The Beautiful Kind

The other day The Belle and I were reorganizing the bathroom, and The Beau’s colleague, who was visiting for a music rehearsal, asked to use the restroom.

He stood in the doorway, and I turned to answer him and chatted him up.

It was only after I walked out of the bathroom that I realized I was holding an enema and vaginal cream applicator.

I know, I’m on a gross food kick lately. Look at these turtles I bought at a country grocery store that other day:

They were grey and petrified. Even so, I bit into one. Bad idea. Seriously, I wonder how old they were. I’m guessing 200 years old. I gave them a proper burial.

My mom has been eating a lot of pork rinds lately. Mmm, flayed pig skin seasoned with smoke flavoring.

Here’s the wrapper of a bag she just finished, note the happy pig wearing the chef hat:

Here’s the other side:

A closer look:

I like how this company profits off the mass slaughter and mutilation of pigs so people can snack on their blistered skin, yet they use this bible quote to sneak in some proselytizing. I wonder how much God loves slaughterhouses.

OK, what the fuck is this? I’ll tell you. It’s SNICKERS CHARGED.

Why does a candy bar need caffeine and taurine added to it? Why does a candy bar have to be fucked with to the point that it’s “not suitable for children, pregnant women, or people sensitive to caffeine”?

What the hell is taurine anyway? (”Bull semen,” my friend told me.) I looked it up:

Taurine is a nonessential sulfur-containing amino acid that functions with glycine and gamma-aminobutyric acid as a neuroinhibitory transmitter. At times of extreme physical exertion, the body no longer produces the required amounts of taurine, and a deficiency results.

Who are all these people who are exerting themselves so much that they need extra taurine?

Of course I bought one and tried it. It tasted slightly less comforting, and I didn’t feel like a superhero afterwards. I think I’ll just stick with people semen from now on.

I hate the Working Women’s Survival Show. I think they want you to believe that it is a feminist empowering sort of thing, but it’s not. I’ve been once or twice and was disgusted. Talk about false advertising - they should call it the “Hey Greedy Bitches - Free Samples! Show.”

A friend of mine went to the last one that was just here in St. Louis. She reported back to me:

I went to the Working Women’s Survival show for the first time. For some odd reason I was expecting it to be more focused on empowering women, but it seems that the majority of working women are surviving by buying a lot of stuff for their hair.

Whatever, I did engage in advanced trick or treating for samples, so it was all well and good……until sandwiched in between all the other booths on home improvement and hairspray, was a big pro-life booth, complete with all the fetus models and the fliers pointing out that abortion is the number one killer of African Americans.

I didn’t notice any other booths blatantly proselytizing their beliefs in the same manner as that….and there sure as hell wasn’t a pro choice booth. I was so insta-angry about the whole thing that I even forgot to ask the ProLifers if they had any samples.

The other night I got wine sick. To put it bluntly, I drank so much red wine (Menage a Trois, four glasses I think) that I got completely blotto and puked. I dunno what happened - I went from frisky to gross in two hours - I was all Amy Winehouse.

So am I an alcoholic or what? My mom is a huge addict. I LOVE drinking. I crave it, I look forward to it, I revel in the ritualistic actions surrounding it. I like the buzz I get from two drinks. I feel fabulously naughty and decadent when I have a lunchtime cocktail with a mint garnish or mimosas at brunch.

I’ll drink just about anything - wine, mixed drinks, beer…I avoid shots, though. I get mean(er) on shots. My guy says I get stupid when I’m drunk, and hey - stupid ain’t sexy. He doesn’t drink, except in the summer when he’ll have the occasional gin and tonic and feel dizzy.

I took this online test to see if I was an alcoholic. I admit I was nervous to see the results, but phew, it says I’m not:

Based on Your Responses:
Your results do not suggest that a pattern of excess drinking is harming your health. However, the amount you reported consuming on at least one occasion may increase your risk for injury or other immediate consequences.

Recommended Action:
Consider setting a safer personal limit for how much alcohol you consume on one occasion. For some people and in certain situations, no amount of alcohol is safe. Learn more about wise consumption limits, when it’s not safe to drink at all, and the kinds of problems that excess alcohol can cause. This information will help you make informed health decisions about alcohol.

Anyway, that was my last time getting all stupid and drunk. My drink limit from now on will be three at parties, two at happy hour. Honest. I mean I’m 35 - I’m too old for that shit. But hey, the president of the United States had his last big bender when he was 40…

What are your drinking habits?

Yep, I hate Valentine’s Day, and this is despite me having a girlfriend and a boyfriend and being all down with the love and chocolates. I refuse to write a V-Day post.

Except when someone asks me to. You can find my V-Day post over here at my FAVORITE food site, Worst Cook Ever! (Caution: this website IS work safe, despite them posting a pic of me - gasp! - in my underwear.)

My sister just graduated from beauty school (not the one who’s a librarian for fucks sake, but the one who looks like a teen pop star - platinum hair, tan, pink eyeshadow, belly ring, Pink Floyd tramp stamp).

I hope to god she doesn’t go work in one of those Great Clips joints found in a depressing strip mall. They should call that place Hate Clips, cuz instead of hate fucking you, those women in there hate cut you. They like to take their frustration at having a mediocre life out on you. They give you hair herpes.

And what’s with their own ugly hairstyles - teased bangs? Awful purplish red tint? Bleach? It’s like going to a gynecologist who has one of her ovaries hanging out of her vagina.

Call me a snob, but I don’t let people named Tammy or Amber cut my hair. What do I do? I get my hair cut every three years by a flaming homosexual named John at one of those hip salons. I’m due this year, only I’m not going to even bother with that. I’m just going to shave it off. The Locks of Love people will be delighted.

PS: Do you have to be mentally ill or balding in order to shave your head? I don’t want to break any rules here. Ha ha.

1. You didn’t know him.

2. He was the blonde guy in Brokeback Mountain, not Jake.

3. He was Australian, and those guys have a psycho death wish. They LIKE dying.

4. He was going to star in ANOTHER fucking Batman movie later this year. Yawn. And hey he was supposed to be the Joker - they’ll just need to slap white paint on some other actor.

5. He overdosed on drugs BEFORE his scheduled massage - very poor planning on his part.

6. He had at least one bad tattoo.

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In other movie news, can you BELIEVE they nominated Juno for a fucking Oscar?! What, do they have a “Cutest Movie” category now? Further proof that George Bush is our president, I mean, the movie wasn’t exactly brilliant. Cute, yes. Oscar worthy? Please. I suppose they nominated Ratatouille, too. Oh christ, I don’t even give a shit about the Oscars, why am I bitching about this? Notice how I didn’t capitalize president. Or christ.

I should have posted this two weeks ago, but it’s never too late to say that the movie Juno was too cute for me - an obnoxious drop in the teen flick bucket.

Screenwriter Diablo Cody (a super hot ex-stripper and blogger) says, “I like the secret vernaculars that pop up in society…” and let me finish her sentence - “and then I want to squeeze them all into a movie and make them screamingly obvious and overused.” HERE, have a sample and watch this Juno’s Lingo clip. Honest to blog.

Yep, the makers of Juno’s philosophy is “if something is good, overuse it.” Another example is the soundtrack. It’s so obvious the people who picked the songs for the movie were listening to Kimya Dawson tracks and thought, “Oh, that one is good, let’s use that one. Wait no, THAT one is good, we have to use that one. Ooh ooh another good one! Oh fashizzle brody, let’s use every single fucking adorable song she’s ever sung, her innocent style will go so wicked bitchin’ with the innocent and cute way a teen girl gets knocked up and does the right thing.”

Nothing against Ellen Page and Michael Cera, they were cute as bugs. And I loved the fashion - all those vintage t-shirts and weird colors. And the socks she wore during the birthing scene? She borrowed them from me.

Say, have you ever noticed why Michael Cera looks perpetually surprised? It’s because he only has half eyebrows. He looks like a Peanuts character.

Speaking of, you MUST watch this clip of him being interviewed by my secret lover Zach Galifianakis. God I love that beard.

Here’s the thing: I’ve interacted online with enough people down under to start to think that Australians (men only?) are FREAKS and New Zealanders are awesome.

My hot co-worker (who looks like Charlotte from Sex and The City and says things like, “Oh fuck nuts!”) and I were looking over an Australian guy’s website who wanted to work for our company. Naturally I can’t link to it, but here are a couple excerpts from his “About” page:

“One should cultivate one’s garden, I thought with Voltaire, and avoid the negative emotions that go with contemplating all the death, destruction and ugliness that are out there beyond the personal sphere.”

“I see myself as ‘humana’ in a sense unrelated in important ways to nature…”

My co-worker’s response to that? “What the fuck does that mean?” She then went on to declare, “Self-analysis is the highest form of masturbation.”

I laughed and she said, “It’s true - ever talk with someone about yourself for an extended period of time, and at the end you feel like, ‘wow, glad I got that out’ and kind of dirty?”

Um, yes.

Some miscellaneous notes from the holidays:

- My guy got a GUN HOLSTER from his dad as a gift. It’s an accessory to go along with the gun his dad got him when he graduated. I swear a shooting range is a straight man’s gay bath house. Naturally I was having a liberal fit on the inside, especially when his stepmother told my daughter, “Guns are GOOD!”

But then I decided the holster will go well with our handcuffs and maybe we should step up the role playing a notch. Instead of me just wearing school girl skirts and asking for a better grade, I think he should rape me at gunpoint.

- Because they know I’m a sexually liberated woman (they know I have a vibrator and fuck their son), I got a Playboy watch. It was a very sweet gesture, but I guess they think sexually liberated means I should advertise for a softcore airbrushed magazine. I would have preferred a subscription to Hustler.

- Because I was hanging out with normal people, I was forced to watch television. I really fucking hate commercials and that Caesar dogwasher/trainer guy who doms dogs by shushing them. I also hate how National Geographic has decided to go all hip and refer to themselves as “Nat Geo,” as in, “only on Nat Geo” (said in a “sexy” tough guy voice.)

- The holiday lights at the house we were staying were fun and festive, but after about four hours the frantic blinking started to get to me. But not as much as the mechanical Santa who was waving a candle and clicking menacingly.

- My daughter got all those godawful cheap annoying toys made in China. I tried to convince her to donate them unused to Goodwill, but she wouldn’t have it. So as soon as she wasn’t looking, I filched the batteries from the beeping electronic gadgets and used them for my vibrator.

- My daughter hated the dead turkey sitting on the dining room table and kept squirming uncomfortably and had trouble eating her mashed potatoes and corn. I guess I overdid it with her and the whole compassion thing. I need to desensitize her - maybe take her to a morgue or find some roadkill and slap it on the table so she gets used to carcasses lying around.

- The highlight of the holiday: The Beau was frontin’ about nixing the Jar of Whimsies. He got it for me!

Him = dreamy
Me = spoiled brat

Am I the only one who is THRILLED about the television writer’s strike? I mean, who FUCKING cares about Lost, soap operas, American Idol, god I don’t even know what’s on TV these days - 30 Rock? ummm, Psych? ER? Is Three’s Company still running?

Look, if you watch TV, your IQ points go down one point every 10 minutes. I can only hope TV dwindles down to flashing patterns, and people start reading out loud to each other or fucking or filing their nails or ANYTHING more productive than zoning out in front of the noise box.

These writers need to stop writing for TV and write some erotica or dwarf fantasy shit or something. Hell, it worked for Tolkien, right?

FUCK.

You know how junk mail comes with those postage paid envelopes? Usually I just mail them back empty or with other junk mail stuffed in it. Well I have an even better idea now. I’ve been sending them my fact sheets from Planned Parenthood on CARING FOR YOURSELF AFTER AN ABORTION, as well as those dumb holiday letters reviewing the year that friends and family send with their Christmas cards.

My aunt sent a really good one that I passed on to some bogus housing title company. An excerpt:

While I’ve had a rough past year, I survived and am feeling quite victorious and am truly looking forward to a great 2008! If nothing else, this year has helped strengthen my faith in God and taught me to trust in being patient about accepting His plan for my life.

As you probably know, Steve and I were married in June 2006 and we had a wonderful first year of marriage. It was very odd, but right at the time of our 1st year anniversary, I began to realize that I had made a mistake in getting married. I suppose we’ll be filing for divorce sometime next Spring…

Sheesh, doesn’t she know you’re not supposed to send these letters out when you’ve had a bad year?!

I’ll bet given the choice, the junk mail people would prefer to receive the abortion care fact sheet over my aunt’s holiday letter.

Sometimes Christian people are right. I won’t give them the Bible, Jesus, or a higher power that listens to pre-game/pre-test prayers, but they were right about one thing: you should avoid The Golden Compass movie.

The only cool thing about the movie was how each person got a little pet who followed them around. The James Bond guy’s beard looked like a hedgehog, it was so weird looking. I wonder if it was a computer animated beard. Nicole Kidman needs to quit acting and follow her true calling - that of department store mannequin. Sam Elliott’s animal buddy was a jackrabbit voiced by Kathy Bates - what, were all the cool animals already taken? And an armored polar bear who chugs whiskey out of a bucket and runs off to fight a vicious king without any AA meetings first? Please.

The whole thing was just boring. I feel like all these fantasy movies coming out are just the same recycled shit over and over again (don’t open that old leather bound book! hop on a magic ship! ride an awesome creature across an awesome landscape! have a battle - ooh! good vs. evil! we have to spell it out for you!)

Honestly the most interesting thing about this movie was the couple in the row behind us who were lying across several seats (armrests were in the upright position) making out in earnest. I was sorely tempted to do the same, but a theater full of kids is not the sexiest environment, even if the movie you’re watching is hands down LAME.

There. I said it. Now read what my sis has to say about the subject on her brand new bloggy!

Remember that hot threesome date we had back in October? Well sure enough, my guy, as the folks in nasty rape erotica so charmingly put it, “fucked a baby up inside of me.” (Just think, had my girlfriend been sluttier, she might have been impregnated with his bastard child!)

Naturally this comes as a complete shock to me. True, I went off the pill a couple months ago, but the last time I got knocked up was eight years ago and even though I was in my reproductive prime, I had to try for a year and a half and took fertility drugs (believe it or not, I became obsessed with having a baby). I thought I had bum ovaries. We had spermicide, but it wasn’t with us, and we got caught up in the heat of the moment…well, you know the story, you were practically there.

My cute little tummy is under attack! And being pregnant means no beer! Speaking of, I’ve had plenty to drink lately and I haven’t been taking my vitamins (I haven’t smoked any crack, though). Also, my guy and I haven’t even known each other a full year yet. Yeah we’re in love, but it’d be nice to know each other longer before taking on something of this magnitude.

Here, have some visuals.

Since everyone has an opinion on this matter, I thought I’d leave it up to you guys - should I get an abortion? A while back I posted lists of the pros and cons of breeding on my Kiddo blog - I’ll have to go review that again. I’ll leave the comments section open for one week on this post, and whatever gets the most votes goes. Meanwhile, I’m going to kick back and eat cucumbers and peanut butter. And oh yeah, I should probably tell my guy about his Power Sperm. Wait, he reads the blog, I’ll let him find out this way along with all you guys. He’ll love the surprise I’m sure.

I’m never on the cutting edge when it comes to television (or anything else for that matter) but I finally got around to watching the UK Office series right as they announced they were coming out with a US version.

Um, why? I thought well maybe they want to take the concept and run with it, add new ideas, enhance it. Yeah, right. Regardless, I never bothered to watch the US version. Why? Oh I dunno, maybe I don’t like wasting my time. Sure enough, someone sent me this short video comparing the two, and my self-righteousness has been validated.

What, Americans can’t handle British mumbling? They have to have their humor served up on extra-wiggly eyebrows in order to know that it is in fact funny? What are they going to remake next - the Harry Potter movies? The Beatles? Oh wait, was that The Monkees?

So here’s the thing.

I notice that oftentimes people post song lyrics on their blogs as a way of piggybacking on an artist’s creativity and suggesting that they feel the same way or can relate to the sentiment behind the song.

They think that by posting the lyrics others will be able to automatically relate to how they’re feeling and “get it.”

Well, we don’t. Lyrics without the music is dork. I made this mistake once on my blog - I posted the words to an Okkervil River (my fav band) song cuz I liked it SO much and wanted to share it with the WORLD. I had a vague sense that I was misstepping as I committed the deed, but I copy and pasted anyway. Afterwards I looked at it there on the page, and it stared soullessly back as if to say, “You might as well post your grocery list, dork.”

I squirmed with embarrassment and took it down.

See what I mean here? Do you feel the angst, the energy, the passion?

With the lights out its less dangerous
Here we are now
Entertain us
I feel stupid and contagious
Here we are now
Entertain us
A mulatto
An albino
A mosquito
My libido
Yea

Jesus, no wonder Kurt Cobain killed himself.

Yep, Arby’s is the latest logo someone has pointed out to me that has a “hidden” element I never noticed before, but now I obsessively look for.

FedEx has the arrow between the E and the X.

Heineken has the e’s that are slightly tilted and suggest smiling faces.

And Arby’s has the phallic look. How could I have missed something so obvious before?!