Saturday, May 16, 2009

The 1990's.

I grew up in the 90's . Yeah, I remember the 1980's, I was born in 1976. However, the 1990's were my coming of age, and I honestly thought they would never end. In fact, going into the new millennium, I never thought about what year it "was", but that 2000 was one year after 1999 and 1995 was only five years beforehand.

Needless to say the fact that 1995 was 14 years ago is not only shocking, but unsettling.

*sits down, pulls on Mr. Rogers-esque V-neck cardigan*

The 90's changed everything. It was the beginning of reality TV, blatant drug use was poeticized in pop songs, gay people were allowed to be GAY, and we were all tattooing and piercing ourselves like voodoo dolls...... So, not much has changed.

I am having a hard time getting older, because I still feel the same. Whenever I hear Tribe Called Quest or Archers of Loaf, it feels like brand new.

So to sit here and watch VH1 do a "Best of the 90's" show, I not only feel in my element, I feel incredibly out of place......

What a drag it is getting old.

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

The Miraculous Ceiling Fan

Have you ever heard of Godwin's Law? Basically, it states that all forms of internet debate will eventually deteriorate into referencing Hilter and Nazi Germany. I have my own theory, The Confused Dildo's Supposition, which asseverates that any person talking about their relationship with their significant other will eventually focus on flatulence.

It's a reality that is grim, but one we must all face. The bright side of this is that farts are always funny.

My Little Honey (tm) is a wonderful man and I love him dearly. He is a brilliant urban planner, an incredibly talented musician and a wonderful father. He is also a stinky farter. His farts are just plain ridiculous.

A few months ago, I was so thrilled when he read that having too much soy in your diet could be unhealthy, for up to this point the man's snack of choice was edamame. I don't want to rain on my Little Honey's (tm) parade, but there was nothing worse than being in the same room with him after he downed a bowl of soybeans. It probably smells better living next door to a paper plant than being in the room with him..... I would rather not clean the litterbox for three days than having to smell him after soybeans. It's wretched and he is so proud, proving that for some, their farts can do no wrong. One day after the Little Honey blasted some air biscuits while watching the Bengals game, the neighbor came over, exclaimed "smells like toots in here", and hastily left.

They are that bad.

Last night, as I lay in bed dozing off to sleep with the cool night breeze coming in through the window, I could smell the wonderful scents of nature; lilacs, grass, pine, fresh rain. I conceded to the fragrant air as it began to carry me away from the doldrums of everyday life and transcend me into dreamland. I was floating on a white, puffy cloud until a hot, spoiled egg, with an under note of onion, gas creeped into my subconscious and violently hurled me back into reality. The Little Honey was busy creating a dutch oven that could overpower small children and it was starting to leak out from underneath the sheets in an effort to bring evil and darkness onto the Earth.

This gas smelled like the ugly, olive green that people used to decorate their kitchens with in the 1970's. This gas was staining the bed and with every move I made to escape it, it clobbered me back into submission. The Little Honey (tm) tried to play possum, a feat he failed miserably, as he lay there giggling like an idiot. When I started to gasp, choke, and complain he declared that he would fix this awful situation he created and jumped up to right the wrongs of his ways............. In other words, he turned on the ceiling fan.

A ceiling fan that is not made of artificial wooden vinyl, but crafted from golden and magic, with the force of seventy gazillion ocean breezes that can banish any loathsome, repulsive aromas into Siberia.


That odor lingered all night long. The gas was the Kato Kalin to my Brentwood manner, and it would not just fuck off and dissipate. The next morning, I had to change the sheets, stuff the comforter in the dryer with a scented sheet, and Febreeze bomb the mattress pad.


This is the man who holds my heart and whom I am going to marry.

I'm a lucky gal.

Sunday, May 10, 2009

I've Decided To Go Evil.

After many strenuous and painful months of trying to be pure of heart, chaste, and remembering to always recycle; I have decided enough is enough, and I am going evil. It's just the nature of my being baby.

Thank the stars for the internet, without it I would have been at a complete loss on just HOW I should start being evil... Now I know...... Off to Italy!

Evil Plan (tm)!

Your objective is simple: Soul Accumulation.

Your motive is a little bit more complex: Mom never loved me

Stage One

To begin your plan, you must first seduce a pope. This will cause the world to sit up and take notice, paralyzed by your arrival. Who is this despoiler of all that is good and nice and true? Where did they come from? And why do they look so good in classic black?

Stage Two

Next, you must vaporize the moon (ooh, tides!). This will all be done from a floating fortress, a mysterious place of unrivaled dark glory. Upon seeing this, the world will weep uncontrollably, as countless hordes of mean english teachers hasten to do your every bidding.

Stage Three

Finally, you must tauntingly wave your great supernatural forces, bringing about an unending cacophony of screams. Your name shall become synonymous with fuzzy bunnies, and no man will ever again dare refuse to be your prom date. Everyone will bow before your dashing good looks, and the world will have no choice but to pray to you for enlightenment.

Wednesday, May 6, 2009

The Best Thing I Found Today.

A few months ago, I made a post about the Childfree By Choice Movement here. I am Childfree by Choice and without trudging to deeply into the subject AGAIN, I am highly annoyed by people who think it is "okay" to advise me on how I am ruining my life by not turning into a baby-making dynamo.

Really? Go fuck yourselves.
After you listen to this song: