Up Yours, Holidays

11 12 2010

It’s December 11th and I’ve already been assaulted by Christmas music every time I walk into a store for a month and tacky decorations covering my neighbors’ lawns whenever I look out my window.

No, I don’t have a tree up. No, I haven’t bought a single gift. Why? 1. I have no money. Yeah, the toilet scrubbing job fell through. 2. I don’t give a fuck. SPOILER ALERT: God’s not real. So, I don’t really care about the religious connotations. But let’s face it, that’s not what it’s about anymore anyway. My kid has enough cheaply made plastic, lead paint covered toys to overflow a landfill when I chuck them into the trash because he won’t pick them up off the damned floor already, thanks.

And I’ve already gained enough fat on my ass this year that I don’t really need another excuse to eat 5,000 calories a day.

Also, if I really gave a shit about my friends and family, they would know it every month of the year. Not just when I go out and buy them the cheapest but most expensive looking useless gift I can find at the last minute.

The materialism and greed makes me want to projectile vomit eggnog.

Happy Holidays!

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Guess Who’s Back Bitches

1 06 2010

Backstreet.

Hah.

No.

I’m back. If you wanna be my friend you have to endure a little self pitying withdrawal fest once in a while. That’s just how I roll. You’ll get used to it.

Anywhoz,

I was driving along the other day, when I notice in front of me a van with the following lettered across the back window:

‘ChildProofers of Wisconsin- Simple Solutions for a Safe Home’

What. The fuck.

It really takes a professional to tell you to put the knives away and move the lighters and bong to a higher shelf?

For starters, when I was a kid I sure as hell don’t remember ever seeing a baby gate or outlet cover in my house.

When little caveman babies got too close and fell into the fire, did they start fencing them off with little prehistoric baby gates? No. That baby didn’t grow up and contribute to the gene pool.

And our species is better off for it.

If you must insist on reversing natural selection, at least use common fucking sense instead of paying some douchebag who calls themself a “professional babyproofer.”

For fuck’s sake!

Oh, and expect me to get back to stalking all your asses too.

See you soon! ❤





You’re a Wha…?

22 04 2010

I’m a member of an online community of 20something Bloggers (even though I don’t have the badge up because WordPress sucks and I haven’t made my own html graphic yet like I did for my Facebook fan box, which was a waste of time for my whopping two fans. Update: 3 fans! Woohoo Kristen Brumm!)

Anyway…

Recently there was a topic posted in the forums about 20something virgins. Personally I was shocked at how many spoke up to say that they too, were strangers to the s-e-x at ages like 20, 24 or 26.

Now, I have no problem with people choosing not to have sex. I haven’t known what it was like to be a virgin since the tender age of 14, so it’s pretty difficult for me to imagine it at the age of 20 or 24. But, theoretically, it’s not something I’m going to oppose.

What does irk me is the preoccupation that so many virgins seem to have with their own sexual status. They feel the need to inform people of their choice and then watch for a negative reaction so that they can report back to the others that they were outcast and victimized.

Bottom line, if you choose to remain a virgin until you’re married, or until you’re 40, or whatever it is that you’re waiting for, and you feel the need to make it your prime goal in life to talk about it, don’t complain when some people react badly. You are the one defining yourself by your sexual preferences, the recipient of your revelation is only following suit. And that, in my opinion is the opposite of social progress.

Whether or not you have sex does not make you who you are. Which gender you prefer sexually does not make you who you are. Your nose hook fetish does not make you who you are (favorite search engine term of the week. Sorry to disappoint you, random Googler). If you let these things define you, then you are no better than the person judging you for them.

In the year 2010, I would think people could let go of things like the virgin label. Who cares?

Sex is a mere physical act between two animals. Basing your worth (and others) as a person on something so petty is beyond my understanding. As are many things lately.





Five trends that make me want to stab people in the face

25 03 2010

Today is a MEH day if I’ve ever seen one. PMS is kicking my ass and I’m in constant physical pain. I’m depressed, I’m panic-inducing broke and my cat won’t stop pissing on every fucking surface she can find. Oh, and my kid is home on spring break.

Today can suck it and so can the weekend.

So, instead of boring you with more of my incessant whining, I’m going to bitch about five trends that make me want to stab the subscribers to said trends in the fucking face.

1. Everything emo.

When I was a teen we had goths. They were dark and brooding. Quietly brooding. Not the irritating, whine-ass drama queen in eyeliner bullshit that is everywhere today. Get your hair out of your goddamned eyes and shut the fuck up before I slit your wrists for you, you douchebag.

2. Repeatinggggg theeee lastttttt letterrrrr offffff wordsssss.

If you have any teen girl facebook friends you no doubt know what I’m talking about. You don’t look cool, you look like you have fucking Parkinson’s. Back away from the computer and go get back in the tanning bed, bitch.

3. Skinny jeans on fat dudes.

Not all trends are for all people. You look like an ice cream cone. And I don’t mean that in a good way AT ALL.

4. Facebook statuses that say shit like “97% of people won’t repost this.”

GOOD! That means nobody wants to fucking read the regurgitated bullshit, so don’t bother posting it. Why do people feel the need to turn everything in life into one giant fucking chain letter?

5. Leggings.

Those bitches died out after the 80’s for a reason. Because they’re fugly. Unless you’re under the age of 7, just wear some fucking pants.

The End.





This is a fucking joke, right?

22 03 2010

Something horrifying has happened.

Yesterday, the Balls n Chain and Kid finally pried me off of the couch, where I had been glued to Hulu all day, at about 3pm to go play at the park.

I dragged ass to the bathroom to make myself presentable first. And by “make presentable” I mean swap out sweats for ripped jeans and slick my dirty hair into a side-part ponytail.

I’m all about the the glamor.

So, I run the brush through and loop the rubber band, when something catches my eye in the mirror.

And there it is. One rebel strand taunting me in a sea of brunette. That’s right: a gray motherfucking hair on my 25 year old head!

[Click that shit!]

So, I did what any rational person would: pulled it out, saved it to photograph and blog about later, and then spent the rest of the night eating more than an entire day’s worth of calories in candy eggs, Corn Nuts and Sunny D.

Because fuck those 40 lbs I lost, if I’m an old hag now I may as well be fat too.

Yeah, rationality. It’s a gift.





Saturday Suckas

13 03 2010

It’s the weekend and I’m feeling lazy, and we know what that means…..YouTube day, bitches!

Please enjoy some of my very favorite falls and fails and laugh until you snort just for me.

I hate weddings and the whole wedding cult(ure) so words cannot describe the joy I get from this gem:

Okay, I’m all for the environment and shit, but…trees can’t hear, losers!

OMG what could be better than a hilarious faceplant?

A hilarious faceplant on national television by a Nick Swardson look-alike who Thinks he Can Dance.

You’re welcome, people. You’re welcome.





If you host a children’s show you’re creepy and I hate you

7 03 2010

What on Mother Nature’s green earth is wrong with the hosts of childrens’ TV shows?

If you thought the disturbing disturbingness of kids’ entertainers disappeared along with Paul Ruebens‘ career, you obviously haven’t had young children in your house in the past ten years.

Case in point:

Yo Gabba Gabba, hosted by the creepiest host ever to grace any form of entertainment evereverever: DJ Lance Rock.

Is there really any explanation necessary? I mean, the WTFuckery is just overwhelming. DJ Lance hangs out in green screen land with his crew of freak-show companions, named things like Foofa and Muno, who looks like a lot like one of those Giant Microbes VD dolls. He sings songs to your kids telling them to send him naked pictures Look Both Ways and Please Don’t Throw Things at Friends.

He also weighs about 85 lbs, wears an orange microfiber mop weave, a unitard and Revlon 630.

Take it back a few years and we have the king of both 90’s preschool entertainment and green stripes: Steve, of Blue’s Clues.

Steve* lives in a house with no human companions. That’s okay, though, because Steve loves LSD. Or at least that’s the only explanation I can come up with for why he takes advice from his household appliances. Steve’s best friends include his end table, salt and pepper shakers, and of course, his blue cartoon dog, Blue. Unlike the house’s furniture and even the cat from next door, Blue can’t speak. So she plays a little game where she leaves clues for Steve to find to figure out what the hell she’s trying to say. But Steve is so incredibly high that he can’t ever quite grasp what’s going on, so he invites your kids over every day to help him put it all together. At the end of Steve’s run on the show, he went off to college to learn about space and music……wha?

Back to present-day creepology, sometimes freaky kid hosts are a package deal. And sometimes these packages play hideous, creepy music that will haunt your dreams for years to come. Enter The Wiggles.

The Wiggles are four grown Australian men with a passion for creating annoying songs for kids. And primary colors. The creepiest part about The Wiggles (apart from the fact that they descended from a failed 80’s pop band called The Cockroaches) is the droves of soccer mom Wiggles groupies. I hope I never find out just how deprived you have to be to start finding a middle aged man wearing one of the colors in a Denny’s four pack of crayons, driving a red plastic car and singing about Bouncing Balls sexy.

*I don’t really hate Steve Burns, and in fact I actually kind of love him post Blue’s Clues. Check out his album (for adults), Songs for Dustmites.