Wednesday, February 29, 2012

happy hairy leap day

today is kind of a throwaway day...you tell me if this is a throwaway blog.
Yesterday I was out playing bar trivia with my lovely fellow blogging friend Rae, and naturally the conversation turned to blogging. Apparently neither of us has anything more to discuss. [Tangent: That's totally a lie. She had already told me what happens at the end of the Twilight saga since I gave up on it because it was terrible. We also discussed Rupaul's musical career at length. We keeps it deep.]. I was commending her on her ability to photodocument everything...like vacations and weddings and my inability blog about the important stuff. I celebrated my new year by attending a 20's themed party. No blog. My best friend got married. No blog. My brother and his wife had a baby. No blog...till a month later. 

Apparently I am unable to wrap my brain about documenting big events in my life (or things that weigh heavily on my mind), yet I can circumnavigate the minutiae like a champ.  [Examples: I have written at least 3 posts that are all about bathroom habits...go figure.] In order to break this chain, I decided its time to tackle some hard hitting journalistic shizz on this leap day:  my boyfriend shaving his beard...

For exactly four months, my fella has hung up his razor and let his gingerry beard take over his face [Tangent: Crazy thick neck beard included.], all in the name of charity and frivolity.  To me its not weird. My boyfriend is like the Madonna of facial hair...he has many looks: his babyface which he thinks makes him look "murderry;" his moustache which he takes meticulous care of/pride in; and his impressive ginger beard.  

 Soapbox alert: I find it funny that many women have asked me if I "let" him do this or if he asked my permission. Seriously? It's his face. Hair is temporary, and his ability to regenerate stubble in a flash is second only to Shaving Fun Ken...



minus the awkward stoner hoodie...so why should it matter?  [Tangent: While youtubing, I found there was apparently a big shaving Ken doll fad in the mid 90s. This Cool Shavin' Ken came with Old Spice. I wish I was kidding.] Besides, I don't ask him what color I should paint my nails and lips...so why would place limitations on him?

LAME females...lame. Stop making the rest of us look bad. Let your fella do his thing. It's actually kind of lovely...its like having three different boyfriends, because he looks DRASTICALLY different with each incarnation. I'm like a monogomous polygamist. Fantastic.

Anyway, as much as I pretend it's a hassle to help stage picture concepts so he can keep an online log of his follicle growth...I secretly love it. Because I'm bidding it adieu for a while, today I am paying homage to some of my favorite Jamie beard looks from the past 4 months. [Tangent: Just for funzies- let's imagine it's like an American Idol homecoming montage of favorite moments set to some terrible Daughtry song.]

I pretty much love this one because it has all my favorite hairy ones in it featured prominantly

This looks totally natural.

If I am ever sad...I see this in my head.



problem child...all I'm sayin'




and my all-time favorite...

my entire family helped stage this photo. that's my gramp's sweater. I love everything about this.

Monday, February 27, 2012

they were just friends in low places


So the other day, I revealed this on my blog's Facebook page: [Tangent: WHAT!?!?! You haven't "liked" my blog's page on Facebook? What the hell is wrong with you? How else am I supposed to feel validated in life unless I am being "liked" on a social media site? No seriously, how else?]

The idea that upwards of 3 people were asking google that same question on a given Sunday made me giggle until all my nasal cavities and throat all convened in a snort festival of sorts. What brought these inquiries about? Surely it was not coincidental; there must have been some pop cultural event that somehow flew under my US Weekly reading/E! News watching radar. Was Garth spotted making out with Rupert Everett or was he getting his own Logo series? There had to be a reason for this questioning of sexuality, besides this obvious one...
worst concept ever.
You may not realize this [Tangent: unless you read this Garth-centric blog post or know me personally and know that I am a ginormous tool], but I have a soft spot in my heart that can only me filled by Garth. Because I was a big fan in middle school, his music still makes me 8 shades of happy. Although it really didn't matter if The Dance was same-sex only; being a fan, I felt like I had to know the truth- so I turned to the web, because it has never led me astray [Tangent: ...or is it that it always leads me astray. Can't recall.]

I learned a lot of things in this cursory quest, namely that wiki-answers has a whole category entitled "Celebrity Sexual Orientation." Also, that Tom Cruise alledgedly wrestled with a gay prostitute [Tangent: Literally...like in a singlet.], but I was coming up a bit short on concrete proof that Garth had friends in downlow places.  Basically, the only proof that many sites offered to support these allegations were that Mr. Brooks won a GLAAD media award for including the following lyric in We Shall Be Free: 
When we're free to love anyone we choose
When this world's big enough for all different views
When we all can worship from our own kind of pew
Then we shall be free
Really??!?!? Internet, that's all you got?!?!? So because he supports gay marriage than he must be gay- right? Well, if we follow this mold then I am clearly a raging lesbian. I really don't think that a gay man would outfit himself primarily in Canadian tuxedos [Tangent: Even if he didn't hypothetically comply to the tried and true stereotype that gay men dress snappily, I'm sure he would have some gay hypothetical friends that would steer him away from some of the following looks, which all seem to center around unfortunate blouses.]



I can only assume that someone closed minded and gay-hating decided to pin some allegations on Mr. Brooks. Until I see  naked pictures of him making out with Andy Cohen for myself, I will continue to believe that his marriage to Trisha Yearwood is valid. If I am wrong, that's cool, too. The country world needs some shaking up. In the meantime, I leave you with the following to fill your quota of gay Garth Brooks. You're welcome.

Saturday, February 25, 2012

a new fear appears at the flea market


Today I went on one of my favorite Saturday jaunts, the Nashville Flea Market. Because I am a Pinterest'er and thus delusionally crafty [Tangent: I may or may not have spent my evening doing this],  I am constantly wanting to buy junk at flea markets and flip them into something shabby chic and fabulous for my hypothetical living space that I am theoretically furnishing. Because I have no home to decorate, I had to stick to what I know: nostalgic music and snack foods. After 3 hours of browsing, I left with The Simpsons Sing the Blues album (which I revealed to my boyfriend on the way home that I still knew all the words to 20 years later) and $15 worth of nearly expired snack foods.  I said NEARLY expired...I have some class. [Tangent: This means I had to turn down several gems like the vaguely racist salt and pepper shakers and the 1930's gynocologist's table. They both seemed hard to work into my color scheme.]

I also got really excited when I saw a table of Girl Scouts liquidating their cookie remnants, because for some strange reason my father/roommate ordered some, but neglected to get Thin Mints or Tagalongs! WHAAAAAAAT?!? That should be instinctive.  He did however get the disgusting Thank U Berry Munch cookies. [Tangent: No Thank U Berry Munch. They are ick...and don't get me started on the Savannah Smiles cookies, because I am still mourning the loss of Lemon Chalet Creams.]




After getting the above song from one of my favorite films out of my head, I knew I couldn't miss out on this limited time deliciousness. It was, indeed, cookie time! Passing the table, I made a mental note of its location knowing I couldn't juggle cookie boxes and sift through junk simultaneously. As my boyfriend and I were about 50 feet away, I heard the most terrifying sound imaginable: a quartet of impish young girls in green badged sashes sing songing in unison, "would you like to buy some girl scout cookies?"

This brings me to an apparent new irrational fear to add to my growing list, children speaking in unison. I guess pop culture has programmed me to believe this kind of behavior always is due to mind control and clearly leads to murder.







Jamie and I looked at each other and both shivered. "Good God, that was horrifying." We both looked over our shoulder as if they could smell our discomfort or maybe they were on our heals with machetes.

Why must they have said it all together?!?!?!? Couldn't they have just broken it up into rounds, or assigned one of the more mouthy young ladies as the spokesperson?  After hearing their sweetly evil voices, I couldn't unhear it. The damage was done- now all I could picture was this coming at me with boxes of samoas in hand:

Friday, February 24, 2012

smug in an elevator


God bless El Nino or climate change or whatever made it 70 degrees in February yesterday. [Tangent: I am a meteorological savant. I have Weatherbug on my computer.] This very weather phenomona is one I will be damning come August when my I am sweating from my teeth to my unmentionables. Because it was perfection outside- towards the end of my work day, a lap around my office building was needed to remind me what natural light looked like. It is criminal to be hunched over a keyboard spastically typing medical codes when the sun is shining so brightly. [Tangent: I realize that previous comment just came off hella Rainbow Brite. My sincerest apologies!]
she doesn't look a bit sorry about it.
After my loop around soaking up some natural vitamin D, I re-entered the glass doors of my office building feeling ready to knock out that last hour of medical billing. Hell, I even had a smile on my face. WEIRD!  However, that grin quickly faded to a frustrated grimace [Tangent: Nope...not like that one.] with one statement from a middle aged elevator patron with a scrunchy and a pack of Salem cigarettes in hand.

As I entered the elevator to take me upstairs, I carefully turned around despite my ample space to swipe my badge and hit the proper floor. The woman, who I had never encountered before said, "oh no, watch my foot!" in an alarmed joking manner as I turned about 2.5 feet from her Easy Spirits. Suddenly my sunshine buzz was killed and this woman looked pleased as punch at her unwitnessed cleverness. 

Elevators are awkward places, you feel the need to acknowledge your fellow rider, but not get overly invested as the ride is usually roughly 30 seconds. I don't need to know about their lives...hell we don't even need to talk, but just don't be a dick. [Tangent: That just made me remember the story my friend PJ told me about the time he got on the elevators in our building and there was just a guy in there with a chainsaw. His story may be my favorite awkward elevator moment because how do you address that...do you address it?] Safe and common topics to stick to in an office elevator:
  • The current weather
  • How much Mondays suck
  • How excited you are for the weekend
  • Weather forecasts- if its supposed to rain the coming weekend
  • Wardrobe compliments
  • How you're running late
This brief confinement is not the time to insult a stranger's driving skills. My distaste for her comment seems nitpicky and something most people would put in the small talk category, but if you have heard it day in and day out since the day you got into a wheelchair- the novelty quickly wears off. No...I am nowhere near your foot and No, you are not original. I drive a giant robot automotive everyday and have an untarnished driving record, I'm pretty sure I can navigate the hallways of an office. My urge to punch people in the face when I hear such unwarranted comments [Tangent: This is not to say that sometimes I don't totally almost run people over...if that's the case - CALL ME OUT!]  is only hindered because my reach is not great and I would likely just clobber them in the boob or crotchal [Tangent: Yes, crotchal.] regions.


In the meantime, I need to get back my sunshine high that was stolen yesterday courtesy of a song that is used in every movie montage ever:

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

fat kid tuesday

Today is Fat Tuesday, or so the radio reminded me on the commute home from work today. Laissez les bons temps rouler, bitches! I am semi-Catholic [Tangent: My recognition of Lent is the only thing that takes me from not at all to semi.], so every year this day marks me scrambling for something to give up that will somehow test my resolve without making me a holy terror.  It blows. In 29 years as a half-assed Catholic, I am completely running out of options. 

For the last few years, my obligatory Fat Tuesday stop is the combination Dunkin Donuts/Baskin Robbins that is near my workplace, but since I had forgotten about the holiday 'til I was almost home- I didn't get to go to town on a milkshake and some blueberry munchkins. 


It also meant I missed out on the crack and magic that is DD coffee.  Although this was upsetting, it was not crucial. By 3:00 PM, I was still riding high from the four caffeinated beverages imbibed during my work day- making my speech akin to Sixx from Blossom. [Tangent: Drinking this much was not my brightest decision. In its resting state, my heart rate is Sonic Hedghogian; After all this beverage, my hedgehog heart was grabbing chaos emeralds and power rings and amping himself up into oblivion- but it was TOTALLY worth it.] You see, my office for whatever reason installed new coffee machines in the break rooms today, and seriously it made my week.
several photos of it were posted on facebook by various coworkers- the true mark of importance.
Let me break this down- my work environment is sometimes less than thrilling. Numbers....doctors....cubicles...medical codes...blah...blah...blah. Sometimes little tweaks like a fancy new coffee machine can give you a renewed sense of morale. Seriously, within an hour of its installation- I can say I had at least 5 coffee related conversations with coworkers.

 The vendor's name is Flavia [Tangent: Which to some may sound like labia...but I am a mature and educated adult so I would never mention something like that.] and it is all kinds of yummy. Even though I am in no way a coffee snob [Tangent: Fair trade or gas station...it don't matter. If you can drown an Oreo in it, it's all systems go.], I still must say that it is delightful. So many options: Kona, Cinnamon Chai, hazelnut latte....when did my workplace fancy itself beyond the coffee options of caf or decaf? I love it!


Because it is something that is thrilling to me, not unlike previous year's sacrifices of impulse purchases and cursing, I decided it is something I must give up. Coffee...its been fun, but my heart will be happy with the break. I will see you again in 40 days and 40 nights. [Tangent: Thank goodness that machine has tea and cocoa options, because I like to play with robots.]

Monday, February 20, 2012

what's new, barbie?

In my Zombie Barbie post last week, I came clean about my secret Barbie collection, [Tangent: Which is pretty much stagnant and has not been added to in 10 years, but is in existence nonetheless. ] so I decided to further purchase my ticket to sad town by admitting another secret- I still like to roam the Target Barbie aisle, with no intention to buy...just more or less to visit. [Tangent: Why do I feel sometimes that this blog is saving me butt loads on therapy bills. I don't know how it always happens...I just kind of wander over, like a moth to a hot pink flame. It's not even a pleasant visit, especially when  I learn that dolls that I played with in my childhood are being re-released as vintage replicas. That makes me feel super old. Come on 1985 wasn't that long ago! ]


[Confession: Sometimes, I even strategically pick angels of the Angel trees that are female in the 5-11 range that request a Barbie doll on their holiday wishlist...just so I have an excuse to purchase one. I am such an asshole.]

Is it so wrong that sometimes I just like to know what's new with Barbie? I used to be so informed; we used to be friends.  When I was little, as with most young girls-I had my favorites. California Midge and Roller Blade Barbie were clearly the most popular girls in my Barbie town. The latter had a sweet white pleather belly top/short combo and badass light up roller blades. After figuring that the skates, which had a sparking mechanism similar to a Bic lighter could possibly catch things aflame, my sister and I sprayed a bunch of Barbie clothes with hairspray and rolled the skates over them repeatedly trying to set a mini fire. Watching too much People's Court as children had made us positive that some sweet lawsuit money was in our future. We also probably should have been better supervised in our playtime, but I am almost certain that our burgeoning arson careers were assisted by our mother. Midge also fell by the wayside after my sister cut all her hair off under the false pretense that it would grow back curly. I still hold I slight grudge about it.
this may be where the ginger obsession began.
These broads were always being fictitiously fought over by the two Ken dolls we owned. These two genital-less lads had a good ratio to the 30+ girl dolls we owned, yet were always outfitted in swim trunks or were crossdressing in a party dress, given the shoddy state of readily available Ken menswear [Tangent: Kenswear?]. Because of this...I decided to check in with my old pal Ken. What was he up to lately...



Speechless. Completely speechless...especially by the Twilight Ken that my boyfriend kept calling "Nick Cage Barbie." Apparently all that cross-dressing in the late 80s was a sign of things to come. With the addition of luxurious combable hair- the revamped Kens come off more than a little gay....not that there's anything wrong with that. The world is totally ready for an out fashion doll. It's 2012 people- time to stop selling him as Barbie's love! 

It even looks like a fraud...look at their uncomfortable hand holding.
I have come to realize that in Barbie world, every Barbie is in an unsatisfying marriage. As a consolation, they don't have to wear regulation uniforms in their blue collar careers.

that firefighting mini-dress is likely not fire-retardant.

Sunday, February 19, 2012

VD review.


I know I am a week late on a Valentine's post...I suck. Last year I was single and had four! [Tangent: They weren't all bitter berries and angst either, they were thought provoking exposes on the holiday: here, here, here and here. Ok- it's get real time; they were kinda angsty but definitely only 28% bitter berries. ] This year I have a an official valentine and no official Valentine's post. What up wit dat? Once again, I reiterate- I suck...and apparently like to type in outdated ebonics. 

How did I celebrate? My boyfriend and I celebrated our love over the joys of beer gravy and giant organic hamburgers at The Pharmacy in East Nashville, at 4:30. HOT! [Tangent: Because we are both roughly 87 and wanted to beat the V-day craziness, we decided early bird dining was a must. And btw- wholeheartedly recommend the Pharmacy...mostly because I love a ridiculous sloppy burger and misleading business names.] By roughly 6:30, for reasons completely unrelated to beer gravy, I felt like I was going to vomit all over my fella.  Although that act would make a charming kodak memory for our scrapbooks, I opted to go home and pass out instead of being a good girlfriend and spending the rest of the Hallmark holiday spending time with him. Have I mentioned I suck?
you can practically hear my stomach churning in this particularly unflattering photo of me.
Truth be told, I have always really liked Valentines day. It's fun, you eat chocolates with mysterious centers and try to pull off wearing pink and red together- a real kick in the crotch. In addition to having a new valentine his year, I found even more reasons to appreciate February 14: Ridiculous online Valentines. [Tangent: I feel like my coworkers and I invented these years ago when we had the concept of CSI Valentines. Ex: "I've seen inside your aorta, and I like what I see." or "Let's get busy and break out the black light." Classy, I know.]

These are some of the winners that I came across on VD [Tangent: not venereal disease.]:

Dictator Valentines are the perfect way to share your love.

this made me laugh for 20 minutes. Check out the others for next year.
How can you not love golden girls valentines!
My fella found these Breaking Bad ones for me. Saying I love you with meth is a beautiful thing.
I don't even watch Game of Thrones, but I can't resist Eunich humor. Who can?

This is perfect.

love. love. love. 

...for the Criminal Minds enthusiast in me from my fictitious crush, Rubbish Zine has made some pretty funny ones.

Tom Haverford and Andy would both make stellar Valentines
My friend, Alicia, gave me the one in the center designed by Elliot Quince.  Entrails really do say it all.


Lost Valentines say I love you to those that are still pissed off about the series finale [Tangent: That's a huge chunk of folks!]
I hope this belated posting has made you realize that this obligational holiday, which I love, can be celebrated 365 days a year. This is especially true if like myself, on the 19th of February, you are eating 75% off peanut cups and watching the V-day episodes of Glee off the DVR

no...i think ill pass, cafepress

Because I like to have my hand in every pot possible, it should not surprise you that I have a cafepress site, Take Notice Shirt,  that I generally forget I have. [Tangent: It is very lucrative...if by very lucrative you mean making me $26.49 in the last 6 years.] It was one of my money-making schemes when I was post-college working in a panty store making $7 an hour....I haven't updated it in about 5 years and only remember it exists when I get periodic emails from Cafepress.

As of late, I have been getting several emails that more or less go like this:


Momentarily, I pretended to be offended and claim that I felt a bit pigeon-holed by their assumptions that just because I am disabled that I need to wear witty phrase tees. Then I thought, wait...who am I kidding, I both designed and ordered this baby, so that argument holds no water:
I wish I could say this is the only one I own...its not.
So being that I am apparently a witty phrase tee enthusiast, I decided that I should finally check out these "wheelchair shirts" that other folks have designed, especially given my inherent inability to resist bargain -basement pricing. As I scrolled through the pages of shirts, I found definite trends. If you are in the market for a disability themed shirt [Tangent: You aren't.] then likely the design will fall into one of three categories.

1. Inspirational and/or cheese dick: 
this caters to the smallest demographic ever: female wheelchair cellists
ahhh....shucks
2. Perversion with the handicapped symbol:
classy

3.  WTF? :


what does this even mean?

As you may have guessed, I opted out of buying any of these t-shirts....although this one was fairly tempting...
Happy shopping!
Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...