Major Stranger

Who I Want to Be When I Grow Up.

2012-02-14T11:35:00.000-08:00

This was going to be the title of my next post, but I have crippling writer's block, people. I mean, all I had in the body of that post was this:

"A man or Buffy Summers."

What I do when I'm not writing. Don't cross me.

Unacceptable. Some of my other notable and unsuccessful post ideas include "Looking Up Your Middle School Crush On Facebook: A Lesson in Abstinence" and "More About How I Don't Ever Wash My Hair." Now here I am trying to think of an amusing anecdote or anything at all to tell you guys so that I don't become the next Hyperbole and a Half and disappear off of the face of the internet for months at a time. So far this month I've been busy mediating fights between my boyfriend and my mom (to Sam's credit, she said she didn't believe in sexism like it was some sort of whimsical fairy from a children's story), shooting guns, trying to figure out whether Lana Del Rey is incredibly sexy or hideously ugly, getting new eyeglasses, making endless sodas with my new Sodastream, not doing my taxes, and occasionally slut-shaming my cat in a seemingly-friendly voice because she doesn't know the difference and it is HILARIOUS. I guess that explains why I've been so busy (not really though at all).

Watch out, Selleck.

I can't even think of a cool story. That's how useless I am right now. Or maybe I just got distracted because my coworker gave me some squishy foam stuff and I can't stop playing with it/wearing it like a mustache. Remember jamming Gak into its plastic container in order to make farting noises? Oh, the finer things in life. I'm also listening to Edith Piaf on Rdio which makes playing with the foam stuff very dramatic and retro.

Anyway, I don't really have much more to say but I didn't want you guys to think I had forgotten that I have a blog so here's this half-assed, uninspired post. I'm going to end it by posting pictures of the dresses I decided to buy from ASOS and Forever 21. In my defense, they were having a sale and so all 11 of these dresses were under $200. I'm not sure why I needed a dress in every color of the rainbow, BUT I DID (except orange, please help me find a cute orange dress). I guess this is how you can look like a Zooey Deschanel/Charlotte Charles/The Wiggles hybrid on a budget? Also, have I ever told you guys my aspirations of becoming the 5th Wiggle? It's about time they had a lady Wiggle, if you ask me. Consider this my audition, you colorful Aussie magicians.

TV Censorship: Are You For Monkeyfighting Real?

2012-01-10T12:00:00.000-08:00

Last week, as those of you who know me in the real world are already aware, I was bed-ridden with what can only be described as ~~the black lung~~ my body entering a Guinness World Record competition for the most mucous produced in the shortest time span. Coupled with a sore throat, blinding sinus pressure, and a fever, I could have also probably won the Guinness World Record for grumpiest lady on a couch who hasn't showered in three days.

Naturally, I had to find a way to occupy myself that didn't involve speaking, moving, or leaving the apartment (or showering, as mentioned above). I resolved to spend my time watching y-rate horror movies that I had DVR-ed, much to Sam's chagrin, while eating countless granny smith apples and forcing my cat to stand upright so that I could play

Don't judge me. This movie rules.

her belly pouch like a guitar and make whammy noises with my mouth. You see, I'm plagued with this problem where if I see a movie that I love when surfing the cable guide, I just have to record it. This explains why I had "Aladdin," "Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom," Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade," "Twister," "Hocus Pocus," and "Powder" on the DVR list, about 2% space left to record shit, and a very frustrated boyfriend who tried to explain downloading to me over and over again. Recently I had DVR-ed two really stupid horror movies simply because I hadn't seen them and I knew there would be a time. That time came last week.

The two movies were Boogeyman 2 (because the first one was so amazing AMIRITE?) and My Bloody Valentine (feel free to click the links and get a synopsis). They originally aired on the Sci-Fi Channel during what must've been some type of worst-horror-movies-of-the-past-five-years marathon and I figured if I watched them, that'd be two less DVR-ed movies for Sam to brood about. They didn't scare me in the slightest and were both pretty much on target with what I expected from them: a recycled plotline, a killer that has superhuman strength and unparalleled disappearing skills, and a lead chick who's helplessly and frantically running about as fast and her mascara is. What did scare me was the Sci-Fi Channel's use and disuse of censorship (which, I'm sure, also applies to most other television channels).

You see, while I was watching these movies I mostly forgot that they were recorded off of live television. With such imagery as a girl having her face split in half horizontally with a shovel, a guy drinking chemical floor cleaner and then foaming from the mouth while the corrosive liquid eats through his neck, and another girl with an eating disorder having tubes stuck in her veins, mouth, and stomach and being pumped full of her own vomit until she explodes, I thought that I surely must be watching some unrated, back-alley, Netflix Instant version of the films. Nope. I was not. And how was my memory refreshed? Because when the killer was discovered and tried to say "God Damnit!" all I heard was "...Damnit!"

I mean, don't get me wrong. Sometimes censorship is HILARIOUS. Take this TV-censored version of the famous "Snakes on a Plane" quote, for instance:

But this time, not so much. I'm still confused on whether censorship is a government-sanctioned parental control so that children don't accidentally see something too inappropriate or if it's adults censoring themselves as to not create a class of subhuman, violent, cursing, TV demons. Either way, what sort of message is censorship really sending out? Violent, brutal murder involving puke and gardening tools is perfectly acceptable but don't even think about using God's name in vain when you're caught. I mean WHAT? What kind of moral code is that to follow? Personally, I'd rather have language like Debra Morgan's be aired consistently on prime-time TV then have movies like the ones I watched go completely uncut. Also, it's so Judeo-Christian-centric to assume that the whole of the United States (and maybe the world, I'm not certain how global TV censorship works) finds it offensive to hear cursing that involves God, Jesus, Noah and his arc, etc. If you're going to censor based on what's offensive to religious groups, then you need to do so for EVERY RELIGIOUS GROUP. You got me? Also, murder is a sin/part of the Ten Commandments too and yet you still air that edit-free on TV. Explain.

Anyway, I guess what I'm trying to say is that censorship is pretty much monkeyfighting useless. You can't censor children or adults from the scariest shit out there: real life. The news will give them gruesome murder, peers will curse in front of them, and yes, non-religious folk will let the Lord fucking have it. If it were up to me, everything would just air on TV in its original state: curses, shovels, and all. But it's not up to me (unfortunately...there'd be so much more cheese, avocados, and cats if I ruled the world) and there will continue to be misplaced censorship as long as parents keep convincing themselves that the cursing on the tube transformed their kid into Ted Bundy and not their horrible, abusive parenting. Go figure.

Children's Movies Are Way Different Now That My Brain Is Fully Formed.

2011-12-14T12:31:00.000-08:00

So you're a bit melancholy and one of your favorite childhood movies is on TV. SCORE. There is nothing more comforting than watching something that was last seen through eyes that lacked responsibility, reason, and bladder control. You snuggle up with a stuffed animal and other cozy things like tea and fire and get ready to tingle from head to toe with nostalgia. But wait...what's this? Your favorite childhood movie is about...no it can't be...NAZIS? RIDICULOUSLY SEXY MEN? CAPITALISM? THE SUFFRAGETTES?

I'm talking about The Sound of Music and Mary Poppins. If you haven't taken a history class yet, please turn back now and enjoy your ignorant youth while you can. Now that the disclaimer is out of the way, let's move on. If children were rats (I've heard a lot of good points supporting this theory), Julie Andrews would be the pied piper. I was drawn to her voice like a moth to the flame (or a rat to the pipe, I guess?). Either way, I could not get enough of Maria or Mary, the creative singing babysitters. It's truly a shame that Julie Andrews blew up her voice with it's own awesomeness and can no longer serenade the world like old times. Her failed vocal surgery and subsequent limited-octave range undoubtedly caused most, if not all, of the natural disasters since 1997, but I digress (What else is new?).

Let's start with the Sound of Music, shall we? News flash: it wasn't just about children and singing and hills being filled with things. This movie revolved around the motherfucking Nazi invasion of Austria. Rolfe, Mr. "Sixteen Going on Seventeen" (Mr. Seventeen, for short), was a fucking Nazi tattletale douchebag. The wonderful concert held at the end? Do yourself a favor and rewatch that scene (I tried to find it on YouTube

I'm too sexy for World War 2.

for you but Julie Andrews hates sharing). Every member of the Von Trapp family is singing with sheer terror in their hearts to an audience of Führer-lovers. This is because they are all being held against their will and are desperately seeking a way out that ends in Captain Von Trapp maybe not becoming Captain Von Naziface. I guess he was so awesome in other wars as a captain that the the Nazi's wanted to recruit him? I don't know. It's not really clear. However, what is clear is how fucking FINE Captain Von Trapp is. My young mind never grasped this and thought he was just super mean and treated his children like dogs (which he does, but perhaps that can all be chalked up to PTSD and crippling loneliness). Also, raising six ~~rats~~ kids on your own has got to be a Goosebumps book or something. I would probably start using whistles and scare tactics to keep them in line too. Either way, I'd hit it like the fist of God.

Moving on, there's quite a lot of drama surrounding tuppence in Mary Poppins. Should it feed the birds? Should it be invested in a bank run by Dick Van Dyke in bad makeup? Obviously not the latter because the bank is a terrifying place filled with old, grouchy men and misery. These aforementioned grouchballs try to physically pry the tuppence out of young Michael's hand. I repeat: the bankers physically assault a child in order to make a profit. I translate: the bankers care only about financial gain and very little about the welfare of human beings. Sounds familiar? I bet it does.

Not only that, the movie starts off with a wonderful song about the womens' rights movement. Have a listen:

I'm a soldier in a petticoat too, Mrs. Banks. But seriously, how fucking fierce is this bitch? I had no idea what this was even about when I was younger, let alone that there was a point in history where women weren't allowed to vote. Kudos, Mary Poppins, for being relevant to my interests regardless of what they are (dancing with exceedingly floppy cartoon penguins, disproportionate greed in the higher economic brackets, etc.) and no matter how old I am (I'm still interested in those penguins...).

This brings me to my final point, explain to your kids what is going on in these movies. Maybe times have changed and now that all children's movies are about riding adorable dragons and goofy talking ~~Owen Wilsons~~ cars, there really isn't any historical and political context for kids today to learn something from. HOWEVER, if you're plopping them down in front of a Julie Andrews' movie circa the mid-60s (and plenty other movies/time periods, I'm sure), then you owe it to them to be honest and upfront. If you leave it for them to discover on their own, you run the risk of raising a socially-unaware child who is furious with you in twenty years when they figure everything out themselves. I just wish I had someone to tell me how hot Captain Von Trapp was when I was seven.

How to Cure a Yeast Infection In the Most Delicious Way.

2011-11-01T12:30:00.000-07:00

Let me start off this post by saying no, this isn't about farming vaginal yeast to make artisanal bread and yes, you should not continue reading this if you have a twig and berries between your legs (you've been warned, gentlemen). Now, onto the yeasty goodness.

Vaginas are a bitch. One wrong move that disrupts the delicate flora, fauna, and merryweather (possibly fairies from "Sleeping Beauty" and not vaginal components), and you're off to the gynecologist to get your

What the yeast are up to in there. Science.

hoo-ha scraped and poked. If you're like me, you try everything you can yourself before you tell an adult.

Home remedies can be almost as complicated as putting on pants and actually going to the doctor. They can also be complete Whole Foods organic bullshit. You can read the testimonials all you want, but who can you really trust on the internet? Are you really going to rest ice cubes on your forehead to get rid of belly button lint just because some lady in Omaha swore by it? I did, and I still have belly button lint.

Anyway, yeast infections can be caused by the most innocuous things such as sex or antibiotics. I've heard even thinking too hard about yeast infections can cause yeast infections (turn back now). If you suspect that your vagina is being invaded by things that are better served in a winery, follow the steps below to get rid of them without even putting on pants!

Note: I am not a doctor. If you have the clap and do this, it will probably burn like the inside of Mount Doom and be completely ineffective. Check your symptoms here and only proceed with the whole listening-to-a-random-chick thing at your own risk.

1. If you're experiencing a lot of burning/soreness, I would first suggest going out to the store and getting plain yogurt (no sugar!), dipping a tampon in it, and inserting it into your junk like you normally would. The cool yogurt is very soothing and contains the natural probiotic bacteria that gets rid of yeast! Do that overnight and then proceed with the steps below. If you're just a bit itchy/not really burning a lot, proceed to step two.

Your new best friend. LYLAS, garlic!

2. Get yo'self some garlic. You want to use fresh garlic and you'll need anywhere from 2-6 cloves depending on how bad your infection is.

3. Take one clove and unwrap the paper-like layers off. Then, with a sharp knife, slice each side off very thinly so that what's exposed is the wet part (this is all very technical wording, I know). It's sort of like you're preparing a delicious Italian dish except not at all because it's going straight into your vagoo and there's no pasta involved (I mean, there can be if you start to feel peckish).

4. Take a needle and thread and poke it straight through the center of the clove. Pull it through so that both sides are about equal in length and then cut the needle off. Tie the thread in a knot around the clove as many times as you want. Just make sure it's secure because the last thing you want is to lose a clove of garlic in your vagina for eternity.

5. For the pièce de résistance, insert the clove into your snatch with the thread hanging out so that, when you're ready, you can remove it like a tampon.

Some Extra Info:

♥ It will probably burn like a bitch going in. That is complete normal albeit annoying. It will subside in about two minutes.
♥ Replace the garlic with a fresh clove every morning and every evening before bed. You don't want it getting nasty in there.
♥ The human body is a crazy bananas thing and during this process, you will taste garlic in your mouth and it will be SO FUCKING WEIRD. I actually discussed this on my first date with my boyfriend, Sam. I'm such a keeper, right?
♥ Try to refrain from sexy things until you're all cured. Unless your significant other REALLY enjoys garlic bread.
♥ This method works because garlic is a natural antifungal and antibacterial and will kill all dat yeast for you.
♥ As my friend Erol just pointed out, your vagina will also be protected from vampires. How's that for killing two birds?

Oh, and if you have some AZO Yeast tablets, Garlic tablets, and/or Acidophilus tablets (you can get all of these at your drugstore), take two of each per day. It also helps to avoid sticking sugary treats in your vagina. Good luck!

Band Review 17 Years Too Late: The Cranberries.

2011-10-11T08:28:00.000-07:00

Before you go saying "The Cranberries? Really? Weren't they popular about 300 years ago?," I suggest you stroll on over to their Wikipedia and educate yourself on the album they're going to release in 2012. THAT'S RIGHT, BITCHES. The Cranberries are back. Alright! ("Backstreet Boys" reference. Sorry).

Anyway, now that I've schooled you, let's move on. There's nothing like sliding in a few Cranberries songs onto a contemporary playlist to take it to the absolute next level and blow the toupées off of your balding friend's shiny heads. Most of you may know them by their numero uno hit "Zombie" which is unarguably one of the best songs ever recorded on the face of the planet. "Linger" and "Dreams" were also extremely popular in the 90s and admittedly, much less about bombs. Just listening to their dulcet banshee-with-musical-training-like tones conjures up images of Jordan Catalano being sexy yet difficult and Rex Manning putting the moves on girls way too young for him (the song "How" made its orgasmic appearance in the cult classic Empire Records). Just in case you're a musical fetus and have yet to experience the Cranberries in all of their glory, here are some Youtube videos of their greatest. Have a listen:

I'm not going to post the album-version of "How" because I firmly believe that you should just watch "Empire Records" if you want to hear it. They just don't make popular rock music like this anymore, do they? What would we compare the Cranberries to today? Hinder? Nickelback? Three Doors Down? I would rather die.

This karaoke picture was technically
taken during Coolio's "Gangsta's Paradise,"
but you get the point.

Most of you reading this know who they are and have probably sang one of their songs at karaoke, much to the dismay of everyone involved. Let's face it, nobody can hit those awkward yodel-y parts quite like ~~Sinéad O'Connor~~ Dolores O'Riordan. Improve your life by simply downloading their albums and listening to them all the way through. If you're feeling particularly sexual and adventurous, add "How" onto your playlist right after "Gin and Juice II," but before "Judas." Trust me, you won't regret it.

Nightmare On Bergen Street.

2011-09-28T08:40:00.000-07:00

I am officially a resident of Brooklyn, NY. Hooray! This is the third New York City borough that I've lived in, actually. Maybe I'll try out the Bronx someday. No amount of money can make me move to Staten Island though (and I'm pretty sure its existence is just a myth).

About two years ago I got this
baby for $80 on Craigslist. I'm a pro.

Sam and I have been buying all of our furniture off of Craigslist (except for our giant red IKEA Ektorp couch which, let's face it, was just an excuse to go to IKEA and stuff meatballs and lingonberries in our faces). I am a huge Craigslist enthusiast and have purchased most of my furniture from 20-somethings in the tri-state area who were moving on to bigger and better pastures. It was soon made crystal clear that Sam and I needed some furniture; we had a table-less dining room, blue IKEA tarp bags filled with books eagerly waiting to be shelved, piles of clothes that needed a home, and way more makeup than I ever use sitting on our bedroom floor. I'm kind of a huge decorating snob, so I wasn't about to just stroll into a IKEA again and buy the cheapest particle board furniture I could find. I knew how to do this. I'd done this a million times before. It was Craigslist time.

The scouring began and within a couple days, I had found a beautiful wooden dining room table for us. We went and picked it up a couple of blocks from our place and then carried it back. It was a bit heavy and we had to keep resting along the way because I have fragile, baby hands and noodles for arms. Soon after, I found a set of vintage-y purple chairs in Brooklyn Heights and we went and scooped them up. The seller ended up giving them to us for free. It was then that we were imbued with a false sense of Craigslist confidence. This was working and working WELL. We could find and buy anything on this little website.

Next came a gigantic oak bookcase. "Light and easy to carry" was how she described it on Craigslist. "Death and suffering that you can put your books on" is what she should have called it. Poor Sam carried the bookcase by himself for FIFTEEN BLOCKS while I struggled with just carrying the three shelves (remember: linguine arms). We should have seen the downhill pattern then, but when we found the perfect vanity table that was still in the box and a beautiful cherry wood armoire, we thought it would be a piece of cake. We scheduled a pick-up truck zipcar named "Tumwater" (our first zipcar was named "Mudget" and our Ikea-couch-carrying minivan was known as "Stillion").

Sam waited in the car, illegally parked, while I went into the first apartment to get the vanity. It was still in its box and very awkward to carry. Because of the aforementioned complete lack of upper body strength, I was forced to grab the lip of the cardboard box and drag it into the elevator and then out and into the lobby. I was building up a decent rhythm when I stumbled forward a bit and heard a sound from my ankle that no one should ever hear. It was somewhere in between popcorn and a chiropractic soundtrack composed by John Williams. Sam saw me struggling and came rushing in to help, but it was too late. My ankle was already screaming a big "Fuck you" to me, the vanity, and even Sam.

She looks so smug...

We dropped the vanity off at home and continued our journey to go and pick up the armoire. It retails at over $1,000, but we were getting it for $100. It was a steal. When we got to the apartment, the four-flight stair walk-up was a shock back to reality. Not even the dewy-eyed face of a happy Italian Greyhound could cheer us up. The armoire was in the living room waiting for us and it was even more beautiful in person. We pulled our britches high and, with the help of the girl selling it to us and neighbors along the way, were able to carry the 6'5" armoire down four flights of stairs and into the butt of Tumwater. "I didn't even think of how you would get it down. I had moving men bring it up and I'm not even sure how they did it!" said the girl. I wanted to sock her in the ovaries.

The worst part was over though, right? All we had to do was pull it out of the truck, roll it to our apartment door (thanks, Ethan Allen, for building your furniture on wheels), and tilt it into the doorway. We were worried about my being able to lift one end by myself, but when our neighbor saw us dragging it out of Tumwater's innards, he offered to help. We were golden.

No we were not fucking golden. The armoire did not, does not, will not fit through the front door of our stupid apartment (I love our apartment, this is just rage talking). Our neighbor was nice enough to let us bring it into his apartment and keep it there until we figure out our shit (he owns the whole brownstone), but the options are ridiculous and pretty grim. The armoire doesn't come apart (remember when I thanked you, Ethan Allen? I take it back). We either have to put it right back on Craigslist ( :'( ) or round up some people with gigantic, beefy arms and carry it from garden to garden and then into our kitchen door, where it will fit (we measured this time). It looks like we're going to try the latter option first, but HOW RIDICULOUS IS THIS?! I have to ask the neighbor between the guy who helped us and our apartment, whom I have never formally met, if I can carry my gigantic armoire through her garden. MADNESS. I would rather die.

We have nice friends though who are willing to come all the way the to Brooklyn tomorrow after work and lift shit for us (thanks Roy, Todd, and Aidan for your beefy arms and friendship), so maybe it won't be that bad. It's already pretty bad though so maybe my badness scale is really poorly calibrated at this point.

Consider this post my vow to never buy anything bigger than a chair off of Craigslist again. Also consider it a warning to always measure your effing doorways before being an impulsive, furniture-buying idiot. Craigslist, I do love you, but goddamnit are you a bitch sometimes. That all being said, is it weird to name the things you get off of Craigslist after the people you got them from? If not, we now have a table named "Jess," two chairs named "Lee 1" and "Lee 2," a vanity named "Bruce," and a fucking dick of an armoire named "Paloma."

On an entirely unrelated note: Anyone know how to get horrible scratches out of cherry wood? :(

The Devil Wears Pigtails: How I Insulted My Mom Via Handmade Greeting Cards And More!

2011-08-30T10:55:00.000-07:00

I was out at dinner a couple of months ago with my father, aunt, uncle, and boyfriend, when it dawned on me to write something about my youth. We were sitting around the table, stuffing juicy steak into our faces, when my father decided to recount "episodes" from my childhood. Some of them, albeit hilarious, were not new to me. I distinctly remember how I was moved from preschool to kindergarten because I wouldn't stop biting this one kid named Eugene. I also kept sticking markers in his ears. Why? Because his name was Eugene. I would bite him and color his ears now if I saw him. His name sucked and so did he.

Babby "Hunger Games."

ANYWAY (Sorry, Eugenes of the world), my father then told us all a story of my poor behavior which quickly nestled its way into my heart and became my favorite story ever. Even better than Pan's Labyrinth. I will retell it to my kids as a bedtime story while flipping through the "Cat in the Hat." Sure, they'll wonder what the cat and the grumpy fish have to do with anything, but their reading comprehension will be so poor that they'll just accept what I'm saying to them and move along.

BACK TO THE POINT AGAIN, I was a Girl Scout (and a ballerina too, as most girls are forced to be). Let's be honest, the best parts about being a Girl Scout were the snazzy outfit and the COOKIES (Samoas 4 lyfe, bro). Your parents had to buy a shit-ton in order to appear supportive and make you look like a baller in front of your troupe. But where did those cookies eventually go? That's right, into your face hole. What were we supposed to learn from selling those cookies anyway? Was that supposed to be a lesson in business, sales, and consumerism? Thank God I didn't waste my cookies by setting up tables in front of old-school department stores like Caldor and Bradley's and selling them to strangers like some of my more entrepreneurial counterparts. Instead, I just marched up to my mom and dad and said "BUY THEM. BUY ALL THE COOKIES. >:( ," but I digress.

While enjoying his peaceful two hour break from his demon daughter while I was at my weekly Girl Scout meeting, my dad received an unexpected phone call. He got out of his lavender-scented bubble bath, took the cucumber slices off of his eyes, and set down his black truffle caviar to retrieve the phone (this is all speculation but EDUCATED speculation). The voice on the other end was my troupe leader, but she was not her usual, poised self. "What's wrong, Mrs. Troupeface (I don't remember her real name, but this is probably really close)?"

Violin: favorite weapon number two, second only to saliva.

"Mr. Blakin? You have to come and pick up your daughter."

"Why? Is she ok? Is something wrong? Is she hurt?"

"Nothing like that. She's just...she's spitting on all the other Girl Scouts."

"Oh..."

That was probably the moment when my father lost all faith in me as a youngin'. Good thing my parents were divorced and I still had my mom to shower with love in order to garner her good will and trust. The other week, while my mom was cleaning, she found a bunch of handmade cards from me. Here they are, in what I assume to be chronological order:

I love her more than chocholte. This surely won her over.

Note the strategic use of cats to lure her into a false sense of security.

At first glance, this card seems cute and friendly, BUT LOOK AGAIN. Twisters are dangerous and destructive. As depicted by my sketches, they wreck homes and put peoples' lives in danger. This isn't a silly card from a 12 year old, this is a death threat (and could the figure running and screaming "help" be my mother? possibly...possibly...)


My mom's name is Debra and as you can tell, this card means business. She must not have been taking the cards very seriously because this one is both insulting, aesthetically accurate (my mom always matches her socks to her shirt/cardigan numbers and talks to people smothered in feces), and terrifying.

I'm sure most of you spent many a day pondering silently to yourself and your pets, "I wonder if Taylor was this much of a asshole growing up..." The answer is yes, yes I was. So, if there's one thing you can learn from this post, it's that if you have kids or plan on having kids, make sure you give them all the Girl Scout cookies they want and take their natural disaster-related death threats seriously. Speaking of natural disasters: an earthquake AND a hurricane last week? I'm sure Ryan Gosling is on it but in the meantime, I hope everyone is safe and sound.

Food Review: Arctic Zero Ice Cream.

2011-08-18T13:23:00.000-07:00

Let me start off by saying that I'm sincerely embarrassed by the state that my blog is in BUT, I do have a legitimate excuse. See, the boyfriend (you may know him as Sam "Stupidface" Gimbel) and I have been apartment hunting since the end of July and finally found a place late last week. If you've never apartment-hunted in New York...DON'T. I cannot stress this enough. I would rather spoon with Miley Cyrus or poop only in empty Poland Spring water bottles for an entire year than ever have to deal with New York apartment-hunting again. Sam and I plan on writing a team post about the experience so stay tuned.

Naturally, the past week I have used my free time to scour Craigslist for a replacement roommate in my current apartment and drink all the champagne and eat all the cheeseburgers in celebration of our new place. That, and troll the decor and DIY section of Pinterest and come up with zany ideas for the new place like a table made out of vintage rulers and mason jar chandeliers and shit. Our new place is in Park Slope, Brooklyn and it's majestic. I would give you all of the boring details on what trains are nearby (2, 3, 4, 5, A, C, B, D, G, N, R, Q, AKA ALL OF THEM) and how delicious bagels are also nearby (Bergen Bagels hollaaaaaaaaa), but I don't think that will impress any of you non-New Yorkers. Universally impressing is that there is a Target a stone's throw from our apartment and that we have our own private backyard that looks like this:


The wooden planters are being left for us but the Great Dane, unfortunately, is not.

But I digress. I also apologize for all the bullshitting, belly-aching, and bragging...and alliteration. I hope you can take a couple paragraphs solely about ice cream as compensation for sifting through my nonsense. I discovered this ice cream on Tumblr, where it said very clearly on the container that it only had 150 calories PER PINT. Being someone who is figure-conscious but also loves to eat horrible food, I was immediately turned-on (not sexually...OK a little bit sexually). I made a stop at Whole Foods one rainy day on my way home from work and picked up some of the ice cream in chocolate and strawberry. I finished them within the next couple of days, GUILT FREE, and bought some more flavors (mint chocolate cookie, coffee, and vanilla maple).

Look at all of the choices!

I must say that the strawberry, vanilla maple, and coffee were by far my favorites, but I'm also not a huge chocolate person. They don't taste like full-fat ice creams and if you expect them to well, then, you're kind of stupid. These ice creams are, again, 150 calories PER PINT. You can eat the whole thing with the same amount of trepidation as you would exercise eating a cucumber wrap. Of course some of the flavor will be lost with the calorie cut, but if you ask me, it's well worth it. The ice cream is a nice, smooth, consistency and the flavors are true to form. In my opinion, the strawberry tastes like strawberry milk and the chocolate tastes like a fudgesicle (and the snozzberries taste like snozzberries). OM NOM NOM. The ingredient list also isn't long and foreboding like some other, more processed, ice creams:

INGREDIENTS: PURIFIED WATER, WHEY PROTEIN CONCENTRATE, ORGANIC CANE SUGAR, CHICORY ROOT, GUAR GUM, XANTHAM GUM, NATURAL FLAVORS, SEA SALT, ORGANIC MONK FRUIT.

Woops! The cat is out of the bag. This ice cream is also diary-free. Lactose intolerant readers just peed their pants with joy across the globe.

But furrealz, this stuff is pretty good. That being said, it's also not the best ice cream I've ever had. That also being said, The only foods I don't like are olives and cilantro (And I'll still eat them anyway, folks. Why? Because they're edible and I'm gross). Taking those facts into account, this ice cream might be disgusting. Who're you going to trust though: your own instincts or me in a face mask eating Arctic Zero?:

The choice is yours...

I'm Fine With Immigrants, As Long As They're White!

2011-07-21T09:13:00.000-07:00

Hopefully you made it past the above title and are reading this sentence right now. For the record, I ABSOLUTELY do not feel that way. The sad thing is, a lot of people in the United States do. From talking to a handful of extremely close-minded and ignorant people in my life, the general consensus seems to be "Come on over if your skin is light and you have a sexy accent, but if you're Hispanic, Middle-Eastern, or African then you're not allowed in." Since Mexico is attached to us, and the border can be easily traversed by foot, a lot of the hubbub surrounds Mexican citizens who illegally cross the border. Canada is right above us and also attached to the United States. I can guarantee you that there is a good quantity of illegal Canadians currently residing here. But it's OK right? Because they mostly speak English (albeit North Dakota-English, don't ya knowwwww?), have been wearing flannel long before hipsters have, love bacon, and most importantly, look American. Is Avril Lavigne even a legal citizen? I say it doesn't matter and we should deport her anyway.

Some Canadian humor to lighten up this post. I was born in Montreal and am a dual citizen by the way!

I know not everyone feels this way and that there are kind, open-minded people in this country who want nothing more than to have equality. However, every time I hear someone passionately complaining about foreigners, only to rave about how hip and cool people from Europe and Australia are moments later, a part of my soul dies (it's like destroying one of my horcruxes). White people with sexy accents are foreigners too. In fact, WE'RE ALL FUCKING FOREIGNERS. News flash: unless you're Native American, you're a foreigner. Yea, put that in your pipe and fucking smoke it.

And while I can definitely admit that illegal immigrants can take a huge toll on our country economically, is killing or imprisoning them really a viable solution? I ask this because some people do believe that it is. Here's a recent email I received from my father (who isn't the epitome of rationalization and fairness, as you know):

LET ME SEE IF I GOT THIS RIGHT!!!

IF YOU CROSS THE NORTH KOREAN BORDER ILLEGALLY YOU GET 12 YEARS HARD LABOR.
IF YOU CROSS THE IRANIAN BORDER ILLEGALLY YOU ARE DETAINED INDEFINITELY.
IF YOU CROSS THE AFGHAN BORDER ILLEGALLY, YOU GET SHOT.
IF YOU CROSS THE SAUDI ARABIAN BORDER ILLEGALLY YOU WILL BE JAILED.
IF YOU CROSS THE CHINESE BORDER ILLEGALLY YOU MAY NEVER BE HEARD FROM AGAIN.
IF YOU CROSS THE VENEZUELAN BORDER ILLEGALLY YOU WILL BE BRANDED A SPY AND YOUR FATE WILL BE SEALED.
IF YOU CROSS THE CUBAN BORDER ILLEGALLY YOU WILL BE THROWN INTO POLITICAL PRISON TO ROT.
IF YOU CROSS THE U.S.BORDERILLEGALLY YOU GET
1 - A JOB,
2 - A DRIVERS LICENSE,
3 - SOCIAL SECURITY CARD,
4 - WELFARE,
5 - FOOD STAMPS,
6 - CREDIT CARDS,
7 - SUBSIDIZED RENT OR A LOAN TO BUY A HOUSE,
8 - FREE EDUCATION,
9 - FREE HEALTH CARE,
10 - A LOBBYIST IN WASHINGTON
11 - BILLIONS OF DOLLARS WORTH OF PUBLIC DOCUMENTS PRINTED IN YOUR LANGUAGE
12 - AND THE RIGHT TO CARRY YOUR COUNTRY'S FLAG WHILE YOU PROTEST THAT YOU DON'T GET ENOUGH RESPECT

I JUST WANTED TO MAKE SURE I HAD A FIRM GRASP ON THE SITUATION.

Naturally, I had to write back:

A lot of those countries listed are doing terribly economically and socially. Under normal circumstances, people like you think very poorly of countries like Iran, Afghanistan, and Saudi Arabia. Why would you suddenly want our country to be modeled after them?

Explain...

To which he responded:

Missing the point. Enter LEGALLY.

And my final retort, with some editing from Sam:

Rather than suggesting all immigrants become legalized for the betterment of our nation, your original email implied that punishments (such as death and lifetime imprisonment) are justifiable when someone is an illegal immigrant and said punishments should be carried out in the U.S.

Love,
T

I tried really hard to maintain my composure near the end. I'm not sure if my anger is still palpable. My last response was originally this:

Your original email didn't imply that at all. It probably would've been better to write/send an email laying out how taking care of illegal immigrants is poorly affecting our nation economically, socially, etc. and also include a sentence stating that for these reasons, immigrants need to become legalized. Your email was bullshit Republican propaganda which implied that said punishments that occur in those other countries are justifiable and should be carried out in the U.S. You really think KILLING people or making them "disappear" is a viable solution for illegal immigration? If so, then I feel sorry for you.

Love,
T

I think cutting down the anger percentage was a good choice on my part. He FWDed it to my two cousins in California as well. I rarely ever speak to them (which I should do more of since the two of them, my dad, and myself are the only people left in the world with our last name). I can only hope they don't feel the same way and don't think that I feel this way either. I'm almost tempted to send a response back to the original sender, the elusive Holly, who I've never even heard of. I won't.

Anyway, I guess what I'm trying to say is, why can't we just accept all legal immigrants from all nations? Perhaps we could come up with a more informative legalization movement and an easier way to help those who are living here illegally become legal. I honestly don't think people like my father are against illegal immigrants so much as they are against non-white, non-English-speaking immigrants of all kinds. Again, not everyone feels this way. Not even all right-wing Republicans feel this way. The ugly truth is that there are a lot of people who do believe this. Far too many, in fact (one is too many if you ask me). This sentiment needs to be replaced with love and acceptance. Would any of us be here today if our ancestors or even us, personally, didn't receive love and acceptance in this country at some point? No. We'd probably be illegal immigrants.

What "The Human Centipede" And My High School Choir Have In Common.

2011-07-18T11:11:00.000-07:00

Mom, if you're reading this, please turn back now.

There, I feel better now that I have that maternal disclaimer up there. I don't think I could stand to look her in the eyes after I wrote a post that references The Human Centipede. When I went to IMDB to get the link for that last sentence, I noticed the actual title is "The Human Centipede (First Sequence)." Will there be a second sequence in our future? Since Harry Potter has now officially reached its end, I guess I do need a new movie series to follow (I kid).

"The Human Centipede" centers around a creepy douchebag whose main goal in life is to haphazardly sew women together in order to make a working centipede out of them. In the movie, which I have yet to see (the one star rating on Netflix isn't really swaying me either), he somehow captures three women and is able to make his centipede-y dreams come true. Don't ask me how he is able to successfully kidnap ~~three women at once but hey, the female gender is just that helpless, amirite?~~ EDIT: three people. There was a dude involved in the ass-to-mouth fun. In order to create THC (not referring to home-brewed weed here), he sews one woman's open mouth to the other's butthole and has them kneel on their hands and knees in a single-file line. Thus, with each meal the first lady centipede link consumes, she poops it into the lady link behind her's mouth, and so on down the line. Forever. Charming, right?

Upon hearing this description, it's natural to feel an intense wave of revulsion and anxiety. Go on, take your time to say "blehhhhhhh" aloud if you haven't already.

Now that that's taken care of, I'd like to state that I don't think being the Human Centipede would be all that bad. Before you freak out and judge my personal life, let me clarify: I don't think being the first in line in THC would be all that bad. Yea, I said it. Granted, I wouldn't choose to poop into some girl who was sewn to my butthole if I had the option, BUT, if I was forced into a THC-y situation, you best believe I'd volunteer myself to be the head car. If you ask me, that's the best seat in the centipede house.

Like this, except not at the Sears portrait studio.
Picture me as the little boy in front: soaking up all the
pleasure without giving a single fuck.

At this point you're probably asking yourself, "But Taylor, what does this have to do with your high school choir?" The answer? Massage trains. Each day, before we started warming up our vocal cords, our instructor thought it would be beneficial for us to warm up our bodies. Since we were in rows, we would start by turning to the person to our right and massaging their neck and shoulders. Then, we would turn the opposite way and massage the person to our left. This was to ensure that everyone both received and gave a massage at some point. If we didn't change direction, there would be someone in the front who was getting the wonderful pleasure of a tension-reducing massage without having to do any massaging themselves. This, my loyal readers, is the philosophy behind choosing to be the first centipede link. However, instead of giving the person behind me a mouthful of human shit, I was receiving a wonderful massage from a 16 year old peer.

So, if you're ever kidnapped with two of your besties and told that you're going to be sewn ass-to-mouth-to-ass-to-mouth, don't freak out. If you remember what you learned from high school choir massage trains (or girl scout camp massage trains or interpretative dance class massage trains...) and make your way to the front of the line, the future may be that much ~~less like 2 girls 1 cup~~ brighter for you.

How To Lose 60 Pounds Like Now.

2011-07-12T09:21:00.000-07:00

Let me start this off by saying that I'm not a doctor (although I do like limping, being grumpy, and pretending to be House sometimes). I am also not a chef or a personal trainer. If you don't want to take weight loss advice from me, then don't. If you want to listen to advice from a reputable source, turn away now. I am only writing about what worked for me personally and may, very well, work for you too. Being heavier or overweight does not an unhealthy person make, BUT if you feel sluggish, lethargic, and just generally not healthy, like I did before I lost the weight, then it's probably time for a change.

I used to eat shit. Not literally, because that's gross. I mean I used to eat food that was horrible for me. I didn't skimp on the portions either, let me tell you. I didn't lift a pinky finger to work it off via exercise either. I was literally the perfect example of an unhealthy person. I had tried a million times in my life to go on a diet and lose the weight as fast as possible, but nothing ever stuck (for obvious reasons). I tried Atkins, South Beach, Slim Fast, Weight Watchers, Hoodia spray (yes, this is real life), and God knows what else. I was around 140 lbs throughout high school (and at 5'7", that's right where I needed to be). After freshmen year of high school finished, I steadily gained a couple pounds as each year went by. I ballooned even more in college (more like freshmen 40 for me) and, by the time I graduated NYU in 2009, I was 196 lbs. The day I stepped on the scale and saw that I was 4 lbs away from being 200 lbs, heavier than my FATHER, was the day I decided to change my life.

See the wording I used up there? I'm not talking about a temporary diet to get rid of all the weight only to have me gain it back a couple of months later. I was talking about a full-blown, thought-out, lifestyle overhaul. Here's some advice on how to eat and get your exercise on if you want to do what I did:

Fewd:

♥ Use this website to track your daily calorie intake and your daily activity output. Make a profile based on your height, weight, age, sex, desired weight goal, desired weight goal date, and activity level. The website will then give you a daily net calorie intake that you should meet in order to meet your goals. Mine is somewhere around 1,200 so I just try to eat that amount per day or, eat more than that amount, and then exercise off the difference. It's basic math! There are about 3,500 calories in a pound. If your calorie intake to maintain your current weight is 2,500, and you have a net calorie intake of 1,500 per day, you should lose a pound in three and a half days (this isn't always exact though, given factors like bloating, water-weight, and digestion).
♥ Eat TONS of vegetables and fruits. Mountains of them.
♥ Eat protein and carbs too, but be careful. Only eat lean meats (shrimp is VERY low-calorie and high-protein, for example) and complex/whole wheat carbs (no white bread, white pasta, etc.)
♥ Snack like a mofo, but snack smart. Berries, nuts, cups of green tea, celery, baby carrots, and pretzel twists are all your friend. You can even eat things like goldfish crackers but just make sure you dish yourself out a serving size (for example: there are about 55 goldfish in a serving so, dish out 55 exactly, then put the rest away and whatever you do, DO NOT GET MORE).
♥ Portion control! Eat all of the lower-calorie things on your plate first (soup, salad, veggies, etc.). This will help you get full and consume less calories than you normally would. Also try to leave some on your plate. If you were conditioned by your family to eat ALL THE THINGS (like I was), this can be hard. Don't forget to pay attention to serving size. Boxes of mac n' cheese look healthy at first glance with only 250 or so calories, but then you notice that is for each serving and there are 2.5-3 servings per box. That whole box of mac n' cheese is near 700 calories! Be careful of sneaky food. Ice cream is sneaky with serving size too, but you shouldn't be eating that anyway (sorbet or frozen yogurt is your BFF).
♥ I'm lazy and a horrible cook, so I bought/buy a lot of frozen/pre-made meals. As always, be wary of the calorie content. Another thing to pay attention to is the sodium. Sometimes, it can be through the roof on healthier frozen meals like Lean Cuisine because they want to try to add some flavor without adding the calories. As a rule, I like Amy's brand foods for pre-made purposes and have found that their meals are generally better calorie, ingredient, and sodium-wise than other leading brands.
♥ Fat-free, low-fat, sugar-free, low-calorie, and zero calories are key words to look for when shopping for or ordering food. Look for these options on all the food you buy. They help save random calories and usually don't compromise taste/flavor TOO much. Although you shouldn't drink soda, I can't help myself because I love the fizzy garbage. If you're like me, go for the diet option. You'll be consuming 0 calories rather than about 100 calories per 8 oz glass (not to mention the out-of-control amount of sugar). Do yourself a favor and don't drink your calories. It's a waste!
♥ The following foods, in moderation, are always on my grocery list. They are amazing for you and should be your go-to food choices: whole wheat pita bread, hummus, Dreamfields' whole wheat pasta, low-sodium pasta sauce, whole wheat, low-carb bread (Weight Watchers makes a decent one) OR whole wheat sandwich thins (Arnold's and Pepperidge Farm make them and it's only 100 calories for two slices of bread), celery, cucumbers, berries, bananas, fat-free greek yogurt (flavored or unflavored), Laughing Cow cheese wedges, light Babybel cheese wheels, pickles (I LOVE pickles), any lean meats (chicken, shrimp, turkey, tuna, etc.) to grill or use as cold cuts in sammiches, brussel sprouts (cook on a baking sheet with a bit of olive oil, salt, and pepper at 400 degrees for 35-40 minutes or until golden and crispy on the outside), quinoa, chicken sausage (comes in many flavors), sugar-free JELL-O, Boca or Morningstar veggie burgers and "Chik'n" patties (not the BEST ever for you, but low-calorie and filled with protein), Skinny Cow ice cream bars, and much more!
♥ All of the above being said, LIVE A LITTLE. If you force yourself to quit everything cold turkey and never eat the things you love, you will end up binging and ruining your new lifestyle. If you want a cheeseburger, have it. If you want a piece of pizza, have it (and savor it!). Having something when you really want it will prevent you from going apeshit and ordering a whole pie, alone one night, and eating the entire thing to the face. Also, let yourself have a taste of a friend's less-healthy meal when you go out to eat. You'll still get to try the higher-calorie flavors that you love without the effects and possible weight gain of eating something unhealthy.

Essercise:

♥ I HATE working out, but it must be done. Deal with it.
♥ If you're heavier and not used to working out (and you can afford it), the Wii Fit is an amazing way to get started. I used the Wii Fit for the first four months of my life overhaul. The hula hoop workout will change your life (and you'll look SO STUPID doing it).
♥ After that, I needed something higher-impact, so I started running. In the beginning, it will be very hard and you'll walk a good chunk of the way. Force yourself to run a little bit further each day. Eventually, you'll be able to run about four miles (or more!) every day and it's an amazing workout.
♥ To switch it up, I would sometimes run up and down all of the flights of stairs in my apartment building for about 30 minutes. Running stairs REALLY works you out. Trust me.
♥ When winter hit, I needed something to do indoors so that I didn't freeze my ass off running. Jillian Michaels' 30-Day Shred is an amazing workout for someone who needs something high-impact but doesn't have a lot of time. It is only 30 or so minutes long but it fucks. your. shit. up.
♥ Weight-training, free-dancing, and jump-roping are good ways to get a workout without having a set "routine" and also to switch up your current workout.

Results:

Before (early 2009): 196 lbs

After (late 2010): 136 lbs

I'm a size 6 in jeans now. I used to be a size 16! I'm still trying to lose a bit of weight nowadays, but the important part is that I'm finally at a healthy weight for my height and I have infinitely more energy. I partially wrote this post to remember where I came from and hopefully get myself back on track health-wise. But, for the most part, I wrote it to help other people that are like 2009 Taylor get healthy on their own terms and change their life for the better. As always, If you have anything weight loss-related that you'd like to ask me or need clarification on (again, I am not a doctor or a specialist and can only give my opinion and advice based on my journey) hit me up in the comments or here.

A Post For the Mens.

2011-07-07T18:04:00.000-07:00

Last night, at an outing with my work team, one of my co-workers told me that although he is not my blog's number one target group, he does read it and like it. That made the ol' noodle start storming with the possibilities of who/what my target group consists of: Avocados? Buffy? Ex-Sephora employees? My mom? Charmander? I couldn't conceive of a group of people that my blog would be specifically catered to, so I asked my co-worker what target group he was referring to. "Chicks," he said.

Now, although I like to think that I have a strong, devoted, hunky, male fan-base that isn't just my boyfriend, Sam, I am now entertaining the possibility that I could be wrong. So, without further ado, here is a post that's not about makeup, homemade sea salt hair spray, or gynecologists (cervix goblins) and is, instead, about the things that are really important in a man's world.

Ribs

Grabbing a rib from a giant pile on a plate and chomping the meat straight from the bone makes you feel like a strong, powerful lion (except lions rarely use plates). Ribs are delicious and lots of animals have edible ones. Whether baby back, short, spare, or Adam's, ribs are always a delicious, manly treat. Without counting the wheel and fire, ribs are probably one of the most well-known caveman accessories (talking out of my ass at about 80 knots here [I'm not sure why I'm on a boat either]). Fact: Men can perform surgery on themselves, breaking off their own ribs which will then generate into a human woman.

Tom Selleck's Mustache


Need I say more?

Blowing Up Old Spice Headquarters

Picture it: Explosions that smell like pine and musk, people running for cover from "Playmaker"-scented smoke clouds and fire, you standing there, covered in soot and sweat, surrounded by dynamite. Albeit a bit on the dangerous and life-threatening side, blowing up Old Spice headquarters would surely earn you a spot in the Manliness Hall of Fame (which I just made up). You'll probably be arrested afterwards but hey, that's the risk REAL men take.

Hard Liquor Just

No juice. No soda. No tonic water. No vermouth. No. Fucking. Ice. I'm not talking about throwing it back in a little, baby 1 oz glass either. Ordering scotch, whiskey, bourbon, moonshine, or anything else that will burn like turpentine going down without anything to dull down the potency is the way to drink like a fucking boss. I did this once in the comfort of my own home and was immediately mistaken by one of my roommates as an alcoholic, male intruder. Two sips later and I stopped menstruating.

Owning Something That Could Kill People

Don't listen to your friends when they tell you that buying a gun, cobra, black widow spider, or machete is a bad/dangerous idea. If you own something that could kill someone, you call the shots. Why? Because if someone else tries to, you could murder them. A man doesn't sit back and let others steer the boat (the one I was on before, I guess?). He takes the wheel (paddle?) into his own hands and tells everyone else what to do. What better way to insure that this happens than carting around toxic pets or lethal weapons? I can't think of any.

Sweat

Picture it glistening on gigantic, hairy pecs. Go on, do it. Sweat is where it's at if you're a man. Fact: Most men actually conserve their own sweat and use it as bathwater biweekly. Pro-Taylor Tip: Deodorant isn't just for the underarms. Smear that shit everywhere if you sweat like a beast or just rub it on your forehead to prevent nasty, greasy, sweat-drenched bangs. If you're a man, ignore the above tip. Just sweat all over the place and don't give a single fuck.

Bear-Skin Rugs

So, you have your plate of ribs, you're Tom Selleck, you just blew up the Old Spice headquarters, you're drinking scotch in a fancy glass, you have an uzi and a box jellyfish at your disposal, and you're all hot and sweaty. So, what are you lounging on? You bet your ass you're lounging on a bear-skin rug. Nothing says "I'm a fucking man" like being in a complete state of relaxation on the hide of a dead carnivore. The only think better and more suited to the comfort of a true man would be if velociraptor-skin rugs were available. I sense a business venture!

So, now that I've captured the attention of men everywhere with this list and have about a zillion new male followers, I'd like to break the news to you that this list was complete bullshit. I have a vagina and I love all of the things on this list. In fact, there's probably nothing on this earth I wouldn't give up to have Tom Selleck's mustache on my face and a velociraptor-skin rug to stretch out my stems on. A couple makeup posts here and there does not a chick blog make. Let this be a lesson to you all!

Some of My Favorite Things.

2011-07-06T09:56:00.000-07:00

Normally, I'm a big grumpypuss (grumpipuss? grumpy-puss?) and it takes quite a lot to lift my spirits. Despite that, there are a handful of small things that will turn my day completely around or at least force a temporary smile onto my face. These things are as follows:

♥ Walking by an intensely air-conditioned store in the summer and feeling the cold air rush over me for just a second.
♥ Free food at a restaurant or store for absolutely no reason.
♥ When my favorite song EVER randomly comes on Pandora (It's not Colors of the Wind by Pocahontas. I SWEAR).
♥ Eating the tip/first bit of pizza, pie, and cake and the middle/last bite (filled with all the toppings and sauces) of a sandwich or burger.
♥ Finally getting in bed after cleaning all the things and looking around at a spotless room.
♥ Getting a hand-written letter from somebody in the mail! It rarely happens and brings me back to 1865...when I wasn't alive.

Hellooooooo!

♥ Buffy the Vampire Slayer marathons on Logo and the Twilight Zone marathons on Sci-Fi.
♥ Putting on face masks, kicking back, feeling like Mrs. Doubtfire (but hotter, I hope), grabbing a snack, and watching some TV.
♥ When my antisocial cat, Shadow, grooms the back of my hand and therefore proves she actually loves me.
♥ SAM.
♥ Seeing a good Before & After (I'm looking at you, Promise Phan).
♥ Three-way calling two of my best friends like we're 14 again. Except now that we're older, we don't pretend that one of us isn't there while the other asks the unsuspecting friend leading questions about the quiet spy friend.
♥ This is a rare one, but when I take a picture with someone, look at it afterwards, and I actually look nice instead of like this.
♥ My rabbit starting to recognize me as the "treat-bearer" and following me everywhere. This, at a quick glance, looks and feels like love, devotion, and friendship.
♥ Playing a word for a ridiculous, obscene amount of points in Word Feud and practically sealing the game for myself.

That's about it. Other than the things on that list, there's really nothing that can make this Debbie Downer happy (unless calorie-free cheeseburgers are invented). >:(

DISCLAIMER: All of that grumpy business is actually not true at all. I'm generally pleased and easy-to-please unless you change plans last minute on me, break/lose something of mine, are Natalie Portman, are against abortion/women's rights/equality/evolution/gay marriage, kill kittens, etc.

Looking Back On Being An Embarrassing Daughter.

2011-07-01T12:52:00.000-07:00

I first heard the word "testicle" from Ace Ventura: Pet Detective. He exclaims "HOLY TESTICLE TUESDAY!" in response to the sexually-ambiguous Einhorn/Finkle entering a room. A couple of days later, after my dad hit a bump while pulling into an Exxon gas station, I shouted "HOLY TESTICLE TUESDAY!" as loud as I could from the passenger seat. I was seven years old.

This was one of about a hundred times that, looking back into my childhood, I have intensely embarrassed myself in front of my parents. Other awesome moments include listening to songs like If You Want It To Be Good Girl (Get Yourself A Bad Boy) by The Backstreet Boys and Give It To You by Jordan Knight alone in the car with my father. If you don't know what's wrong with this, please reference the below lyrics. I have taken the liberty to bold the important parts for you:

If You Want It To Be Good Girl (Get Yourself A Bad Boy
by the Backstreet Boys

If you want it to be wild, gotta know just who to dial baby (And that's me).
If you really like it hot get someone who hits the spot, Honey (oh yes).

Bridge

I found this when I Google-imaged "Backstreet Boys." Jury is still
out on whether or not it's real but either way, I LOVE IT.

And if you wanna get it done then you gotta get the one, the one who's got it goin' on.

Refrain
If you wanna make it last gotta know just who to ask.
Baby's gotta be the best (and that's me).

Chorus
If you want it to be good girl get yourself a... bad boy.
If you really want it good girl get yourself a... bad boy.
Get it like it could be (would be), yeah like it should be.
If you want it to be good girl get yourself a...bad boy.

If you like it innovative better get someone creative, Honey (yes).
And if you want it to be jammin' gotta get somebody slammin', Baby (oh yes).

Now listen:
These are things your mama shouldn't know.
These are things I really wanna show.
These are things I wanna show you how.
So won't you let me show you right now.
Oohh baby...

Give It To You
by Jordan Knight

You say its been too long since you had some.
You say I turn you on, like a fire that's burning inside.
You think that I'm the one you see in your dreams.
I know what you mean yeah.

Refrain 1
It's creepin' around in your head: me holding you down in my bed.
You don't have to say a word.
I'm convinced you want this.

Chorus
Baby you know I can give it to you.
I can't deny you do it right.
Just let me know and I'll give it to you.
Just show me where, I'll take you there.

"Stingy" huh? Is he referring to how tight he is with money
or how the gonorrhea is making his balls burn.

Baby you know that I'll give it to you.
Your body needs a man like me.
Anything goes when I give it to you.
You know without a doubt, I'll turn you out.
I'll give it to you.
The feeling is fine, giving you everything of mine.

I'm the place to be and soon, you'll see.
I don't care who leads, as long as we move horizontally.
Anyone can make you sweat, but I, can keep you wet.

Refrain 2
It's creepin' around in my head: me holding you down in my bed.
You don't have to say a word.
Just relax, I'll do the work.
I can't wait to give you some.
I'm convinced you need one.

I want to satisfy your every wish and mine, baby.
I know just what you need, (you need) to get you off.
No one could ever do you like I do you right baby.
There's nothing we can't do...
The feeling is fine giving you everything of mine.

Here I am, 12/13 years old, having NO CLUE what any of those lyrics meant, rocking my shit to these songs with my father sitting right next to me, and he is listening to every single, overly sexual innuendo-ed word. When I think about it too much, it feels like my butt is trying to migrate north and eat my lower jaw...whatever that means. It feels like when you accidentally scream "HOLY TESTICLE TUESDAY!" in the car with your father at age seven and you have to sit there and listen, unexpectedly, to your father describe man balls in graphic detail for 30 minutes.

If you haven't noticed yet, my father had primary custody of me so most of these stories involve him. Another awkward habit of mine was always leaving the room when Jack and Sally kissed at the end of The Nightmare Before Christmas. I did this every single time my dad and I watched the movie together and claimed that I just had to use the bathroom. Truth is, I couldn't handle watching anybody kiss in front of my father from ages 3-16, regardless of if they were made entirely out of clay or not. Watching a movie that I had never seen before with my father during those 13 years was always a huge gamble; Would someone kiss someone else? Would the F-bomb be dropped? Would a boob be palmed? I never knew and so, I went to the bathroom very frequently when any sort of heightened emotion was expressed in order to avoid the aforementioned. This might be why I have trouble expressing emotion today, come to think of it, but more on my fragile psyche at a later date!

For now, I'm heading out of work early for July 4th weekend. I NEVER get out of work early. Wrapping up this post in a graceful and polite manner is infinitely less important than my leaving this office right the fuck now to go home and eat my weight in Trader Joe's Edamame Hummus. Peace and Happy Independence Day to all my fellow, stupid Americans! Eat all the cheeseburgers you can fit in your mouth.

Advice From a Bunny-Owner: Why No One Should Ever Own a Bunny.

2011-06-30T15:13:00.000-07:00

Not my bunny, but a bunny nonetheless.

About two years ago, I decided on a whim that I would get a bunny. They're extremely cute and I had whimsical premonitions of walking him in Central Park, on a leash, wearing a floral dress (me, not the bunny). I did a teensy bit of research, at least enough to know how to properly care for one, and then I scoured Craigslist for a couple months looking for an all-white bun with black eyeliner (the breed is called a Hotot). Finally, an extremely enthusiastic bunny lady with at least 20 or so buns in her New York City apartment, posted a picture of a six month old, neutered, white-with-black-eyeliner, blue-eyed boy bunny. He had to be mine.

Don't get me wrong, I would never give House up now that I have him. He's going to be with me until he decides to part this realm for the great beyond. In the beginning, the cold, unfeeling, robotic, unblinking, fish-like eyes and complete lack of a affection were a bit jarring. But now, especially since I've found out which treats he goes apeshit for (any flavor of these Smaks cookies and Lacinato "dinosaur" kale), we've sort of gotten used to being around each other. He never bites me, he's pretty quiet, and he keeps to himself. Also, he's pretty fucking cute. I mean, he is a bunny rabbit afterall. However, when he does finally reach the end of the line, I will never EVER get another rabbit again. Here's why:

Poop...Everywhere

Ok ok, all animals poop a lot (except my man, the sloth!), but rabbits are OUT OF CONTROL. They poop about ten BB gun pellet-esque poops every minute. Most bunnies can be litter-trained (House is), which definitely makes cleaning up these little things a lot easier. It does not, however, change the fact that the sheer volume of pewps is absolutely overwhelming. Within about five minutes of cleaning House's cage, there is already a one-inch layer of doodie in his litter box. As if that wasn't enough, most rabbits like to leave little surprise gift poops wherever they go. I let House out of his cage and around my room to hop about freely and no, he is not an exception to the surprise gift poops rule.

Midnight Flubber

Did you guys see the movie Flubber with Robin Williams when you were a kid? If not, the movie Flubber is about an amorphous, mischievous, transparent, green glob of goo (wassup, alliteration?) that scientist, Robin Williams, creates in order to win back a girl...or something? Anyway, the most important fact to retain is that Flubber is a portmanteau of "flying" and "rubber." If let go in a room, Flubber will bounce from wall to wall, ricocheting off of everything and smashing all of your earthly possessions. Another vocabulary word to remember in this section is "binky." Binkying is what happens to a rabbit when they are ecstatic. Here is what binkying looks like:

It's a pretty spastic phenomenon (om nom nom) and almost looks like their back legs are trying to run away from the rest of their body. Why House would be OVER-THE-MOON happy in the dead of night in his cage sleeping in his own feces is unknown to me, but if your bunny is anything like mine, he will binky at midnight while trapped in his cage. What's wrong with this you ask? When in a confined space and very happy, bunnies ARE Flubber. House ricochets off of the cage bars and floor making loud banging and thumping noises until his unstoppable glee subsides.

Butt Juice

Like most animals, bunnies have anal scent glands that need cleaning. Once a month, I have to go in with a damp Q-Tip, spread what I GUESS are his butt cheeks, and swab some nasty shit out of his anal glands. This graphic cartoon from binkybunny.com describes where I have to perform this graceful routine. The little slits marked "anal scent glands" are my Q-Tips' target. If I didn't grow a set and take care of this, his butt would get all backed up and possibly explode. That, or I'd have to take him into an exotic veterinarian (not exotic as in exotic dancer but exotic as in not cats and dogs) every month and have him or her clean them and pay for it with an internal organ. It definitely makes the process more enjoyable to have your bunny kick you with his back feet as hard as he can while you poke his butt with your fingers. I assure you.

Pica 4Eva

If you don't know what Pica is, you can get yourself educated here. Pica usually refers to people who eat inedible things/inanimate objects, but for the purpose of this post, I'm using it to describe bunnies. The first day I got House, I made the mistake of turning my back for .2 seconds. When i turned back around, he was just finishing eating an ear bud. In those .2 seconds, House had eaten my roommate's pair of headphones WHOLE. Since then, he has managed to eat plants, closet doors, rugs, his own poop, backpack zippers, and probably a nibble or two out of Shadow the cat's feet. When I'm not using my removable window screens, I have to put them up as barriers all over my room just to keep him from eating anything on the floor when he's out of his cage. The days of wires and clothes on the floor are no longer. I once watched him take a quick, test chomp of a wire right in front of my eyes and go flying 14 feet in the air from the electric shock. He almost turned from my pet to my meal that day.

It might be hard to tell from this post, but I really do love House. He's my babby bunny and as far as I'm concerned, he can eat all the headphones he wants. But when he's gone, the only rabbit I'll be having in my house is a chocolate one.

Why You Shouldn't Butter a Bagel While Driving.

2011-06-27T12:40:00.000-07:00

So in between getting my cervix biopsied (yum) and taking a business trip to the hot, steamy, armpit-esque Florida (sorry Floridians, but your state is not hair-friendly with its consistent 99.9% humidity), I haven't been able to update in a while. Sorry about that. I thought I'd mark my return to trolling the bowels of the internet with an anecdote about my childhood. Shall we?

Every summer since I can remember, my mom and I drove up to Quebec, Canada to visit my aunt and uncle (the ones who own the ostrich farm). It takes about nine hours to get there, but with my mom speeding like a maniac and getting at least one ticket each way, it took about seven or eight hours. On one particular trip, when I was about six years old, my mom decided to pack a dozen bagels and a big tub of butter so that we wouldn't have to stop for food and could get to our destination faster (What kind of behavior is that?). Since she was trying to save money on gas, my mom refused to use the AC for as long as she could stand it. Instead, we drove with the windows wide open on the highway so that we didn't melt like the Wicked Witch of the West. Unfortunately, that didn't stop the giant tub of butter from melting.

About halfway through our trip, I decided I was starving. My mom, not wanting to pull the car over and therefore "lose time," decided she would butter my bagel (this is not a sexual euphemism) while she drove. She reached into the back to grab the melted tub of butter, which was nestled in a pile of my bedding (we had to bring extra pillows and blankets to my aunt's house). After procuring the tub and stabilizing it on her lap, she reached back again to grab a bagel and a butter knife. Then, without taking her hands off of the wheel and instead, taking her eyes off of the road, my mother proceeded to butter a bagel for me while cruising up the highway.

As you can imagine, within about five seconds, we were skidding off the road at 70+ miles per hour and doing a life-threatening donut on the shoulder of the highway. The centripetal force of the car spinning in tight circles caused the entire contents of the butter tub to be dumped on my face. By the time the car finally stopped spinning, I was hysterically crying, drenched in liquid butter, and resembled a baby lobster at the mercy of Paula Deen.

Some people stopped to help us out, but overall, everything went better than expected. The car had a dent in the door from the sign post we had swerved into, but was otherwise in perfect, working condition. I wouldn't let my mom clean me up with my pillowcases because I didn't want to get them dirty, to which she responded, "Taylor Paige, you are covered. In. Liquid. Butter." The evidence she presented was irrefutable and I let her clean me off with my bedding while weeping full-force.

On the way back home from Canada, we picked up more bagels and butter for the way home. This time, the AC was on full blast and when I whined for a bagel, my mom pulled over to butter it.

Product Review: Lush's Ultrabalm.

2011-06-21T09:37:00.000-07:00

I don't know why this post and my last post have both been so review-y. Maybe I'm under the illusion that people care about my opinions. Either way, I might review more shit in the future so hopefully these types of posts are tolerable.

I went to Sephora the other day to buy new makeup because I finally realized that the MAC Studio Fix Liquid Foundation I was wearing was a couple shades too dark and extremely cakey. I was expecting to go into Sephora, grab something by Make Up For Ever, and bounce (especially since I'm extremely awkward and avoid the sales associates like the plague). However, a very friendly Sephora employee, named Adrianne, approached me while I was trying to shade match myself for Make Up For Ever Duo Mat Powder Foundation and decided to go above and beyond the call of duty (haha doodie). After consulting with me about my skin type, she removed all of my makeup (she could tell I was really uncomfortable doing that, but was very supportive and told me it would help her find the best makeup for me), and told me she was going to try the Laura Mercier Oil-Free Tinted Moisturizer on my face. I had heard wonderful things about this product before and had actually considered getting it, so I was pumped. After she put some on with a pretty, fluffy brush that I ended up buying (sucker...) and added some Benefit Boi-ing Concealer, my skin tone was even and all of my small imperfections were covered up completely and naturally. I have very oily skin, so I have to wear a powder on top of the tinted foundation to set it so it doesn't slip off of my face, but other than that, it is absolutely perfect for me. And my face finally matches my neck!

Anyway, I kind of told you that little story so that I could segue into my next story. While she was taking off and putting on my makeup, the sales associate noticed that the area around my mouth, under my nose, and around my eyes was very dry and almost flaky/scaly. This was completely new territory for me because I have always had the oiliest skin ever and have never once had to deal with dry patches. I had thought that the flakiness was due to the cakey MAC foundation, but it was actually super dry skin! I was sent home with some Boscia exfoliator and a sample moisturizer to remedy my meth face. Unfortunately, despite the exfoliator and moisturizer making the rest of my skin radiant and smooth, the aforementioned areas were still dry and flaky. I was at a loss.

I started brainstorming yesterday in the late afternoon and remembered how I've heard a lot of people say Vaseline really helps them get rid of super-dry patches of skin. I didn't want to buy anymore things in case they didn't work so I thought a bit harder. Then, I remember that I had bought a mini tin of Lush's Ultrabalm from a very convincing sales lady (Lush sales people are simultaneously the best and the worst) about two months earlier. The mini tin was only $2 and I could bring it back in, empty, for 10% off (or something similar) the regular-sized Ultrabalm. Before bed last night, I slathered the balm on my upper-lip/under-nose area and all around my eyes.

This morning I woke up with perfectly smooth, flake-free skin. It was that simple and only took one night and $2 to fix. When I first bought Ultrabalm, it was described to me as "Lush's version of Vaseline, but without all of the crap in it and BETTER." That's exactly what it is. With an ingredient list solely of organic Jojoba oil, Candelilla wax, and Rose Wax, this is a must have for anybody with dry skin or anyone who has oily skin and discovers that their mouth is freakishly dry one day. The full size is $12.95 and a little bit goes a long way. Why are you still reading my post? GO BUY THIS SHIT.

Artist Review: Adele.

2011-06-20T10:25:00.000-07:00

I'm really just making this post because I have absolutely no idea what to write about and just want a platform where I can rave like a banshee about Adele. Before this, I spent about ten minutes trying to write a post combining science and sandwiches, but then I realized that I had no idea what I was talking about and am just really hungry/wanted to include HD pictures of sandwiches in a post. To fulfill the latter desire:


Get in mah bellay!

Now that I've been placated, let's talk about Adele. I have no idea where she came from, but it seems like I blinked my eyes and her complete discography was all over the radio and everyone and their mom knew who she was. Prior to finding the spotlight, Adele was hurt bad. I mean real bad. That, or she is extremely creative and imaginative because almost every song's message is "I love you but ow, my heart" or "You really cut me deep and now I'm going to fuck up your shit." Her voice is like an angel's wet willie and I find myself listening to her albums on repeat. I also find myself singing with her, full blast and pants-less, in my room at 1:00am on a Sunday night (Monday morning?). But that's a different story. Her single, Rolling In The Deep, sounds like Etta James or Tina Turner but BETTER (yea, I said it). I have yet to have a negative reaction to my semi-fascist force-people-to-sit-down-and-listen-to-Adele sessions.

On top of all her mad harmonious skillz, Adele is just an awesome person. She is a curvier lady who does not give a single fuck about the beauty standards of society and the pressure that is put on her in the music industry to look a certain way. Below are some of Adele's most fabulous, body-positive quotes:

FUCK. YES. Reading stuff like this makes me feel incredibly empowered as woman who constantly struggles with loving her body (don't we all?). To stand up and say stuff like this, without shaming the other women who choose to go a different, more provacative, route, takes a lot of cajones and cerebros (that's balls and brains for you non-Spanish speakers [I don't speak Spanish either. I had to ask Sam, which led to me wondering if Spanish zombies moan "Cerebrossssssss..."]). Anyway, now I'm distracted by zombie thoughts and by how many parentheses are in the previous sentence. Punctuation, y u make me sad? Moving forward, Adele is a positive role model for women everywhere to learn to love themselves, respect other women, and do what's right and comfortable for them without judging and putting down others. Behind those angelic wet willies is a woman worth listening to, both with accompaniment and without.

I think that concludes this installment of "Taylor's Unfocused And Grammatically Offensive Tirades," or as you like to call it, "http://majorstranger.blogspot.com/." To sum up everything that's been discussed, here is a picture of Adele eating a sandwich (burgers are sandwiches, right?):

A-A-A-A-A-Alcohol.

2011-06-17T12:38:00.000-07:00

After a recent conversation over dinner with my long-time friend Emily, I decided to right a post revolving around most 20-something's favorite past time: dranking. Don't get me wrong, I love the sizzurp (Am I using that wrong? Does sizzurp have to contain cough syrup?), I just think it's pretty hilarious how we spend most of our leisure time consuming something that we absolutely hate the taste of. I know what you're thinking, "But Taylor, I love beer. I'm a beer connoisseur." No, you're not. And for that matter, you're not a wine connoisseur either. You might have grown to tolerate the taste or even somewhat enjoy it through some sort of weird, semi-Pavlovian response (beer leads to fun drunk times, you like fun drunk times, therefore you now like beer). The truth is, when you put alcohol up against caramel apple lollipops, bacon cheeseburgers, or extra crispy french fries, which tastes better? Not the damn alcohol.

Think about it: we're constantly mixing booze with other things in order to make it taste less like a bitter, unwashed armpit. The only reason you put a lot of alcohol in your drink, or get excited at the bar when the drink is strong, is because you want to get fucked up. If you're like me, your father used to like to play tricks

Normal reaction to alcohol

on you involving alcohol when you were a wee babby; waiting for you to ask for a sip of his "Sprite" which he knew was gin and tonic. Remember that spicy, carbonated applejuice? That Diet Coke that tasted like bubbly nailpolish remover? That pitcher of what seemed like water in the fridge that you chugged when you were ten and then exclaimed, "WHY IS THERE GASOLINE IN THE FRIDGE?" (oddly specific)? These experiences were your first foray into drinking alcohol and man, they were brutal. Nothing much has changed since then, and the taste of alcohol certainly hasn't. What's changed is you. You now know the results of muscling down that fakey water pitcher is being able to appreciate techno music on a deeper, more wiggly level rather than standing there with your arms crossed, looking unimpressed. You are now old enough to recognize the effect that alcohol has on you and so you tolerate the fact that is tastes like spermicidal lubricant in order to get that tipsy buzz we all know and love.

You can lie about it all you want. You can tell the world your favorite drink ever is a greyhound or a car bomb. But the truth is, we all know it's chocolate milk or peppermint tea. Why? Because they taste yummy! We don't need to mix them with other things in order for them to classify as passable to our palates or put them in a 1 ounce glass and shoot them directly to the backs of our throats before our taste buds even know what's happening. Next time you go to a restaurant and someone wants to order a super-fancy bottle of wine, think about it first. It's going to taste like vinegar-soaked gym socks no matter how much it costs or what year it was made in. Unless someone else is paying, save yourself the money and buy a shitty bottle. This way, you don't have pretend it tastes superior to the other, less expensive, wine you've tried when you're really thinking "Yep! This still tastes like rotten grapes and fear!" You can scowl and make all the blehhreherghe faces you usually suppress while drinking and blame it on the fact that the wine you ordered is sub par.

All that being said, I'm getting my drank on tonight.

Be Nice.

2011-06-16T11:46:00.000-07:00

I remember being out with some friends a couple of weeks ago when we passed a young couple walking the opposite way on the sidewalk. As we passed them, they both smiled at all of us and said "You all have a wonderful night!" It was completely unprovoked and entirely refreshing in a city filled with rushing, over-crowded, scowly faces. As a group, we decided to pay those well wishes forward to the next person we saw. About a block up, we found an 300+ pound man alone on a stoop, sporting the grumpiest face I have ever seen. Simultaneously, we all shouted "You have a wonderful night!" to him. His face lit up like the 4th of July and he smiled at all of us, completely surprised, and said "You too!"

Example of how not to be.

Over the years, I have made it my personal objective to be a kinder person. I used to harbor extremely judgmental thoughts about other people, even if I didn't know them. I would verbally bring down complete strangers with a friend or two in order to feel better about myself. I'm honestly ashamed to admit this, but I'm sure there are a lot of people who used to do (or possibly still do) the same thing. I've grown up a lot since then. I've come to realize that different doesn't ever equate to bad and that if someone is happy with their self and their life, then who am I to say anything? Who am I to judge? Since learning this valuable lesson, I have been able to make new friends (and keep old ones) who are on a similar track. Many people have "toxic friends" who bring them down. I only have positive people who lift me up. Granted, sometimes you guys make me feel stabby, but you're still good people and I still love you. I don't think I would've been lucky enough to meet such an amazing, kind, open-hearted, caring boyfriend if I didn't learn to open up my own heart.

That's not to say I'm a rainbow candy unicorn to everyone in real life. I'm still sarcastic and goofy and will call you out for saying something ridiculous, like when you're drunk at the bar and think the name "Lily" has five L's in it (right Sam?). But I'll never talk you down to bring myself up. Sometimes I feel negative, judgmental thoughts creeping into my head at the end of a rough day, but I've learned to recognize them and then push them out full force. It doesn't matter to me anymore whether you're fat, thin, handicapped, black, white, deaf, big-haired, overly made-up, gay, straight, transgender, post-abortion, a jesus lover, schizophrenic; as long as you're happy and not hurting or policing anybody else, then keep doing your thing and don't let anybody bring you down.

Niceness breeds niceness. If one person does something nice for another, it can change their entire day for the better and increase their chances of doing something nice for someone else (or so I've experienced, this isn't scientific). If you can learn to quell your judgment and just be nice, you have learned more than most people have been able to grasp in their entire lifetime. One "Bless you!" (or "When you die, nothing happens," if you're an atheist) after a sneeze, two helping hands for a woman with a stroller and a toddler to help her down a flight a stairs, three extra seconds to hold a door for the person behind you, these little things make all the difference. If all of us could just be nice, just BE NICE, we could change a lot around this place, don't you think?

You all have a wonderful night.

Maybe You're Pregnant.

2011-06-15T11:55:00.000-07:00

If you're female, you have heard this suggestion at some point in your life. Sometimes it's legitimized and in response to something like "I haven't gotten my period in five months and my stomach feels like there are tiny feet playing a tiny soccer game in it." Sometimes, it's in response to mundane things that happen frequently to most of the population, including males. I'm writing this post now, on behalf of all women, to tell everyone that unless you are 100% certain that the person in question is actively trying to get knocked up, you should shut the fuck up and keep your pregnancy foreshadowing to yourself.

The future people force me to imagine.

Pregnancy would absolutely ruin my life. I am far too selfish to care for something that isn't small, furry, and poops in a portable box. If I tell you I woke up nauseous and had to stay home from work because I felt pukey all day, do not, I repeat DO NOT, tell me that it's because I'm probably pregnant. Those are nightmare words for me to hear. Sentences like that cause horrible mental imagery of me holding at least nine spitting, crying, pooping babies and looking like my soul died. They also make me incredibly paranoid. I start thinking of all the scenarios in which I could be pregnant: maybe someone replaced my birth control with certs, maybe some guy jacked off into the washing machine and then when I washed my underwear some fusion occurred, etc. (THIS CAN'T HAPPEN BUT THIS IS WHAT THE WORD "PREGNANCY" DOES TO ME). I also don't want to hear you suggest pregnancy if I've been eating like a heifer recently. Maybe I'm just hungry. Maybe I eat my feelings (I do). There are plenty of other reasons why I would be consuming everything in sight other than having a bun in the oven. Also, don't you know how rude it is to comment on how much someone is eating? News flash: it's very rude.

I love how casual the
pickle outside of the jar is.

Lastly, if you're female and love pickles THIS DOES NOT AUTOMATICALLY MEAN YOU'RE PREGNANT. I just fucking love pickles, ok? When did they become emblazoned on the metaphorical pregnancy flag? They are low calorie, satisfyingly crunchy, salty, garlicky goodness. I would like to enjoy all my pickles or be able to freely declare that I want 54 of them in my mouth at once without someone gasping and saying "maybe you're pregnant!" Maybe you're making horrible, earth-shattering assumptions that will ruin my life forever (or at least for the rest of the day). So again, on behalf of all women who eat their weight in food, get nauseous sometimes, and heart pickles; please stop convincing us that we are carrying Rosemary's baby. Thank you and good day.

Out of Creative Juices: What Squirtle Reads In The Summer And More!

2011-06-13T20:30:00.000-07:00

So I thought long and hard (that's what she said!) about what I could write about in this post. At first, I thought I'd write about love and reminisce about that time I gave my high school boyfriend a box filled with miscellaneous candy and a bra of mine with a broken clasp for Valentine's Day and thought it was the most romantic shit ever. In retrospect, I hope one of his parents found that bra and had some cross-gender-y speculations about him. This idea was ruled out because that's really the only funny story from my past relationships that won't completely embarrass the other party (normally, I wouldn't care, but they can see this blog from my Facebook and I really don't need to remind the world about how they cried hysterically while eating ice pops that one time). I then decided that I would write about all the characters I've shared apartments with the past six years, some of whom I'm still good friends with. This idea was also vetoed because while some people may be proud that they accidentally sleep-peed in my closet, I think it's safe to assume that most people would feel profound, public shame. As a last resort, I decided to take a poll on which topic(s) I should discuss in my next post. My prayers (statuses?) were answered.

Angel vs. Riley vs. Spike
Suggestion by Lily T.

If these three words mean nothing to you, then you mean nothing to me. So who's the best man for Buffy Summers? Let's start with some pros and cons.

Angel AKA Angelus AKA Liam

Pros

♥ Out of the three suitors, he is the sexiest.

♥ He is old, wise, loyal, and strong; the most helpful boyfriend in Buffy's slaying adventures. He is known to come back to Sunnydale to help fight the bigger monsters and always has Buffy's back.

♥ A very mild-mannered vamp, Angel rarely gets into disagreements with Buffy and is usually nothing but supportive and loving.
♥ Angel is a true romantic and expresses his love for Buffy in actions, words, affection, and gifts (not going to lie, I bought myself a claddagh ring after Surprise aired).

♥ He is the sexiest.

Cons

♥ Despite being the sexiest (third time's a charm!), he can NEVER have sex. Ever. Blue lady balls forever.
♥ If he does, or if someone works the voodoo on him, he can turn into an evil version of himself (Angelus) from his soulless, vampire past. When he changes, he is an almost unstoppable evil force.
♥ Despite being on the Earth for God-knows-how-long and being a katrillion years older than Buffy, he can sometimes be extremely immature, petty, and jealous.
♥ Angel is a vampire and will therefore never be able to go out to dinner with Buffy, hang out with her during the day (unless he can repair the Gem of Amarra), and he will continue to look young and handsome while she withers and wrinkles. Hawt.
♥ Long-distance became an issue when Angel moved to Los Angeles. If they wanted to rekindle their romance, Buffy or Angel would either have to move or travel 6-7 hours every other weekend in order to see each other.


Riley Finn (no nicknames because he is THAT BORING)

Pros

♥ Human! Riley is human and this sets him apart from both Angel and Spike. He can do normal things with Buffy and have a normal life with her.
♥ He has military experience and can help Buffy fight all sorts of demons and give her access to high-tech gear.
♥ The Scooby Gang (Xander, Willow, etc.) all seem to really love Riley and have never really disapproved of their relationship. It's always important that your friends like who you're dating!
♥ I wanted to try and get five pros for each guy on here.
♥ But it's really fucking hard to think of five positive things about Riley Finn.

Cons

♥ Pussy-whipped bitch. Riley has a tendency to occasionally turn into a back-stabbing, sniveling coward.
♥ He blindly follows authority figures without questioning their motives, sometimes leading to the creation of a mutant man-robot that wreaks havoc all over Sunnydale.
♥ When the tough gets going, Riley also gets going. He isn't there to comfort Buffy and can be found in crack houses being drained by sexy lady vampires. What kind of loyalty is that?
♥ Like Angel, Riley has also been known to turn on Buffy against his will (weird army drug withdrawal?).
♥ He is currently married to a foxy spy who is his perfect match.


Spike AKA William The Bloody

Pros

♥ The British accent. Everyone with an accent is hot. It's just science.
♥ He can sing like a mofo, as proven in Once More With Feeling.
♥ Dawn will never be without a babysitter and friend. Some may consider this a bad thing because Dawn sucks and should be left alone to pass away. I agree, but unfortunately this pro/con list is from Buffy's perspective and we're choosing a man based on what's best for her.
♥ Spike used to be a shy, hopeless romantic with a penchant for poetry. This means he carries some of that with him into vampirehood and, despite his very tough exterior, can be a softy on more than one occasion (mostly when he has a soul).
♥ His sense of humor is on point; Buffy has never had a funnier boyfriend.

Cons

♥ The whole vampire thing again, can't have a normal life, blah dee blah.
♥ Spike is intensely untrustworthy and selfish. Yes, he does have his moments where he puts on a necklace and kills himself via light, but throughout most of the series he's just a douchebag to everybody.
♥ HE TRIED TO RAPE BUFFY. The argument is that he didn't have a soul at the time, but I'm not buying it. It was still him doing it.
♥ His hair is pretty fucking disgusting. Billy Idol and only Billy Idol can pull off that hard platinum head-shell.
♥ Who lives in a fucking tomb? Spike does! A cold, windowless, stony, unfeeling tomb. Is that where you want to snuggle up with your boyfriend?

So, who should win Buffy's heart? It must be obvious by now that Riley won't win shit. He just makes me want to fall asleep forever. That's right, his personality makes me want to DIE. So for me, it's always been between Angel and Spike and I must say, in the later seasons when Angel wasn't around, I warmed up to Spike a lot. But, and this is a huge, Kim Kardashian butt, he still attempted to RAPE Buffy. Rape is serious and regardless of whether someone has changed, sought therapy, and/or acquired a soul through a series of weird physical challenges in a cave, they should never be forgiven. Spike will never be deserving of Buffy's love because of this and so for me, and many other Buffy-lovers, the clear winner is Angel.

Squirtle's Summer Reading List

Suggested by Jon C.

If you're not well-versed in the Pokéarts, you might want to read this before trying to decipher this portion of the post. Below is my best estimation for Squirtle's summer reading list. Disclaimer: Obviously, this is 100% make-believe and silly because I do not know what deranged teacher (who completely disregards reading comprehension level) would assign such books together.

The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka
Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen
Franklin In The Dark by Paulette Bourgeois
Invisible Monsters by Chuck Palahniuk
Sex by Madonna
The Tortoise and the Hare by Aesop
Confessions of a Shopaholic by Sophie Kinsella
The Antichrist by Friedrich Nietzsche
The Odyssey by Homer
The Modern Kama Sutra: The Ultimate Guide to the Secrets of Erotic Pleasure by Kamini and Kirk Thomas

10 Things I'd Like To Do or Say To Anthony Weiner

Suggested by Mary W.

Again, if you don't know who this is or what he's been up to lately, I'd suggest taking a look here, and/or crawling out of that rock you've been living under, before reading on:

Shake him like a polaroid picture.
Smack him in the mouth.
Ask him what on Earth he was thinking.
Relax and allow him to talk to me more about his pro-choice stance.
Smile as I reminisce about what he could've done for New York, then smack him again for ruining it all.
Ask him if he sees the irony in his own last name being the catalyst of his downfall.
Hug him. I think he needs it.
Tell him he should name his unborn baby "Oscar Mayer Weiner."
Ask him to explain why he was unfaithful to his pregnant wife and why he went about it in such a creepy, Ted-Bundy-with-technology way.
Shake his hand, smack him one last time for good measure, and wish him luck on getting his shit in order. He needs it. Obama's not even on his side anymore.

That's it! I hope this random, suggestion-based post was good for you. It was a bit awkward for me, to be honest. I kind of want to shower now.

How To Trick Yourself Into Feeling Clean Without Actually Showering.

2011-06-10T14:37:00.000-07:00

Happy mushroom farmer

This post is loosely based off of a conversation thread or two in my favorite exclusive Livejournal community, smash_club. If you shower regularly and are the picture of hygiene, than this post obviously is not for you. If you're like me and you find yourself too exhausted from work/school/farming mushrooms/whatever to clean your own body when you get home, then read on. Please note: I'm talking about skipping a day or two every now and then. For the most part, I shower every day. Don't start spreading rumors.

Spot Wash The Important Parts

I can't believe I'm saying this (my mom reads my blog for fuck's sake), but wash your bathing suit areas. This means your junk. All of your junk. No need to go crazy because then let's face it, you might as well just hop in the damned shower. Just take a damp washcloth and go for the gold. If you're feeling especially fancy, wipe down your armpits and neck too.

Change Your Clothes

The clothes you're currently wearing have, no doubt, absorbed some of your nastiness and filth by now. Change into something crisp and clean and the cycle will start anew. The detergenty smell of the new threads is guaranteed to make you feel a little bit fresher, at least temporarily. If you're too lazy to change your outfit, at least change your draws (drawers? I'm talking undies). It will make a world of difference.

Wash Your Face And If You Have Bangs, Wash Those Babies Too

If your face and crotchbutt are clean, you will also feel clean. This is just basic biology (or is basic biology more about mitochondria and phyla and shit?). Wash your face with cool water and soap. If you have bangs, like I do, give them a good shampoo in the sink. Boom! You are squeaky, Mr. Clean clean!

Dry Shampoo Is Your Friend

Spray that shit all over your nasty hair. I'll be honest, even when I'm showering daily (again, MOST OF THE TIME), I rarely wash my hair. I like to tell people that this is because my hair is extra thick and can withstand

Marie Antionette: another fierce lady who rarely showered.

the natural oil buildup and New York City street debris. This is true, but I also push the envelope a bit when it

comes to hair hygiene. Flip your hair to one side and then spritz it with the dry shampoo layer by layer. The dry shampoo absorbs some of the oil and gives your hair a bit of fluff. This is not really too noticeable though. What it DOES do is make your hair smell like product for the day instead of like ass tacos and shame.

So Is Perfume

Everywhere. Don't make me say it again. Just spray that shit. Perfume used to cover up the fact that people didn't shower often back in the Renaissance-y days, and it can help you do that today as well.

Braid Some or All of Your Hair Into Something As Intricate As...I Don't Know...Math?

You want it out of your face and off of your neck right? Well braid it! You can french braid (if you're skilled like that, I'm not), braid yourself a headband from the hair behind your ear, make a low braid and put it all back (make sure to take this out in the evening before it turns into dreadlocks from sheer filth volume alone), braid it all up and across your head like a little milkmaid, or even braid just the front section (this is technically a twist). Everyone will compliment your steady hands and dedication because everyone fucking LOVES braids. It's a fact. Not only that, all of the hair-related compliments will make you feel less soiled and more awesome. Troof.

So those are my tips. Am I a disgusting person? Probably. Is this relevant to my current cleanliness? I don't want to tell you (is that ass taco and shame I sense?). Either way, I hope these things are helpful next time you're feeling less than fresh. And I'm sorry for all the cursing, mom.

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Germs And Worms.

2011-06-09T10:11:00.000-07:00

One leads to the other and for the past four or so years, I've been convinced that I have the latter. I told the following story on my Livejournal many moons ago and due to a recent influx in requests to retell it by my co-workers, I'm also going to retell it here.

Back in 2009, when I worked as a veterinary assistant/receptionist at a practice in Greenwich Village, I was told an interesting story by a patient of ours (or client I guess, since the patients are the animals and none of her pets were feeling especially anecdotal). She had come in for one of her cats' annual exams and I couldn't help but notice that she had lost about 30 pounds since I had last seen her. This was when I was at my heaviest, so of course, I had to know what her secret was. Here's where it gets creepy...

She had gotten extremely ill a couple of month earlier and it got to the point where she had to go to the emergency room because she couldn't stop vomiting. After a battery of tests at the hospital, the doctors decided that it would be best if they removed her gallbladder. Being very apprehensive about surgery (as most people should be) and big into holistic medicine (as most people should only somewhat be), she decided

All intestinal parasites look like
mini Beetlejuice sandworms, right?

to check into a cleansing facility and heal herself by removing whatever toxins were causing her to be ill. This facility started off the cleanse with a couple days of fasting. On her second or third day there, she went into the bathroom to do her business and when she got up, she discovered a long, white WORM in the toilet. Upon further investigation and explanation from the staff of the cleansing facility, she discovered that she pooped out a tapeworm and that it was quite a common event in that facility (can you imagine working in a place were tapeworms were the rule and not the exception?). According to them, when you don't eat anything, tapeworms often migrate down the digestive tract (closer to the colon) looking for food and will actually end up being passed with waste in search of said food. Horrified, she decided to go see a well-respected parasitologist stationed in New York City.

Upon further testing, it was determined that she had two different types of parasites in her body: one was the tapeworm which she had acquired on a recent vacation to Bora Bora and the other had been living in her body for 16 years. 16 FLIPPING YEARS. The worms were in her lungs and all throughout her body. They were causing her to be tired all of the time and, despite being an active person, hold onto 30+ pounds. They were also what was causing her to constantly vomit. She was given medication and once she finished her course and eliminated the worms from her system, she lost all of the weight in the blink of an eye. After her experience she referred three friends to the parasitologist to get tested (these friends weren't even showing any symptoms); two of them tested positive for different types of worms/parasites.

She then decided to pass some of the doctor's insight onto me and, along with the story she had already told me, scare me into a wormy panic for the rest of my natural-born life. The parasitologist estimated that over 60% of the population is hosting parasites and don't even know it. Think of all the things you touch without washing your hands, all of the food you buy from a questionable source, everything single thing you do! And there I was, having worked as a vet assistant for the past six or so months, where I rubbed puppies and kittens all over my face only to have their stool tests come back the following day positive for disgusting shit like giardia and coccidia. I was convinced that I was infected with a plethora of worms and parasites. I could actually feel them crawling around in my intestines at the very moment she finished telling me the story.

Around this time, I went on my first date with Sam. Much to his dismay, I'm sure, I gushed about how I was convinced my bowels were infested with worms over our sushi dinner (I have absolutely no internal filter). I guess he digs girls who are good hostesses (get it?!) because this coming Saturday, we've been together for a whole year. What is wrong with him?

Anyway, a couple of weeks later and after hours of online research, I ended up buying some strange black walnut and wormwood tincture that tasted like fresh butts and cement. It was rumored to be a natural dewormer and after I started taking it, every bowel movement was a terrifying gamble with fate. Was this the time I would look into the toilet and see a giant worm? Lucky for me (or unlucky for me) it never happened. At least if I would have seen a definitive worm, I would know that I didn't have them anymore. There were only two options: either I never had worms (less than a 40% chance of that!) or the tincture was ineffective. I guess the only way to know for sure is to hit up the parasitologist and explain my paranoid wormy thoughts to him. One day.

Two Truths And A Lie: The Reveal.

2011-06-08T09:29:00.000-07:00

So since there was only one response to my last post, I'm assuming most of you must've made mental lists with your answers or even jotted them in a notebook at home. There is just no way a game THIS GOOD would go unplayed. So, without further ~~bullshit~~ ado, here are the answers:

1. I shoved a crayon so far up my nose that I had to go to the hospital to get it removed.

TRUE

To my mom's horror, she could not get the crayon out of my nose herself and had to bring me to the emergency room. Accordingly to her, I looked her square in the eyes as I slowly inserted the crayon deep into my nasal cavity. In the E.R., they had to strap me down with harnesses like something out of Girl Interrupted in order for me to stay still. They did manage to extract it though. No word on what color it was.

2. My father sneaked (I always thought the past tense of "sneak" was "snuck" but spell check is telling me NOPE) backstage at Woodstock.

TRUE

My father has always been quite the slippery eel when it comes to outmaneuvering people in order to do something awesome. This time, it was making it backstage at the greatest concert of all time. He noticed someone unloading equipment near the stage, picked up something that wasn't his, and wandered backstage saying he was with the crew. That never works right? Well, it did. It also worked for the friends he was with and all of them watched the entire show from the best seats in the house. That is, until one of his friends cut open his hand and had to get air-lifted by helicopter out of Woodstock.

3. I was born in Brooklyn, New York.

FALSE

My dad was born in Brooklyn, New York. I was born in Montreal, Quebec, Canada. I have dual citizenship yay!

4. I have never had the chicken pox or the chicken pox vaccine.

FALSE

I did have the chicken pox vaccine and fell into the .0000001% that develops pneumonia from the vaccine. I also fell into the percentage that develops chicken pox from the vaccine. As the cherry on the itchy sundae, I was also allergic to the pneumonia medication, Biaxin, and broke out in hives everywhere (including my fucking EYELIDS). I don't know how I survived my 12th year on Earth, to be honest. I have a strong memory of thinking I was healthy enough to eat, snarfing down a container of my father's roasted peanuts, and then vomiting extremely fresh, organic peanut butter into the bathtub less than 30 minutes later. Parents are saints.

5. My aunt and uncle used to own an ostrich farm.

TRUE

Yep! They had two breeding couples and would sell the eggs to a nearby restaurant and the shells to jewelry makers. I still have a hollowed-out shell that they gave me on top of my kitchen cabinets. They almost feel like porcelain. I wish I laid eggs. What am I talking about? Anyway, after a particularly harsh winter, one or two or all of the ostriches died and that was the end of that endeavor. I can say I learned three things from my visits with them during that time: ostriches do not stick their head in the ground/sand, if you put your ear up to their necks while they drink you can hear the water going down, and you never want to see ostriches breed up close and in real life. Trust me.

6. I can speak four languages, including English, French, Spanish, and Russian.

FALSE

Yea, right. Like I'm that wordly. I speak English, a bit of French (enough to get me a bathroom, a snack, a drink, and a friend if I were lost in France), and Pig Latin.

7. I used to weigh about 200 pounds.

TRUE

All those cheeseburgers and spoonfuls of Nutella eventually do catch up with you. At 5'7", I topped the scale at 196 pounds my senior year at NYU and my Wii Fit categorized me as right smack on the line between "Overweight" and "Obese," if I remember correctly. Due to my intense fear of the line tipping over into "Obese" and me hitting the 200 pound mark, I decided it was time to lose weight and start being healthier. I started counting my calories every day using one of the many websites available, eating lots of fruits, vegetables, lean meats, and whole wheat carbohydrates, and eliminating snack foods such as french fries, candy, chips, chocolate and basically everything that I loved (don't get me wrong, I did let myself have these things sometimes, but I didn't make it a habit). I also used my Wii Fit for exercise in the beginning until I was in need of more of a challenge. At that point, I switched to running 2-3 miles daily and then when that got that old and it got cold, I switched to Jillian Michaels' 30-day shred. As of right now I weigh 135 pounds. I still eat the same way as I did when I started my "diet" but I don't need to input my calories into a website anymore (it's all tallied up in the ol' noodle). It was a lifestyle change for me, but not everyone would benefit from this. If you're 5'7" and 200 pounds and you feel happy and healthy, then more power to you! I didn't and so I had to make some changes. I still eat like a monster every now and then though.

8. My dad drummed for a Billboard Top 100, Number 2 song.

TRUE

My dad is a recording engineer and when he was sitting in on a session and ~learning the ropes~ from a more experienced engineer, the band's drummer didn't show up. Having played drums for most of his youth and dropped out of college to play drums in a band, my father was able to sit in and play for them on the recording. He's not credited for the track anywhere and we certainly do not get any royalties for it (IF ONLY), but you may know it:

9. I hate all bugs and immediately kill them when I find them in my apartment/personal space.

FALSE

I heart bugs and I never kill them when I find them in my apartment. Usually, I will place a cup or glass on the wall or floor that they're crawling on, slide a piece of paper over the top to trap them in the cup/glass, and release them safely outside.

10. I am half Chinese, a quarter Native American, and a quarter English.

FALSE

I am not one of those nationalities. My heritage can be summed up by the following drink:

White Russian

11. I have a scar on my upper thigh from riding my bike too slowly.

TRUE

Unfortunately for Sam, this is why I'm so unwilling to go on whimsical bearded hipster Brooklyn bike rides with him. That, and when my bangs blow back I look exactly like Joe Dirt. How does one get so severely injured from riding too slowly, you ask? Well, first of all, if anyone would, it would be me. Second of all, I just let the bike slowly tip over onto the ground and didn't dismount. I don't know if I was distracted by a Backstreet Boys song or something (I was 10) when it started to tip over, but when I hit the ground, some sharp, evil part of the bike went right into my leg and cut a hole (BONE DEEP) that required ten stitches. Yum.

12. My mom is a blonde republican.

FALSE

My dad is a salt and pepper republican. My mom is a blonde democrat (naturally a brunette democrat). Thank God one of my parents has some political sense.

So, who should win the prize of nothing? I hope everyone had fun learning a bit more about me and the nonsense that is my life. Maybe you already knew me but didn't know any of these things. Now you'll mention it in conversation next time I see you and I'll get all freaked out because you obviously creep me on the internet. Just kidding, I'll play it cool.

Two Truths And A Lie: The Presentation.

2011-06-07T11:23:00.000-07:00

Everyone knows this game. It's on the list of silly icebreakers that you're forced to participate in when it's your first team meeting at a brand new job or you've just moved into your dorm and the whole floor decides to get together and go ice skating in Central Park where you clutch the hand rail for dear life the entire time and look like Bambi when he walks onto that frozen lake (oddly specific). I've decided to amp it up a bit so that my followers/readers/subscribers/whatever the fuck you guys are called can get to know me on a more intimate level. And what better way to do that than by lying to all of you? So, without further ado, can you guess which of the following facts about me, my family, and my life are true and which are false? The winner gets nothing!

1. I shoved a crayon so far up my nose that I had to go to the hospital to get it removed.

2. My father sneaked (I always thought the past tense of "sneak" was "snuck" but spell check is telling me NOPE) backstage at Woodstock.

3. I was born in Brooklyn,

New York.

4. I have never had the chicken pox or the chicken pox vaccine.

5. My aunt and uncle used to own an ostrich farm.

6. I can speak four languages, including English, French, Spanish, and Russian.

7. I used to weigh about 200 pounds.

8. My dad drummed for a Billboard Top 100, Number 2 song.

9. I hate all bugs and immediately kill them when I find them in my apartment/personal space.

10. I am half Chinese, a quarter Native American, and a quarter English.

11. I have a scar on my upper thigh from riding my bike too slowly.

12. My mom is a blonde republican.

So those are the fact (or are they?). Make your guesses now because tomorrow I will be revealing which of these are truths and which are lies. If you know me personally and I have told you one of these things (Sam, Aparna) or you are one of the people I'm talking about (hi, mom!), then keep your trap shut and don't ruin my life.

Dressing Like Lonely Tourist Charlotte Charles All Day, Errrday.

2011-06-06T11:44:00.000-07:00

I had completely forgot about how amazing Pushing Daisies ~~was~~ is until Sam and I started watching it on Netflix yesterday (it's his first time and while the narrator and general whimsy ground his gears when he watched the pilot, I think he's slowly becoming obsessed). What's even more amazing than the kitschy plot and vibrant candy colors are the characters' wardrobes. I find myself most drawn to Charlotte "Chuck" Charles' character's clothing choices: bubblegum pink dresses, monochromatic outfits, hyperbolic accessories, 50s/60s-inspired looks, and overall über-feminine shapes. Everything she wears just looks so rich and fancy without being over-the-top and costumey. Plus, her look lands her Lee Pace, and who wouldn't want that thick-eyebrowed, long-eyelashed sexpot?

So, how does one get this look without spending a fortune? One word: Etsy. If your budget is a bit higher than mine (my dress maximum tops out at like $30), you'll be rolling in thousands of choices. Simply search 50s or even 60s in the "Dress" subcategory under "Clothing" under "Vintage," and scroll away. Feel free to adjust your price min and max or even sort from lowest to highest price in order to get the best deals. Here are some details to look for:

♥ Bright Colors - The more vibrant the better! Focus on bold blues/aquas, grassy greens, bubblegum pinks, bright sunny yellows/oranges, hot reds, and true purples. Chuck also wears prints and pastels sometimes so really you just need to avoid "dull" colors such as browns, whites, blacks, and beiges (unless they are included in a pattern).

♥ Monochrome - Chuck is very fond of wearing the same color from head to toe but varying it by a couple of shades. This means pairing canary yellows with mustard yellows and baby pinks with melons. Be creative!

♥ Feminine Shapes - Cinched waists, full skirts, hourglass shapes. You want your dress to be tight at the top with an interesting neckline, fit at the waist, and then end in a full skirt (if you can pull off a shift dress [I absolutely cannot] you can also look for that shape). Most Etsy sellers include the dress measurements at the bottom so do your best to choose a dress that matches your bust and waist size almost exactly.

♥ Understated Details - Ornate detailing is also important, but not necessary. If all else fails, get a simple shirt dress (like Chuck's in the bottom right panel). If you're feeling a bit more ambitious, go for items that have some crochet work, beading, lace detail, and even eyelets. Keep it simple though: these details are only accents and should not cover the entire dress.

♥ Eye-Catching Accessories - When you're ready, feel free to search for some accessories to pair with your dress. You want to focus on oblong hats, funky rounded and cat eye sunglasses, basic flats and heels, and flower and bow-adorned headbands/hair ties (the bigger, the better).

If you're not into scouring Etsy, you can check out stores like Asos, Zara, Modcloth, Anthropologie, or Dorothy Perkins (H&M would probably work out too, but they don't have a U.S. website, jerks). If you click on the store names, I have already pre-selected a Lonely Tourist-friendly dress from each site! Also, pants, skirts, shorts, and shirts are not off-limits. Just remember to follow the above rules and you can really make any piece into a Chuck-worthy creation.

And in case you're wondering how I channeled Chuck today (with limited clothing options, mind you), here's a polyvore of what I'm wearing right this very moment:

Chuck by majorstranger featuring kimchi blue shoes

I know I know, It's not ideal, but I worked with what I had. Do note that the yellow top is a brighter, more pastelly yellow than the photo is letting on. Also note that I am in no way a fashion blogger or fashionista. I can barely dress myself 97% of the time and end up defaulting to a slouchy/over-sized shirt and jeans. Anyway, have fun! And whatever you do, don't touch any pie-makers.

Going To The Gynecologist.

2011-06-03T09:41:00.000-07:00

If you're a prissy man who can't handle the thought of what goes on behind the doors of an OB/GYN, then turn around now. You're the same type of guy who goes "ewwww" when a girl even says the word "period," regardless of whether you're in English Grammar And Punctuation 101 with her or not. These are human bodies. Many mammals menstruate (overtly or covertly) but they can't go to the Gyno for obvious reasons (even though I'd love to see a hedgehog get a pap smear). Anyway, to those men, peace out and grow up.

Yesterday, I went to the Gyno (or cervix goblin, as I like to call them) for my annual exam. I had forgotten what a hoot it was (this comment is dripping with sarcasm)! It was my first appointment at this practice (I had recently decided to switch because my old Gyno was disappointingly run like a sweat clinic [hybrid of a

House M.D.

sweat shop and a clinic]). Either way, this was exciting because I got to sit down with Dr. Pilshchik and answer the intake questions (my favorite part). Do I smoke and drink? Sometimes. Do I have a boyfriend? Yes. Do I have AIDS? No. What am I allergic to? Biaxin and Benzoyl Peroxide. What happens when I use them? Gross hive-y things. Finally, she got to the last question: Do I have any pets? I love talking about my bunny and my cat, as you can tell. However, I'm a little fuzzy on what either of them have to do with my vagoo. My manager at work told me it probably is some Toxoplasmosis-related foresight if I were to get pregnant in the future (PLEASE NO, knock on ALL the wood). I honestly still have no clue why she asked me but again, it was a chance to gush about House M.D. and Shadow, so I didn't mind.

Me and my Shadow

At this point she brought me into the exam room where I got a pap smear and had my ovaries tickled and smushed (the scientific way to check for cysts). Let me just say now that pap smears suck every time. I don't even think I'd enjoy them if I was given an avocado and a glow stick to distract me during the procedure. That, and the stirrups are the most awkward things ever; they just make me feel so vaginally equestrian. Overall it was a quick, thorough, and satisfying (not like that) visit. If I were rating my Gyno on Amazon.com, she would get five stars.

On the off chance that there is some sort of virtual suggestion box for all OB/GYNs out there, I'd like to advise possibly finding another way to smear my pap that doesn't involve so much pinching and pulling. Also, why don't you cervix goblins sell sex toys? After all, this is a women's health facility, right? I feel like it would be extremely profitable for both parties if there was a room in the practice that was devoted to explaining and selling sex toys. What do you think? Am I out of line? Sam seems to think so, as he likened it to Proctologists selling butt plugs and Podiatrists selling foot fetish paraphernalia. I think I'm onto something though.

Why You Should Never Elect My Father For President.

2011-06-02T09:24:00.000-07:00

My father isn't a bad person. He's had some life struggles and a big chunk of his adolescence involved copious experimentation with a smorgasbord of drugs (I once asked him which drugs he hadn't tried, to which he respond, "Well, I never tried cocaine"). Sometimes I think that pieces of his brain disintegrated entirely somewhere between 1963 and 1978. In my childhood, I knew him as a lonely, bipolar alcoholic who, for obvious reasons, wasn't the best parent. But a lot has changed since I was a kid (such as being prescribed medication and kicking the sauce) and in the past couple of years, we've actually developed a somewhat friendly and stable relationship. Plus, he does one of the best Jerry Lewis impersonations I've ever seen.

Last night I went to dinner with my dad for the first time in a couple of months. We went to my favorite spot, Friend House, and he tried Pad See Ew for the first time in his life. We chatted about our jobs, my roommates (if you're reading this, you guys ~~suck~~ rule), our respective significant others (hi, Sam), and many other things. We even reminisced about that time I tried to add him as my father on Facebook and he rejected it twice and then, when I finally sent him a message asking him why, he responded with "Maybe I'm not." Dark, no? It wasn't until the topic switched over to politics that I was clutching my proverbial pearls.

And here's why:

♥ My dad is a tea-partier. I really don't need to expand on this.
♥ He thinks that the couple who recently decided to raise their children in a gender-free household should be sterilized, sent to jail, and have their kids taken away by Child Protective Services. These were his exact words.
♥ After ranting for a bit about how he believes that the government should have very little involvement in everything, I dared to ask him how he feels about abortion (my question was inspired by this Anthony Weiner video). First, he asked if his response could come with some sort rule set that he feels is morally accurate. I said absolutely not. By now you probably guessed that he did that anyway. My father's view on abortion is that he "is pro-choice as long as stupid girls don't repeatedly use if for birth control while places like Planned Parenthood pay for it free of charge with our tax money." I told him that this doesn't happen as often as he seems to think it does and that any instance of this is a reflection on the government's inability to provide proper sex education and resources to young women (especially in lower-income areas). You will

My dad: looks harmless, right?

see here and here, that no abortion at Planned Parenthood is free or paid for with taxes, but you probably already know that. I shared this with my father too. Unfortunately, it remained unabsorbed.
♥ Next, we decided to delve into gay marriage. What can I say? I needed to know. My dad thinks that committed homosexual couples should have the same rights as committed heterosexual couples but it should not be called "marriage." According to him, this is because "marriage" is defined as being between a man and a woman. I asked him if he meant that his argument was one about preserving sanctity. He said yes. I cited drunk, drive-through weddings in Las Vegas that get annulled the next day (think Britney Spears) as not preserving sanctity but still being legal. He said that that's just "goofing around." I asked him why we can't change the definition of marriage since our society is growing and changing from what it once was when these definitions were set in place. He said that if we change it to include LBGT people, what's next? Bestiality? Pedophilia? I told him that it was disgusting to even compare gay marriage to those things considering they are non-consenting and that by saying gay couples cannot call it "marriage" and cannot use the same terms as straight couples, is saying that they are unequal to straight couples. He said that these rules/definitions were founded upon Judeo-Christian morals and that everyone should respect these religions and follow their guidelines. I brought up the point that many Jewish movements support gay marriage and that other religions do not have to respect or follow any other religion's guidelines since this is a country that is supposed to separate church and state and uphold freedom of religion. He scoffed. For the record, my father isn't even religious.
♥ Finally, as the icing on the cake, he told me that he can't wait to stop working at his job because of how "ghetto" the students are. I would bet my life that what he meant to say was "black."

My co-worker, Scott, suggested that I should take his TV away from him. I concur. That, or I should just permanently block FOX News. I guess it just boggled my mind to actually know someone who believed, in earnest, all of these wackadoodle things I hear spouted from intolerant, right-wing mouths in the media. I wish there was a way to change my dad's mind and believe me, I've really tried to. You can't teach an old dog new tricks though, and 64 is REALLY old in dog years.

People Who Should Evaporate.

2011-06-01T09:55:00.001-07:00

Ok, well maybe not evaporate because that isn't violent enough, but definitely be maimed and/or murdered. You may think that's a bit harsh. I don't. I simply cannot wrap my head around a plausible reason as to why these individuals do the things they do. I think after these people are seen or caught doing the below things, a person should come and escort them to Mordor where they will be thrown into the fires of Mount Doom. Perhaps the person who escorts them could be Gollum and he can bite off their finger before he throws them in, just for good measure.

The Stair-Stopper

Whether they are mindlessly bullshitting away on their cell phone or just standing there drooling onto their feet, these idiots have decided to completely stop walking on the stairs and make everyone else go around them. Sometimes they make it all the way down or up the stairs only to stop at the bottom or top, respectively. A lot of the time, they do this on the steps going in and out of the subway (especially unforgivable). These steps only have enough room for two lines of people: one going up and one going down. By standing on the steps and being a moron, the Stair-Stopper forces everyone behind them to maneuver around them and face-first into the line going in the opposite direction. Traffic is entirely at a stand-still and nobody can go anywhere all because someone decided that they are the only person on the planet of importance. The prevalence of Stair-Steppers increases greatly when it's raining and they decide it's an ingenious idea to stand on the subway steps, just under the ceiling, to escape the rain. You are ruining my life by doing this and when I pass you, I will say "Are you serious?!" in the nastiest tone I can muster up. Also, beware of the rare and elusive Escalator-Stopper. They stop at the very top or bottom, just as the escalator ends, so that you have no choice but to flatten your whole body against their back and ass. Delicious.

Cat Callers

To Mordor with all of you! There is nothing I hate more than having my appearance assessed by a complete stranger. Does hanging out of your car by the waist and yelling "Hey Sexy!" ever work for you? Be honest, you're probably still a virgin. Nothing would make me happier in this world than if I could approach someone of the opposite sex on the sidewalk and not feel sick to my stomach with anxiety. This is because a hearty chunk of the time, they have something to say to me that has to do with the way I look. It's especially amusing when, if I react unfavorably to the public comment about my face, body, clothes, hair, ass, or tits, I'm called a bitch, whore, slut, etc. Anyone who knows me can vouch that despite my chronic sarcasm (it's terminal), I'm quite the amiable person. The jury is still out on why getting angry when a perfect stranger makes a comment about my waist-to-hip ratio constitutes my being a mean prostitute. I am not a piece of meat. I am not for you to comment on. I did not get dressed today for you. Please fuck off, on behalf of all women.

Mr./Ms./Mrs. Lasties

I am very weird about the order in which I eat things and I've been told that I'm not the only one who is like that. I will eat all around the edge of sandwiches and burgers and make it so that my last bite is the cheesy, saucy, ooey, gooey center. When I eat gummy bears, I save all of the green and white ones for last because they are my favorite. It's almost like I'm doing work when I start eating something in order to get rid of the less palatable parts of my meal. So when a friend (or soon to be enemy) asks me for a bite when there is only one, amazing, perfect bite left, I'm livid. Don't get me wrong, I'm an extremely generous person and that is why this sucks the most. I will give them the last bite and all of my green (which are strawberry-flavored, believe it or not) and white gummy bears, but inside my soul is dying. I can remember one instance of this from my childhood which practically traumatized me. Everyone agrees, I'm sure, that Jolly Ranchers tasted 114% better when they came in a roll and were square-shaped. I used to live, LIVE, for the moment when a red Jolly Rancher was next. There was no taste like it. However, this pack was especially barren and it wasn't until my absolute last Rancher that I saw a glimmer of cherry-flavored hope. That is, until my mom asked me if she could have one. I know, I know, I should have killed her. Instead, I gave her that cherry Jolly Rancher and continued sucking on my nasty, grape Jolly Rancher with a heavier heart.

Captain Miserable

Let me guess, you don't like this music, you don't like this party, and you don't like these people.We all have our moments when we're very difficult to please; whether it be from a lack of sleep, food, or just because we're in a foul mood. However, Captain Miserable is always difficult to please and will never just be happy and go with the goddamned flow. They are usually a friend of yours which makes it even more challenging because you have to be kind and supportive. They never seem to be satisfied with where you're going or what you're doing, but they never come up with an alternate idea. Captain Miserable most likely has a lot of other issues going on under the surface, but at the moment they aren't willing to fix any of them and would rather bitch, moan, and make your life a living hell. Save us all the trouble and just go home and sort through your shit. That, or bring us somewhere that you enjoy. If you're unable to do either, then you just have to suck it up and have fun. These are the rules.

Loud-Ass People

Just shut the fuck up. Nobody cares. That is all.

Social Preachers

"You should really be vegan." "Do you care about the ASPCA?" "Let me ask you a question about your hair!" Absolutely not. Social Preachers can be found on the street trying to sell you things, at parties trying to shove their views down your throat, or they can even possess your best friend temporarily. About a year ago, I was cornered at a party for about two hours by a guy who claimed that veganism was the only way to live. Through further conversation, I actually discovered that he ate fish (technically pescatarian), but continued to tell people he was vegan to "impress them." I remained severely unimpressed. When I first moved to NYC and was a gullible newb, I fell for the SSP (Street Social Preacher). I ended up paying $40 for a ~salon experience~ that expired, to my horror, only a little while after I bought it. It remained unused and I would have been better served wiping my ass or making pasties with said $40. The moral of the story is that 99.9% of the people who stop you on the street want your money. They don't just want to talk to you about the ASPCA, they want you to give them money for it. Just want to volunteer? Too bad. Once you start talking to them, they will guilt you with stories and pictures to try and bleed you of all of your income. My rule? If someone has a clipboard, fucking RUN. As for the vegans (I know that not all of you are undercover pescatarians), I'm cool as long as you don't try to convert me. I like cheese far too much and you'll just have to deal with that.

No wonder that website thinks my blog is "upset most of the time" when I'm writing shit like this every other day.

How To Swindle Sephora: Cash Money For Your Old-Ass Makeup.

2011-05-31T14:35:00.000-07:00

Sometimes in the world of retail shopping, there are precious secrets laying in wait for consumers to discover. These secrets are only uncovered after much trial and error and there is never a statement or list provided by the company that reveals them to the public. In the food and restaurant world, these are known as "off menu" items (such as Jamba Juice's White Gummy Bear Smoothie and the McDonald's McGangBang). When these secrets happen in retail, I like to refer to them as gold nuggets.

This post is about one of my favorite gold nuggets: the Sephora Swindle. My friend Juin shared the details with me and before I knew it, I had traded in some very old makeup that I no longer use for $225 in store credit. $225!!!

Here are the rules:

Bring A Valid Form of I.D.

My guess is that they do this so you don't become a serial returner (much like a serial killer but instead of killing people, you're killing their sales). If you've ever worked in retail before, there are people who constantly buy things and then come back a couple days or weeks later, like clockwork, to return it. This gold nugget cannot be a consistent habit and should not be repeated more than once per year (this excludes one-off returns with appropriate receipts that happen throughout the year due to makeup-related gifts, misleading foundation colors, etc). You do not need a receipt to return any of these products; as long as Sephora still sells it, they will take the item back for store credit without a receipt. It can be ten years old. Seriously.

Clean Up Your Shit

By all means, dig through your bathroom cabinets and line-up all of the makeup you don't use anymore and look it up on the Sephora website (this is exactly what I did). But if you think you're going to show up with a Nars blush that has food particles embedded on the cover and fungus growing on it and return it for a full store credit, you are delusional. I mean, if you owned a store and someone tried to return something to you that you needed to handle with latex gloves, would you accept it? Probably not. Just take a Clorox disinfecting wipe or even a wet paper towel and make your makeup look as brand spankin' new as possible. It's incredibly easy and will make them 114% more likely to take it backsies.

Use Some of It, But Not All of It

They expect things to be returned used: after all, you have to try the product in order to decide that you don't like it. Hell, you can even use half of it and still return it for the full amount because Sephora figures that you really wanted to give the product an honest try. If you use the whole entire bottle/jar/compact/what have you, then you are attempting to return garbage. Sephora is nice and willing to help you, but they're not stupid.

Feign Illness

For whatever reason, Sephora is much more likely to accept a return if whatever makeup you bought fucked up your life. This means that it burned your skin, caused a rash, made your skin dry and flaky, clogged your pores, caused you to break out in pimples/hives, or any other ailments you can think of that are realistic (Leprosy and Typhoid will not work). This tip was given to me by the same friend who recommended this gold nugget and she got it directly from a Sephora security guard. This works especially well if all of the products you are returning are from one line or brand. I was able to return seven different Bare Minerals products by saying that they all burned my skin and left me with a rash. Gross and dishonest, but plausible and successful.

Remember: There Isn't Only One Employee or One Sephora Store

If you go to return your products and are shown the door, always remember that there are more employees at that store and that there are other Sephoras in the world. Come back on another day and try again or even better, go to a different Sephora and give it a whirl. There will always be stricter employees and stricter stores so don't let being turned down defeat you; It is their secret gold nugget policy to accept anything for store credit that follows the above rules.

So that's it! I usually don't do two posts on the same day, but I was inspired to share how today, I cleaned off my makeup with Clorox wipes, waltzed to the Sephora four blocks away from my job, and was able to return $225 worth of makeup that has just been sitting around my bathroom. Give it a try.

Things I Learned Memorial Day Weekend.

2011-05-31T08:06:00.000-07:00

Just to set the scene, on Saturday and Sunday I went to Bombfest in Hartford, Connecticut. On Monday I went to the beach in CT, then go-karting, and then mini-golfing.

Me and Aparna: twins

♥ A single Mentos is a "Mento."
♥ If you're wearing the exact same outfit as someone, you're twins. For example: If I put the AA Skater Dress on myself and my friend Aparna, we are then twins. If I do the same with my cat, we are also twins.
♥ Connecticut is brotastic.
♥ Everything in life is better when there's a body of water nearby.
♥ Everything in life is better when there's pizza in my mouth.
♥ If you can't decide whether you are hungry or have to go to the bathroom, you should really make that decision before you enter the Porta Potty.
♥ Snoop Dogg is adorable.
♥ If you have longish hair with bangs, and you painted your whole face so that it had a mouth on it and then put a nose and a pair of eyes on top of your head, you'd look like a man with a huge, long mustache (e.g. Yosemite Sam).
♥ If someone is jokingly mocking you, and you think they're just being annoying so you start mocking them, you are mocking yourself.
♥ Children/young adults should not be present during most competitive sports or games. I have a foul mouth and cannot contain myself when I'm 18,047 over par in miniature golf.
♥ Sea glass is the shit.
♥ Go-karting is still awesome, but the "no bumping" rule makes me sad because I'm violent.
♥ Sock puppet handjob blowjob: if you give yourself a handjob with a sock puppet on, you are also getting a blowjob from a sock puppet.
♥ If you hold up three fingers on each hand and move slowly, you're a three-toed sloth.
♥ If you hold up two fingers on each hand and move slowly, you're a two-toed sloth.
♥ If you hold up one finger on each hand and move slowly, you're E.T.
♥ Pantomiming rubbing chapstick all over your body can get confusing.
♥ Coheed and Cambria sound like a hive of bees being smashed by a rock that sucks at music (this was Sam's addition, but I wholeheartedly agree).
♥ EDITED TO ADD: Seinfeld sucks and is just about white people in New York complaining about soup.
♥ Kazoos are stupid.

This may be edited later because I am currently so tired that I can't remember half of the things that happened this weekend. I do know for certain that I ate a lot of mini donuts though.

How I Got Surfer Girl Waves With Random Stuff In My Apartment.

2011-05-27T10:03:00.000-07:00

Ok, so maybe it wasn't really random stuff in my apartment because I never go grocery shopping or live with anyone who keeps normal things stocked, but if you do, then you're in luck!


60 lbs heavier and many years ago with my best friend and John Frieda sprayed hair

Throughout my high school years and a bit beyond, I gave up on the hair-straightening trend and wore my hair naturally. I am lucky enough to already have tight waves/loose curls, but I still needed to use a product to define them and prevent frizz. I fell in love with John Frieda Beach Blonde Ocean Waves Sea Spray. It made my hair magically beachy and smelled deliciously of coconut and suntan lotion. It was unlike any other product because it was separated like oil and water and you had to shake it up in order to mix the two parts before you used it. Sadly, sometime after 2005, it was discontinued (dun dun DUNNN). I never found anything that quite did what this product did for me and so, I started to wear my hair straight again.

Recently, I've noticed a huge trend of salt water beachy wave sprays coming onto the market (ex: GOSH Professionals Salt of Mine Spray). After ruminating on purchasing one for almost an entire day, it dawned on me: isn't this shit just sea salt and water? I started doing some research and it turns out I was 100% right (more like 73%)! You do have to add something hydrating to the spray since salt is really drying, but other than that, this is the easiest recipe for awesome hair I've ever found.

You will need:

♥ An empty spray bottle (if it was previously used, make sure you clean it really well because no one wants Clorox hair). If you're weird about these things, like I am, you can just go to the travel section of your local pharmacy or The Container Store (but BE CAREFUL because you might end up organizing things that nobody needs to organize like free makeup samples and rabbit food), and buy a spray bottle.
♥ Good ol' H2O
♥ Sea salt (If you live near the ocean, feel free to just bring the spray bottle to the sea itself and take water directly from there)
♥ A Conditioner that's on the heavier side
♥ Olive oil (I went to the "ethnic" section of my local pharmacy and bought olive oil that's specifically for hair but many sites say you can just use regular olive oil...the choice is yours)

First, I put a couple tablespoons of the sea salt in the water. I find the salt dissolves easier when the water is hot, but you do you. Add as much salt as you like (remember, you can always add more); the more salt, the beachier/piecier your hair will look. Then, add enough conditioner and olive oil so that they make up about 1/3rd of the spray bottle. The conditioner and olive oil should be in equal parts. Finally, just take a shower per usual, wash your hair, towel dry so that your hair is damp, shake the bottle to mix up the ingredients, and spray all over your head liberally. I have bangs, so I obviously avoided those and styled them normally. If you have areas of your hair you want straight-ish, don't spray there (but if I have to explain that, I'm not even sure you'll be able to make the spray so...). You can also spray on more once your hair dries if certain areas look less defined than others. Note: if you have pin-straight hair, it's going to come out pin-straight and awkwardly piecy, which will probably make it look filthy. This is not a miracle, wave-creating spray. Scrunching it does make it curl up a bit (A BIT, people), but you should expect the same results that you get from dipping your head into the ocean. It's more for definition and less for making curls/waves out of thin air (or hair! har har har). I achieved the same exact results as when I used to use the John Frieda spray and I also got to feel sort of like a mad scientist. The benefits are endless.

Sloths.

2011-05-26T14:00:00.000-07:00

People own sugar gliders and poison dart frogs and all sorts of weird exotic pets that probably should never be inside of a home. Yes, sloths are endangered, but that doesn't mean I can't take one that's already in some sort of slothy foster home, right? I mean, there's a pet shop in Florida that sells sloths and it's not like those sloths will get released into the jungle of Miami if they aren't purchased. They'll just stay in the pet store forever until they die. Unless I buy one for $2,000 (yes, that is the actual price), take a plane to South America for $5,000 (no, that is not the actual price), and return said sloth to the Amazon Rainforest, I'm not actually going to be helping with the whole endangered thing. I should probably just go to Florida and get a pet sloth, right?

Do you know that sloths only go to the bathroom once per week?! I AM NOT EVEN KIDDING. I did my research and internet sleuthing and this is a fact. Not only do their outsides move slowly, but so do their insides (i.e. digestive tract). Also, they have to climb down from their tree and go to the bathroom on the forest floor because I guess they don't like to poop where they do nothing productive. This leaves them incredibly susceptible to predators since their "fight or flight" response is more like a "just flight, but very slowly" response. It seems that because of these reasons, they've adapted and evolved over time to only excrete waste once per week. This means that they are the BEST. PET. EVER. My bunny, House M.D., shoots little BB poops out his butt about every five seconds. A sloth would be a definite upgrade on my pet-related fecal clean-up (even though there is no word on how large this once-a-week doodie [best word ever] break is).

From reading various sloth-owner stories, I found out that sloths love to cling onto you like they're hugging you. I can't even deal with the abstract idea that I could have a pet that's this affectionate. Normally, I just beg my cat to come to me with kissy noises while she sits just out of reach, staring at me mockingly. That, or I pet my rabbit while he looks at me with robotic, unfeeling eyes (if you ask me, rabbits are just above fish on the affection scale). Also, sloths can barely cause any issues with destruction like most other pets. Think of how many times your dog has eaten or peed in your shoes, how often your gray cat pukes everywhere (oddly specific), or that time your bunny ate your roommates' new headphones and then she yelled at you (even more oddly specific). Would that have happened if they were moving just a fraction of the speed that they normally do and hugging your torso? Probably not.

Anyway, moral of the story is that I need a sloth. NEED. I woke up the other morning, bleary-eyed, and asked my boyfriend (Sam, as some of you may know him) where sloths come from. He started going on about how when two people love each other very much something something something and then suggested we practice sloth-making. I'm not really sure what he meant so I just ignored him and did my slothy research. That's how I found out about that pet store in Florida that sells sloths for two G's and now I know exactly where my bonus money is going!!!

In addition to that Bradypus variegatus (that's "sloth" in science talk and I'm also thinking that I'll name my sloth "Bradypus" now) tangent, I discovered some news about my blog today:

Upset most of the time?! Well, now I am! Thanks a lot. Not only that, but I'm only 24. The analyzer not only told me that I was a whiner but that I'm an old-ass whiner. Way harsh.

I guess it's not as bad as Sam's analysis though:

Now that is just plain ~~hilarious~~ rude.

I Spit on Myself In My Sleep.

2011-05-23T10:13:00.000-07:00

Not once, or even twice; I've hock-tooied all over my own face at least three times this year alone. Before you become concerned, it's not a matter of extreme self-loathing. Last night, for example, I dreamed that someone was feeding me loose powder makeup and then I woke up to me spitting all over myself. It's like some unintentional, recreation of a Flavor of Love episode except I don't even get to fight anybody.

This picture sort of looks like it could be from a dream.

These aren't the only recurring dreams I have that affect me in real life. I have zombie dreams at least once a week, if not more. That probably has something to do with the fact that I am constantly talking about zombies. Why? Because I heart them and I can't wait for the zombie apocalypse. The dreams, however, wake me up and then leave me paralyzed in fear because my brain makes me think I'm still participating in the zombie apocalypse and that I fell asleep on the job. Suddenly, my roommate who got up to go to the bathroom is a rabid zombie ready to bite my face off and here I am, NAPPING.

I'm not sure if this post really has a point, other than to tell you that I spit on myself in my sleep sometimes and love zombs. I guess it could be worse though, right? I've definitely had dreams about peeing and pooping and have yet to wake up covered in my own excrement (thank God). But at this rate, who knows? If I can spit on myself while I'm unconscious, what awaits me in the future?

Cats: Bionic?

2011-05-20T09:51:00.000-07:00

Purpose:

My boyfriend is currently visiting his grandparents in Arizona and for the next couple of days, he'll be tied up playing shuffle board and eating prunes and other things of that nature. He has added me to his blog and asked me to write a guest post for him while he's away so that his blog doesn't remain sad and dormant. I think he wants me to infuse his techy blog with some immature humor. I also think he made the biggest mistake of his life.

I've decided to mix our two greatest passions together in order to come up with a blog post that will appropriately combine our interests. Sam loves machines. I love cats. So, naturally, this post will be a series of scientific findings (Sam also enjoys science!) as to why cats are robots.

Materials:

♥ One aloof, gray cat with a penchant for (purposely) vomiting and diarrhea-ing on people she dislikes (this includes an ex boyfriend, an ex roommate, a current roommate [Aidan, seen below with said cat], and Sam).
♥ http://icanhascheezburger.com/
♥ A phone with camera/video capabilities, a real camera, a camcorder, etc.
♥ Two Yak Bakwards'
♥ Snacks

Methods:

Much like how Jane Goodall lived with chimpanzees for science, this experiment requires you to have spent at least three full years living with a cat (Felis catus). You must go about your normal, daily routine but simply add a cat to the equation and observe it's behavior in your spare time. After the three year period is up, you can eat the cat. You can also keep the cat as a pet (recommended) and eat the snacks you prepared for your materials. Make sure to have your phone (camera, camcorder, picture-taking, video-making device) handy at all times in order to record traces of robotic glitches during these three years.You may use http://icanhascheezburger.com/ for scientific research on Felis catus. Finally, meet up with a friend and use the two Yak Bakwards' to record the reverse section in the chorus of "Work It" by Missy Elliot to find out what she's really saying.

Data and Results:

Example of robocat laser eyes: Shadow with my roommate, Aidan.

Also, the following videos which show clear evidence of mechanical malfunctioning:

Discussion:

As you can see from the findings above, nothing about cats is fucking normal or natural. In the first picture, Shadow demonstrates the laser cat eyes that have been documented with photographic evidence many times before. I've heard bullshit about how this has to do with some sort of reflective layer behind their retina called the tapetum cellulosum or tapetum lucidum, but I'm not buying it. I mean, what the fuck is a "tapetum" anyway? It sounds like scientists just added "um" to the end of some fictional words in order to sound legit and therefore, cover the fact that cats are dangerous, genetically-engineered, laser-eyed robots.

The subsequent videos support this theory even more with documented examples of feline self-mutilation, robotic noises, and sudden changes in complete facial structure. The latter is clearly a defense mechanism in order to camouflage the robocat using Mystique-esque, shape-shifting tactics. The other two are obvious examples of glitches in the robocat software; perhaps there is a short circuit or someone spilled a glass of water on the subject. It has now also come to my attention that both cats and machines historically dislike water. Coincidence? I think not.

Conclusion:

Cats are definitely robots (possibly from outer space but that is TBD since I still haven't found Shadow's spaceship BUT I WILL). They will most likely try to overtake mankind one day and we will all be royally fucked. Lastly, the backwards part of the chorus in Missy Elliot's "Work It" is just her saying "I put my thing down, flip it, and reverse it" again. Can you believe it?!

Suck It.

2011-05-18T09:55:00.001-07:00

It's not uncommon in the U.S. to have braces. In fact, I've found that most of the people I know with reasonable teeth have donned some sort of headgear in their youth. I am no exception to this.

From the moment I was born, I found comfort in sucking on the pointer and middle finger of my left hand. This, coupled with mashing a filthy blanket I called shmata (Yiddish word for rag) into my closed eye, was pure bliss for me. Later, my shmata was butchered and cut into four smaller shmatas so that I could easily replace it when I lost it (which was frequently because I was a careless child). Finally, circa 1991, I lost my final shmata and consequently, my shit. My mom, being the best mother ever (and having a very low tolerance for whining, crying, and bullshit in general), immediately brought me to the nearest Toys "R" Us so that I could pick out the next thing to mush onto my face while sucking my fingers. My eyes lit up when I found a stuffed Siamese cat (we had a non-stuffed Siamese at the time but she was most unfriendly). I immediately started rubbing the tail under my nose and sucking on my two fingers and my mom knew that we had found the one.

Siamese Stuffy Number One lasted until I left him at my elementary school library about four years later and my poor mother had to soothe me that later night when I had a complete mental breakdown. Back to Toys "R" Us we went the next day and my saliva-soaked fingers were crossed that they still had the same Siamese cat stuffed animal for sale. No dice, but there was one tolerably similar. I decided to give this stuffy a proper name so that maybe I wouldn't lose him. Snowflake was born.

Nigel Thornberry: doppelganger of my youth.

Snowflake's tail wasn't sufficiently long enough for my finger-sucking affairs, so I migrated to using his forearm and rubbing it gently on my nose. The years went on and soon, it was 1997 and I was 10 years old. My dad knew that soon this finger-sucking thing wouldn't be socially acceptable and neither would my dopey, Nigel Thornberry-esque, buck teeth. He tried to sit me down and calmly explain why I should stop doing my favorite thing. I said no. When he commanded it "because he said so," I would steal away and suckle in secret. I felt like some sort of drool-covered fugitive and it made the experience even more pleasurable. My dad soon realized that I was fibbing about having quit my habit cold turkey and decided to bust out the WMDs: hot pepper-flavored, anti-finger-sucking nail polish. My father came in the night like some sort of ninja manicurist and painted all of my nails with the foul polish while I was unconscious. When I woke up, I was horrified by what I tasted but immediately knew what was going down. I decided to take one for the team (just Snowflake and me, I guess) and bite all of the nail polish off of my nails. Within 10 minutes, I was back in finger-sucking heaven.

My dad's efforts continued for the next year, but were unsuccessful. At 11 years old, I was now in 6th grade, and although I was playing it cool and rocking out the the Backstreet Boys during the day, by night I was sucking my fingers like a toddler. Some kids started making fun of me for my buck teeth and I distinctly remember one kid singing "fall into the Gap," except this time it wasn't about the retail store and was a diss aimed at my incisors. My father finally decided it was time for me to take a trip to the orthodontist and get fitted with braces. But how was he going to get me to stop sucking (my fingers!)?

Why is my middle finger shaped like a backwards 's?'

My orthodontist, Dr. Chan (located somewhere in the middle of New Jersey), took care of that for him with her giant book of deformed teeth AKA oral scare tactics. This book was filled with some of the gnarliest, snarliest teeth you've ever seen; they were black and decayed or protruding through closed mouths or growing out of foreheads or all of the above. One look through that book coupled with the phrase "this could be you if you don't stop sucking your fingers" was enough for me to quit for good. Two years, 21 changes in rubber band color theme, one clear, blue retainer with my name on it, and 43 gags from the taste of brace bracket cement later, I had straight teefs. I still have a permanent retainer wire fastened securely to the inside of my bottom front teeth and my pointer and middle finger on my left hand are eternally deformed and curve unnaturally (See Image 2). Other than the aforementioned physical maladies, all that remains of this ordeal is the emotional, tooth-related trauma I endured. Oh, and Snowflake still helps me fall asleep every night.

Subway Personalities I Could Do Without.

2011-05-17T11:22:00.000-07:00

The title says it all; these people make my commuting experience displeasing and leave me with an unfavorable attitude for the rest of the work day.

The Overeager Boarder

The rudest fucking thing in the world is to try and enter the subway before everyone has exited, but this person just does not give a shit. Even at 42nd street-Times Square during rush hour, they will slip in on the side while 20+ people try to exit through the tiny opening they are allotted. Where they have to be is just that much more important than where you have to be and you're just going to have to deal with that. The most effective method of combating the Boarder is much like the defense mechanisms of smaller predators in the wild; make yourself as big (and pointy) as possible. I usually place both hands on my hips, allowing my razor-sharp, hyper-extended, alien elbows to flank me on either side, and exit the subway without a care in the world. The Overeager Boarder can enter before you exit, but at their own risk. Hopefully some sort of lesson will be learned from the searing pain in their appendix area due to being rocked in the gut, but probably not.

Patient Zero

A lot of the time we have no choice but to be inches away and face-to-face with a complete stranger on the subway. Sometimes this can be tolerable with the help of a strategically-placed magazine or book. Other times, death is a better option since it seems impending anyway. This is because the person who you're smashed against is possible infected with the zombie virus. They sneeze, snot, hack, and cough everywhere and there is a variety of multi-colored liquids dripping from the areas in and around their mouth. There's no escape until the next stop when people shuffle around a bit and you intensely regret pointing and laughing at the people who wear surgical masks during their commute.

The Boombox

Whether it's with electronics or with their own mouths, the Boombox is loud as fuck. You can usually find them sitting down and screaming every word they say (regardless of whether they're with anyone) or playing their music aloud, sans headphones, from their MP3 player/phone. Their voice is usually one of the grating, Fran Drescher types and their music is always something severely intolerable like Mambo No. 5 or the Tiny Toons Theme Song. The Boombox usually rides the entire subway line from start to finish, most likely just to annoy people like you.

Inner Ear Issues

These people seem to have no control over their bodies. If it wasn't for them stomping on your foot every other minute, you would swear that they didn't even have legs. You surmise that even if they were sitting down they'd be flailing all over the subway car with each twist and turn. They're usually carrying a giant, turtle shell of a backpack which also slams into you every time that they do. Inner Ear Issues never notices the stink eye you're giving them, but you notice the stink eye that everyone else is giving you every time you domino into them on the subway. The resemblance to a Thwomp (of Super Mario Bros. fame) who has just gotten off of a spinning teacup ride is uncanny. The only way to save yourself from their war path is to get off of the subway ASAP.

The Insecure Stripper

We're all familiar with the stripper poles on the subway; they're not attached to any seats and have a ton of open hand room for people of all heights trying to stabilize themselves. If you're wasted, 18, and the subway isn't crowded, they are the perfect accessory for the sexy dance you've been practicing in the mirror every time you listen to a song with a lot of bass in it (oddly specific). If you're the Insecure Stripper, this is the perfect pole to hug with your entire body and not let anyone else on the crowded subway car use. If you're brave and incredibly unbalanced (physically!), like I am, you will hold onto the pole anyway. This will not detach the Stripper from the subway pole and you will most likely end up copping a feel somewhere inappropriate. Regardless of their gender, the Insecure Stripper always seems to be covered in breasts so that no matter where you clutch on the pole, there is a boob continually smashing into the back of your hand. Don't get me wrong, I love touching me some titties, but usually not unexpectedly, in public, and at 9:00am in the morning.

Subway Soapboxer

If you're an egocentric tool with a lot on your mind (or just plain certifiable), you've probably realized that the subway is the perfect venue to share your views with people. This is because as soon as those doors close, they can't escape and are forced to listen to your bullshit. In my experience, the Soapboxer is usually a deeply religious person who wants to explain the ins and outs of Jesus Christ to you or talk about how they are a fallen angel and only young girls are pure enough to touch them (the latter exists, has a ponytail, and likes to take the 6 from Astor Place). The Soapboxer may also read straight from the Bible, share their horrible poetry with you, talk about their political views, perform a scene from Shakespeare's Hamlet, tell you a boring anecdote, and countless other things. No matter how much you try to read or turn up the volume on your music, you can't block them out. You must listen and they know that.

Thanks for reading. If you think you're one of the aforementioned people, well then fuck you forever. If not, good luck riding the subway!

Beauty Secrets.

2011-05-16T08:40:00.000-07:00

Now that Blogger has decided to stop being a pain in the ass, I've decided to write a post about the beauty products that I simply cannot live without. These are the products I would take with me if I were stranded on a deserted island where I had to look fierce at all times because the palm trees were really judgey.

Kiehl's Blue Herbal Moisturizer

After breaking out unexpectedly in the grossest pimples early this winter, I was recommended this moisturizer by a friend of mine. I have tried Kiehl's products before and wasn't too impressed; they do let you sample pretty much anything if you ask for it and their tea-scented chapstick is delicious (but maybe you're not supposed to eat chapstick?). Either way, I was incredibly desperate so I gave this moisturizer a whirl. Within three days of using it, my skin had cleared up entirely. I still use it today and I get maybe one or two barely-noticeable pimples per month. It does have salicylic acid in it which happens to increase oil production in a lot of people, so moisturize with caution! If you have oily skin, like I do, I would recommend not using it everyday (my dermatologist recommended using it 2-3 times per week and he's a doctor so I guess that's pretty legit).

Benefit High Beam Illuminator

I never knew the importance of being dewy until I bought this little, shimmering bottle and experienced it first hand. I always use it after all of my foundation, concealer, and blush are applied and a little goes a long way. I immediately go from looking like a used-up piece of chalk to an iridescent extra from Fern Gully. Benefit also makes another variation called Moon Beam, but from what I hear, High Beam is where it's at when it comes to illuminator. It's recommended to apply it according to this diagram, but if you want to apply less, that's ok too. If you want to apply more, you run the risk looking sweaty and creepy. The creamy texture of High Beam lets you paint little dots onto your face using the brush applicator and then rub it in with your fingertip to blend it. You won't regret buying it. Trust me.

Covergirl LashBlast Volume Blasting Waterproof Mascara
(in Very Black 800)

This mascara was recommended to me by my friend Emily who has the best eyelashes I've ever seen. I had been using DiorShow since I was about sixteen years old but when I saw her dark, thick, long eyelashes, I knew I was doing something wrong. LashBlast is less than half the price of my old favorite but about ten times better. The thick formula pumps up my eyelashes to extreme latitudes and longitudes. I would recommend using a lash comb post application because after a couple of coats, this mascara can clump up a bit (one pass with the aforementioned comb will fix the clumps and separate your lashes). The result is a blink of the eye that makes men and women everywhere drop their pants.

Carmex Cherry Chapstick

Since I was a little girl, I've been using this chapstick. My father has been using it since the 90s (and probably even before that aka the Jurassic period) and I can credit him with getting me hooked on the stuff. The soothing, mentholy feeling it leaves on my lips is like none other and one night sleeping with it on will turn any dry, cracked lips into a plush, healthy pout. This product has been essential to me since not only do I have huge lips, but I like to pick at them constantly. It's a horrible, self-destructive habit that has left me with bloody lips and painful cuts on more than one occasion. Keeping Carmex on my lips not only prevents me from picking them (who wants slimy, chapstick fingers?), but it heals the damage I've already done in record time. I would recommend wearing a thin layer of it under any gloss or lipstick to keep lips protected even when you want a more colorful look.

Burt's Bees Tinted Lip Balm

I cannot tell you how long I'd been searching for a tinted lip balm like this one; something moisturizing but with the tiniest hint of color. I was cursed with non-pigmented lips that, without any color on them, are a couple of

shades lighter than the skin on my face. It's a look that only zombies and Frankensteins could love, and the latter isn't single. This balm comes in six different colors (of which I own Rose and Tiger Lily) and isn't runny and glossy or thick and tacky like most tinted lip balms out there. It also isn't drying like most lipsticks. It goes on smoothly, keeps lips hydrated, and ads just a hint of color. The results are rosy/peachy lips that have a slight sheen to them and are the natural lip color that you've always dreamed of.

Bobbi Brown Long-Wear Gel Eyeliner
(in Black Ink)

Liquid and pencil eyeliner should be wearing dunce caps in a corner somewhere now that this eyeliner is in play. It goes on smoothly without smudging or running and lasts until you're ready to take it off (I've even slept

in it and woke up looking like groggy version of Anna Karina in Une Femme est une femme). It's absolutely perfect for that winged, cat-eye look that we all know and love. I apply it using a Sephora Angled Eyeliner Brush that creates a perfect, straight line from even the most unstable hands. I used to spend almost an hour in the bathroom trying to perfect my winged eyeliner and 84 filthy Q-tips later, my eyeliner would still be crooked, smudged, and uneven. Now I just follow this tutorial and it's like the eyeliner does the work for me. Your friends that have been waiting for hours for you every time they want to go out will thank me.

Lush Big Shampoo

The tiniest, quarter-sized amount of this shampoo will lather up your huge-ass head. My head is like an orange on a toothpick and my hair is as thick as a lions, but this shit really works to get the suds going without having to use gallons of it. I used to go through one, Costco-sized bottle of shampoo per month, but I'm still on my first pot of Big and I bought it back in January. Not only that, there's still over half left! The sea salt, lime, and

other deliciously-edible, margarita-esque ingredients pump up the volume in your hair without frizzing it up. It also makes my hair act as memory foam; Big will actually hold your hairstyle even without hairspray. Make sure to use a very thick conditioner, only on the ends, since the sea salt can be very drying. Also, don't be afraid to stop into Lush and ask for a free sample at the register. The sample alone will last you a couple of weeks and you can get a feel for what I'm talking about. Warning: the sales people are very friendly and even more convincing. Whatever you do, do not buy everything in the store. I don't care how much willpower you think you have, it will all go down the drain with the washed-off cupcake mask that they just tested out on your forearms.

Organix Moroccan Argan Oil

We've all heard of how amazing the expensive, Moroccan Oil brand line of products are and how they turn even the nastiest mops into spun gold. Well, below are the ingredients for both products:

Cyclopentasiloxane, Dimethicone, Cyclomethicone, C 12 15 Alkyl Benzoate, Butylphenyl Methylpropional, Argania Spinosa (Argan) Kernel Oil (Argan), Linum Usitatissimum (Linseed) Extract (Linseed), Parfum, Yellow 11, Red 17.

Cyclopentasiloxane, Dimethicone, Cyclomethicone, Butylphenyl Methyl Propional, Argania Spinoza Kernel Oil (Aragan Oil), Linseed (Linum Usitatissimum) Extract, Fragrance Supplement, D & C Yellow 11, D & C Red 17, Coumarin, Benzyl Benzoate, Alpha-Isomethyl Ionone.

I bet you couldn't guess that the first one, the one with less additives, is the Organix brand moroccan oil! With a price difference of $23.96 ($30.99 for Moroccan Oil, $7.03 for Organix Moroccan Argan Oil via Amazon.com), it's clear which one is the right choice. I apply about a quarter-sized amount (remember: very long and thick hair here) to all of my hair when it's damp and then, on days when I don't wash my hair (which is a lot more than I'd like to admit because I'm disgusting), I apply a dime-sized amount to the ends only to keep them nice and hydrated. My hair maintains the luster and smoothness afforded by a luxury product and I can use that extra $23.96 to buy cheeseburgers.

That's it! I hope you had fun! Feel free to jack my style and use all of these products or use none at all and continue living your lives.

Celebrities I Hate and Why I Hate Them.

2011-05-12T12:05:00.000-07:00

I like to believe that each and every person on this planet has at least one celebrity that they hate with a fiery passion. Just hearing this person's name sends you into an emotional and irrational tirade about how you'd wish they'd just pass away. Your rage is almost palpable and even you're a bit unsure as to why your freaking out so much at the mere mention of this person. Below are some celebrities who do that to me.

Natalie Portman

I can only assume that she spends the majority of her free time shoving pretentious books directly into her anus and eating organic grapes that are fed to her by Harvard alums. Her personality is one of someone who shits strawberry soft serve and her acting is nothing short of boring. I was begrudgingly dragged to see Black Swan in theatres where I sat for two hours and watched the most predictable, self-indulgent piece of pseudo-hipster, man-boy fodder that I've seen in years. Closer was her only tolerable film but then again, I was able to distract myself from her "look how free spirited and quirky I am" nonsense and watch Julia Roberts, Clive Owen, and Jude Law do their thang. I tried to watch Garden State twice and fell asleep both times. Putting Zach "douchebag" Braff and Natalie Portman in a film together should be considered a federal misdemeanor.

There are plenty of other actresses I don't like for their general personality and acting skills, but Natalie took my hatred to the next level when she decided to defend Roman Polanski and barely speak out against John Galliano. She (along with a handful of other celebrities) signed the celebrity petition to let rapist Roman Polanski go free. Is he not a rapist anymore because you like him or because so much time has passed since he raped that young girl? Which one is it, Natalie?

She is also well-known for being incredibly outspoken about Israeli issues and some people have even started calling her a role model for young, Jewish girls. That's why I was so "disgusted and shocked" when all Natalie could offer up in response to the following Galliano statements was that she was "disgusted and shocked."

Said to a Jewish woman: "People like you would be dead. Your mothers, your forefathers, would all be fucking gassed."

"I love Hitler!"

Keep in mind, she is the spokeswoman for the fragrance that this Anti-Semitic piece of shit designs. Yes folks, he was her boss when these statements surfaced. I think you owe Jewish people out there a little bit more defense than just stating the fucking obvious.

Bradley Cooper

Pink shirts and bottle service; Bradley is that asshole at the club that everyone hates. He's constantly shouting for more jägerbombs and likes to keep everyone he knows privy to just how many figures are in his bank account. He's a huge fan of the "Steak and BJ Day" (which happens to be my birthday) and prides himself in how he uses $600 hair gel made from fresh placentas to keep his hair firmly in place. Is any of this true? Who knows. He could be a very nice guy who uses V05 hair products for all I know. I hear he does adorable things like keep hats and backpacks from the sets of movies he makes because he's whimsical and nostalgic. I don't believe that for a second. With a face like that I'd certainly hit it and quit it, but I'm not sure I'd ever be able to shake the feeling that I got baby oil into places I'll never be able to get it out of. Bradley Cooper is a complete slimeball and if that blind item about him beating his ex-wife is true, I'll never doubt my gut-feelings towards people again.

Beyoncé

In public she presents herself as relatively normal. At home, I wouldn't be surprised if you found her on all-fours pretending to be some sort of Tina Turner/Siberian tiger hybrid. Jay-Z probably wakes up early everyday to make her a smoothie of raw meat, diamonds, and his tears. She almost redeemed herself by being kind to Taylor Swift during the whole Kanye West 2009 Grammy fiasco, but I quickly forgot about all that the second I saw her wailing in another commercial trying to sell strands of her hair or some shit. Doesn't it seem sort of strange that the members of Destiny's Child were replaced every other day but Beyoncé never left? Have you heard of or seen any of them since they left Destiny's Child? I think it's quite possible that Beyoncé ate them to absorb their musical abilities. The only thing good that ever came from Beyoncé's existence in the Single Ladies Clown video. The end.

Gwyneth Paltrow, Chris Martin, and Apple Martin

She was born in LA but somehow has an English accent. I can relate because I was born in Montreal but I talk like a pirate.While I hate watching Glee because it is the worst show on television, I also love Glee and end up watching it every week. Gwyneth guest-starred on Glee for the past couple of episodes as "Holly Holiday," the alliterative and "just one of the kids" substitute teacher. On her last episode, she had the audacity sing Adele. Have you heard Adele sing? Have you heard Gwyneth sing? Is so, then there's really not much more I need to say. She should be ashamed of herself.

Coldplay sucks. Coldplay has always sucked. If you disagree with this, then you might also suck (seriously, you might). Chris Martin may not be the worst person in the world, but he is guilty by association for marrying Gwyneth and fronting Coldplay. You may say it's a bit fucked up of me to hate on a child. I might tell you that me no care. If you're named after a fruit, and Gwyneth Paltrow was the one who gave you that name, then I hate you. The only reason that Moses Martin has been left out of this is because Moses rules.

On the flip side, there are celebrities that can do no wrong such as Zooey Deschanel (makes cotton candy solely with her voice), Ryan Gosling (the sexiest male feminist in all the land), and Audrey Hepburn (involved heavily UNICEF before UNICEF was cool). But I'll leave that for another time.

Throw Up.

2011-05-11T10:31:00.000-07:00

Vomit. Puke. Hurl. Losing your lunch. Tossing your cookies. A mouth volcano. Old unfaithful.

The serial spewer herself sporting her summer 'hawk.

I don't know about you guys, but my tolerance for the above has always been zilch. Just the sound, smell, sight, or mere suggestion of regurgitation sends my own stomach for a threatening loop. Even piles of my cat's barely-digested Purina cat food pebbles make me think twice about having eyes (and a cat). This issue has not only affected me, but can be seen taking its toll on sick, drunk friends without a hair tie, roommates with cat vomit-covered socks, and even helpless six-year-old girls with a bad stomach bug. The latter will be my subject for today.

Babysitting is the easiest thing in the world, which is why I spent most of my adolescent years and even college years sitting on babies as much as I could in my spare time. You get to be very silly for a couple of hours, maybe even sit on your ass and watch a Disney movie like you would be doing on a Saturday night anyway (just me?), and then you put the kid to bed (usually around 9:00pm or some other early-as-fuck bedtime) and watch your stories on the TV or troll the internet until the parents come home.

About two years ago in the West Village at around 9:00pm, I was doing just that. I had sang just about every Disney song in my repertoire (which is just about every Disney song in Disney's repertoire), tucked her into bed like a little Chipotle burrito, and placed her over-sized Dora the Explorer stuffed animal at the food of her bed. Then I sat in her room with her and proceeded to troll the internet from the comfort of a nearby chair.

About an hour later, and with absolutely no warning at all, she bolted up from bed and into a right angle and projectile vomited all over the end of her bed and Dora's face. I immediately picked her up by the armpits and carried her to the bathroom where she continued to toss her cookies into the more-deserving toilet. After managing to be somewhat comforting despite the fact that watching her made my insides want to be on the outside, I got her changed and brought her back into her bedroom. There I was met with the horrible realization that in order to put her back to bed, I would have to clean up all the throw up. There was no one there to save me and shirking responsibility would mean the parents coming home to a child who was sleeping in her own stomach contents. I looked down at my charge, who was holding my hand and looking very sleepy, and I knew that I had to just forget about my sensitivity to this mess and be a motherfucking adult.


A relevant coloring book illustration by Aparna and myself.

I went over to the bed with all of the paper towels I could find west of 6th Avenue and tried to scoop off what I could. The second I got within a foot of the bed, my gag reflex kicked in like I was getting x-rays done at the dentist, only worse, because at the dentist there is no giant, smiling Dora dripping with vomit. I could only conclude that before I came over to babysit, this little girl had entered a hot dog eating contest or consumed, at the very least, an entire pizza. I thought not being able to smell the disaster would help me be more efficient so I grabbed a dish towel from the kitchen and tied it around my face so that only my eyes were visible. I was the Upchuck Bandit.

Despite the fact that I could only smell dingy soap and assorted crumbs, my body would not allow me to clean up the mess. If I continued to force myself, it would only be a matter of time before the only thing adult in the room would be the size of the addition piles of puke on the bed. I took the entire comforter, including Dora (who, at this point, was definitely mocking me) and dumped it into the bathtub. Had this not been an NYC apartment and had there been a washer, I wouldn't have been so cruel about my placement of the bedding but hey, I didn't have much to work with. The bed was finally clean and I was relieved. I closed the bathroom door behind me and let myself forget that throw up ever happened that night. It wasn't until the parents came home that I let myself remember and recount what happened (I had called them earlier during the incident and left a message, but they didn't pick up or return my call). Her mom went straight to the bathroom and immediately started dealing with the barf-encrusted detritus. Not a single gag could be heard as she waded elbow-deep into the filthy remains of one of the worst nights of my life.

This was the moment that I realized that I might not ever be able to have children. If I do, they will either have to throw up alone and then promptly clean it up or watch as their mother retches along with them every step of the way. I guess I can only hope that my baby daddy has absolutely no gag reflex (that's what she said!).

My First Chocolatey Post.

2011-05-10T13:31:00.000-07:00

Chocolate, but not my chocolate.

So this is the very beginning of it all. The first post ever on the first page ever of my first blog ever (except not really, I have like five others). What better way to kick this baby off than to start off by telling the world how much chocolate I just ate? I'll describe it as best as I can (even though I sort of blacked out during) so you can feel as if you were there with me.

I was minding my own business, finished up the leftover Mongolian BBQ from yesterday's lunch, when a coworker quietly suggested I try some Kinder Shoko-Bons. After having consumed my body mass in Kinder Buenos yesterday, I really didn't have the will power to refuse. The four Shoko-Bons were immediately followed by four Dark Chocolate Hershey Kisses, four triangular pieces of a Milk Chocolate Toblerone, two Hershey Krackel fun-size bars (fun-size indeed), one mini Milky Way, and one mini Almond Joy (which I promptly told to fuck off since I've never liked coconut involved in my business affairs). At this point, I was using the more pedestrian chocolate as palate-cleansers for the European and Mexican chocolates we had leftover from team members' various vacations. It was finally brought to my attention that I had been doing laps around the immediate office area and shoving whatever resembled chocolate into my face. As most of you may know, this is quite the dangerous endeavor when you remember how much chocolate going into your body resembles chocolate coming out of your body. Now that I've slowed down, I'm finally writing this first entry after hours of tinkering in the "Design" tab but mainly, I can't stop thinking about the more chocolate that's a couple of feet away from me.

Anyway, now that story time is out of the way, I'm sure you want to know what kind of shit to expect from my blog in the future:

♥ Food is at the very top of the list. Even if my post isn't about food at all, there might be pornographic pictures of food. This is how I roll (mmm now I want a roll).
♥ How my life relates to various episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and what this means when discussing my general mental health and well-being.
♥ Makeup and clothes: why I buy so many, where on my body I put them, and if they stop being used after the second or third go and remain in a drawer/closet for the rest eternity.
♥ I might explain why I hate any fictional media involving space. I also might not and you'll just have to come to terms with that.
♥ Feminism, sexism, racism, and ableism. Expect a lot of isms.
♥ Things that make you go "Awwww" and then your eyes or ovaries (provided you have a set) explode. An example of this is the YouTube video, Cookie Monster. May the first sentence of this bullet serve as a warning when watching this. I will not be held responsible for any dangly eyes or splodey ovaries.
♥ New York City reviews: I will complain about the subway, rave about the Brooklyn brunches, and pull my best poker face when describing the underground warehouse parties.
♥ Toilet-related things. Doodie is the best word in the world and I love talking about poop. It makes me happy and kind of proud. Hopefully you feel the same way.

That's about it! I hope everyone is pumped for the ride of their life. Since there's never a good way to end a post, especially your very first one, I'm just going to...