So let me get this straight….., it’s more expensive monthly if I’m loyal and stay longer but cheaper if I cast you aside like a drunken one night stand when the six months are up??” The woman never hesitated a second. “Yes ma’am, that’s right.”
WTF?
I had been conversing with this guy who wanted to meet with the goal of becoming a friend with benefits. We met and there was just no spark for me. In addition, it became clear quite quickly, to be quite frank and brutal even, that the guy was thicker than two short planks and was living proof that horses asses outnumber horses. I tried to be as diplomatic as possible in my refusal of any further contact. I explained to him that there just wasn’t a mental connection there for me. Apparently my euphemistic reasoning was unnecessary as he seemed to be quite at ease with his shortcomings. His response? Well can’t I just fuck you until you find your intellectual equal?
WTF?
I bought two vegetarian gorditas from Taco Bell yesterday. The man repeated it after me and said “so you want beans but no beef right?” I confirmed. When I got my meal I checked the receipt. Sure enough, no beef. So I bit into the alleged vegetarian tacos and voila!....A mouthful of beef. I went back to Taco Bell and patiently explained to the man that the reason a vegetarian would order vegetarian tacos is because he/she didn’t eat BEEF! He looked at me and said “But steak is good!” I’m still trying to cross reference steak with the meat filling in Taco Bell tacos and coming up empty handed.
WTF?
I got an email today; the FIRST contact from a complete stranger. He said he had a proposition for me. I got all excited. I thought hey! New car? Caribbean cruise? A lifetime of leisure eating bonbons and having grapes fed to me? Seems to me if you’re going to make a proposition it ought to be something like that. Obviously I am out of touch with these things. Here was his offer. He didn’t want to know my name. He said that *I* could keep it anonymous. How nice of him to think of my feelings like that. In addition I would meet him and we would have sex in the back of his tinted windowed SUV. Not even springing for a hotel room. The rest of the email was a long epistle graphically detailing all said activities that would take place in the back of the SUV. Somehow in the space of one email, this man managed to violate every single cardinal rule in my profile and yet was hopeful of a positive response.
WTF?
I was out in public with my boss the other day. This is always a scary prospect for me. She is severely lacking in social skills and can be a never-ending source of embarrassment to me. When she opens her mouth you’re never quite sure what will come out. I have come to realize that this is because she has a circulation problem and just doesn’t possess quite enough blood to fuel and coordinate brain function in tandem with the mouth muscles required for speech. One such time, I cringed as she explained to a man that her was touching him because he was not used to black people. On this more recent occasion however, when a man introduced himself to her, I immediately knew there was going to be an unpleasant ending to the exchange. I looked around desperately seeking an avenue of escape, hoping against all hope to slink off into the shadows. You see the man had a handicap that resulted in his eyes moving back and forth rapidly and quite obviously involuntarily. He kept repeating a question to her which she wasn’t answering so I risked a quick glance in her direction only to find her staring at him in a slack mouthed fashion. Dear God no. Please don’t let her go there. After a full and very long minute of awkward silence and staring, she finally said “what is wrong with you?” When he didn’t answer, she pressed the subject by further asking “are you on drugs?” The man patiently explained that he had a physical handicap and that it was genetic; which I should add, would have been painfully obvious to anyone not MENTALLY handicapped. To which she promptly replied “Well that’s just WEIRD!” Umm Did that really come out of her mouth?
WTF?
Any WTF moments in your life lately?
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A CLOSE CALL
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Posted:May 15, 2009 5:40 pm
Last Updated:Jun 9, 2009 2:04 pm
2509 Views
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An old post I rediscovered buried in my blog dungeon. I wrote this years ago when I lived in Pittsburgh. I thought I'd dust it off while I wait for inspiration.
A Close Call
Pittsburgh, PA
An abandoned briefcase was found on Washington Road on Sunday 27th November 2005.
Watch your stocks folks, formulate evacuation plans, write out your wills……the terrorists have found America’s best kept secret….Mt Lebanon.
Given that Mt Lebanon is the political Mecca of the country, one would be foolish to assume someone had simply forgotten it there. Anyone with any sense and foresight can figure out that destroying the laundromat, pawn shop and adult bookstore on the corner on Washington Road, would in effect paralyze the country and leave us at the mercy of invasion, subjugation and oppression. But luckily our Allegheny County bomb squad rushed to the rescue in time to save the day. An x-ray found the briefcase to contain “electronic equipment.” The bomb squad being socially and politically attuned and not so easily fooled, were well aware that such electronic equipment couldn’t possibly be a cell phone, palm pilot, personal stereo, or any other such red herrings masquerading as the business paraphernalia that one might ordinarily find in a briefcase. And so took quick and decisive action.
Ever conscious of not wasting tax payers’ money, they steadfastly and conscientiously did not waste valuable time opening the briefcase to inspect its contents and instead efficiently BLEW IT UP!
Thank you to our city’s fine heroes!
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FINAL INSTALLMENT OF THE QUICHE CHRONICLES (I PROMISE)
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Posted:May 10, 2009 2:12 pm
Last Updated:May 15, 2009 11:12 am
2573 Views
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If you are new to my blog I suggest reading the beginning two episodes of this culinary saga first.
TO QUICHE OR NOT TO QUICHE
TO QUICHE OR NOT TO QUICHE PART DEUX
I decided to have a party. What better way to get rid of food you don’t want than getting everyone drunk and feeding it to them? I invited 40 people. I figure the law of averages say that at least one of them has got to be a quiche eating mofo. I spent an alarming amount of money on alcohol to lay the groundwork before springing the quiche on them. 140 jello shots, a few bottles of vodka, cases of beer, tequila, whiskey, wine and even port. I was scaling a full-fledged attack, in the hopes that plying them with enough alcohol would help to make the quiche go down. Half a dozen people had so much to drink they spent the night on my floor. And wouldn’t you know it….when the last guest was out the door on Sunday afternoon and the dust cleared, all the other food had been consumed. Yet…there sat the quiche UNTOUCHED.
Alcohol to numb the senses. $120
Assorted other snacks to hide the quiche amongst. $20
Lesson learned to leave future cooking projects to the professionals. Priceless.
So now the quiche lies buried in the back of the refrigerator in Tupperware, awaiting the growth of a new life-form so that I will be justified in finally throwing it away.
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TO QUICHE OR NOT TO QUICHE - PART DEUX
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Posted:May 7, 2009 11:28 am
Last Updated:May 10, 2009 6:58 pm
2608 Views
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If you are new to my blog I suggest reading the beginning of this culinary saga first.
TO QUICHE OR NOT TO QUICHE
Now I know some of you may have been waiting on the edge of your seat to find out if I (and all within a 5 mile radius) survived the quiche project. However, I’m pretty certain that those of you who know me, probably know there is never a plot twist at the end of any of my cooking stories.
The project spanned two days. Not intentionally, but who knew that you couldn’t make quiche with frozen pastry? Certainly not I. Upon reviewing the package I realized that I was about 8 hours away from Quiching. (New word).
So I decided to use the time wisely and research quiches on the internet. The problem came about when I couldn’t find a recipe that matched the ingredients that I had. In my initial random googling while in the store, I had been steered towards buying various quiche applicable ingredients. I found a recipe for a crab quiche that required mayonnaise and flour, and one for a vegetable quiche that required butter and cream. But I wanted a crab, shrimp, broccoli, corn and mushroom quiche. Now what? I didn’t know what to do, so I decided to play it safe and use all the ingredients from both recipes. In hindsight, probably not a good move.
The next obstacle proved to be the crust. I’m not a fan of regular pie crust, so I found a third recipe for mini quiches set in filo pastry. I searched the pastry section for a good 30 minutes before I discovered that it was spelled “Phyllo.” The recipe said specifically not to trim the edges of the pastry. I found out the hard way, that while this is perfectly acceptable for a mini pastry being baked for 15 to 20 minutes, it certainly doesn’t apply itself well to a large quiche baked for an hour. My quiche sported a not so attractive black frill that exploded into smithereens in my attempt to remove it from the oven. My kitchen looked like the aftermath of a volcanic explosion and nuclear fallout.
On the bright side, I didn’t burn the neighborhood down. On the not so bright side, the quiche tasted like crap. On the really not so bright side….I had two of them to get through. I decided to take one to work and feed it to the little boy I take care of. He can’t talk yet. A captive audience. Perfect. Too young to voice his disapproval, plus babies will eat anything right? Wrong. He wouldn’t even touch it. Do they breed quiche hating into men on a genetic level? I mean this has eaten my cooking before. He’s not a great fan but has decided that the alternative of starving is even less rosy. But the quiche didn’t even stand a chance. Fifteen minutes of gentle persuasion and strong-armed coercion later and he had rocketed the quiche off the table on to the wall and floor.
So I froze the last quiche. I’m not quite sure what I should do with it. Feed it to unsuspecting future visitors maybe?
Would anybody like to come to dinner?
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TO QUICHE OR NOT TO QUICHE
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Posted:May 3, 2009 10:38 pm
Last Updated:May 10, 2009 2:09 pm
2891 Views
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I went grocery shopping tonight. I hate grocery shopping. I only go when there’s nothing left to eat in the house and I’m on the brink of chewing off a foot. (And I hate feet even more than grocery shopping.) I tried the online ordering from Acme once. That route didn’t fare much better. They weren’t clear about their units and someone actually bagged and delivered a solitary green bean to my door. (Pink slip of the month award nominee?)
I should have eaten before going because everyone knows you should never ever shop while hungry. But I had no food in the house to eat. I waited all weekend, and at 10pm on Sunday night after the cats had eaten the last of their food and had come to sit at my feet watching me with baleful glares, I finally gave in and set off for the store.
I wandered up and down the aisles and everything looked good. I bought four pounds of strawberries. I don’t even like strawberries all that much. I have to eat them with two pounds of sugar or I get this facial twitch that usually results in someone trying to shove a wooden spoon down my throat to prevent me from swallowing my tongue. I bought a case of mangoes. I live alone. Who can get through a case of mangoes? But they were on sale and I was hungry.
Then I had this thought….”damn I’d love some quiche right about now;” so I Googled some quiche recipes on my phone and set about buying all the ingredients to make it. I can’t even cook FFS. The recipe called for pie crust. What do I know about pie crusts? I bought three different types to be safe. Just this morning I burnt not one, but two sets of muffins trying to toast them in the toaster oven. And I can testify to the fact that if you leave eggs to boil long enough they will indeed explode and hit the ceiling. I can speak with authority on this subject having had to scrape egg off the ceiling on at least three occasions. Whole communities live in fear of me turning on my oven. My own mother won’t eat my cooking. Not to be polite or even to spare her only ’s feelings. But I was hungry so quiche seemed like a good idea at the time.
So if you hear about an entire crisped neighborhood or an outbreak of severe food poisoning in the news you will be well informed in advance of its quiche related connections.
Tune in for upcoming blog post on inevitable quiche catastrophe.
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To link to this blog (Freedom4FunNow) use [blog Freedom4FunNow] in your messages.
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