Best Random Tidbits of The Week

Most Amusing Google Search That Leads to This Blog:
Vagina smiley faces

Because we all know that vaginas are only happy when they're smiling


Dumbest Question of The Week:
"Is this a Subway?" -Man standing in the Subway, looking at the menu board with Subway written all over it, to the Subway worker with the Subway logo apron on.

Wherein the obvious is entirely hidden behind a mask of painful stupidity and ineptitude


My Vote for a "Darwin Awards" Submission:
The Deputy Mayor of Delhi, India was killed by wild monkeys that attacked him on his terrace; he fell from the first-floor terrace when trying to fight off the monkeys and died the next day.

So not only was he attacked hilariously by monkeys, but he only fell one story and still managed to die? Awkward!


Awesomest GMail Headline of The Week:
"Beserk Drunk Elephants Get Zapped": Six Asiatic wild elephants were electrocuted as they went berserk after drinking rice beer in India's remote northeast, a wildlife official said Tuesday. (according to CNN: They got drunk, uprooted a utility pole carrying power lines and were electrocuted in Chandan Nukat, a village nearly 150 miles west of Shillong, the capital of Meghalaya state. "There would have been more casualties had the villagers not chased them away," said Dipu Mark, a local conservationist. The elephants are known to have a taste for rice beer brewed by tribal communities in India's northeast.)

Basically it's just like a frat party at Lambda Chi, only in Africa, and with neighbors that protest rather than enter wet t-shirt contests


Best Coming Out Not Orchestrated By Perez Hilton:
JK Rowling explains at a reading in Los Angeles that Dumbledore was not only gay, but was involved with the dark wizard Grindenwald when they were younger - and suffered from unrequited love in an ultimately doomed relationship. A much beloved children's character is openly homosexual, marking a big step forward for gay rights and acceptance.

Preteens and teens everywhere happily embrace this new information, while crazy adults are convinced they're harmed and saddened


Craziest Baby of the Week:
A 14-month-old boy was "sucked out of his home - crib and all - and thrown 40 or 50 feet by a powerful tornado that struck his home in Michigan on Friday night," according to NBC.com. The baby not only survived, but was entirely unharmed in the process of, you know, getting sucked out of his house by a fucking tornado.

Now that's the kind of baby you don't put in a blender - that things fucking invincible. I can smell the future benjamins from here!

Britney's Vagina

I just thought I'd pass this on: it's Britney's va jay jay, because somehow, in between putting on her shirt-masquerading-as-a-dress and those heinous boots, she "accidentally" forgot to put underwear on. And yes, I made those kick ass smiley faces. I have a duty to protect my readers.

I don't know about you, but when I'm in the middle of an ugly custody battle for my two kids, in which I make my waste-of-life of an ex husband look like a freaking saint, and in which everyone is trying to prove how insane and unstable I am, I like to go outside without underwear and flash my cooter around for the paparazzi to get good shots of. Aaaaand I like to do this about once a week, just to keep things fresh (well... some things fresh...)

Seriously, you couldn't pay me to get in that car. It's probably covered in crabs and herpes and some foreign disease that she picked up on one of her many trips to outer space. Someone needs to scoop her up (with gloves on, people, safety first) and cart her crazy ass (among other body parts) to the loony bin. Your numbers up, Brit Brit! I may have idolized you when I was a young girl and you were dancing around in red latex on Mars, but those days - outside of your head - are over.

CVS, "Knocked Up" Enjoy Other People's Misery

Days till Halloween: 29

It would seem Murphy's Law of Customer Service has decided to latch itself onto me, much in the way a rabid dog latches it's teeth deep into your leg. My doctor called a prescription in to CVS yesterday around 11am, leaving a message on the pharmacist's voice mail that I had to have it filled and absolutely needed it by the end of the day - something totally par for the course, as my doctor often leaves messages, and the pharmacist checks them regularly and voila, you get your prescription in about an hour.

However, CVS thought it would be brilliant - when the regular pharmacist was out sick - to bring in some 100+ year old, Alzheimer's riddled, Spanish-only-speaking goblin creature to handle the high volume calls and patient numbers in the pharmacy. Which meant that when I went in, at 6pm (7 hours after calling the prescription in), they hadn't even checked the voice mail, and had - no lie - about 50 prescriptions waiting.

fandangled computers!

Usually I'm a pretty calm customer, but after waiting for over an hour - and not having anyone actually help me get anything accomplished - I started getting cranky. When I finally talked to gollum, he yelled at me because he hadn't done his job. Well, I told him! Not only did I cause a scene in the middle of CVS by screaming, but then I started bawling like a baby, and can you see why I need my prescription?? Without it, my hormones are completely insane. Like, way worse than usual - and that's horrifying.

Anyway, another day, another corporate headquarters to call and yell at (and probably sob at.) After the debacle, the Reds came over and brought Knocked Up, which I've been dying to see. I never got around to actually seeing it in the theaters (it was some combination of being a homeless nomad this summer, and, you know, having $1.64 in my bank account at any given time.) I was beside myself with joy that it was actually as funny as everyone had made it out to be. I laughed my ass off the entire time.

Until the birthing scene, that is. Now, when I was in the third grade, I stumbled upon a birthing exhibit with a group of friends when we got separated from the masses, and we watched, horrified, as a woman gave birth on a terrifically terrible video projection film. I think I blocked it out, because try as I might, my subconscious just can't conjure up the images (save for the sound of never ending screaming on behalf of the mother.) Luckily, Knocked Up decided to smack me in the face with the image, and reawaken all those horrible nightmares I had for months after witnessing the sight of a baby's head CROWNING THROUGH A WOMAN'S VAGINA.

That thing's supposed to come out of where?!

I feel you, Katherin Heigl! That look of horror on your face is echoed on my own, believe-you-me. When I saw that giant watermelon of a baby's head trying to force it's way out of a vaginal cavity roughly 57,000x smaller than it, I got sympathy pains so badly that I thought I was going into labor. God only knows what I would've birthed, but that's beside the point.

Real point is, Knocked Up teaches us some very priceless life lessons:

1. Smoking weed is good. Smoking weed is very good.
2. One night stands can lead to some very awkward moments.
3. Babies are like tanks bursting through tiny, delicate lace curtains. They will rip and tear and explode and my god, I think I'm going to be sick.

So there you have it. Smoke weed, try to think logically when attempting a very drunken one nigt stand, and whatever you do - for the love of god - don't ever, ever birth anything out of your vagina.

Travels, Furniture, and Child Pornography

First of all, let me start by saying that she swore she was 18. She swore!! Unfortunately, it turns out that Vanessa Hudgens was maybe 15 when she took all those hysterically bad naked photos which were recently posted far and wide on the internet. At first it was funny, but now I feel like a total child pedophile for looking at them. And of course I looked, don't seem so shocked - do you have any idea how many celebrity va jay jays I've seen?

It's always the NSFW that gets me. Or, if they're particularly juicy (my god does that sound wrong), the NSFL tags, which mean Not Safe For Life. Those are generally reserved for Britney Spears' snatch, and while if you've seen one, you've seen 'em all, Britney doesn't fit into that category. It's like a giant gaping wind tunnel that's trying to suck you in, whether you like it or not - and let me assure you, no one goes in there willingly. Not even K-Fed, anymore.

In other news not pertaining to vaginas, I safely arrived in Boston after my trip, but that wasn't before being serenaded by an off tune cabbie who insisted on singing along with both Whitney Houston and Sarah McLaughlin. Imagine one of your worst fears, magnified by 100000x because you're at the mercy of a cabbie who drives on the left hand side of the road and sounds like a cat being repeatedly run over with an 18-wheeler.

I wanna dance with somebody!

In between belting out the Best of the Divas, my new friend helped beat some friendly sense into lost and confused women via the Delilah PM Show (who's theme song included a catchy verse about women of all ages ditching men and getting together with their gals for some much needed estrogen time.) He was particularly concerned about Joanne, a woman who had spent the past 8 years of her life talking online to the love of her life - a man that refused to meet her face-to-face. But he's been having problems! Joanne insisted tearfully. BFF Cabbie's advice:

Cabbie: Bitch please! He's using your ass! If he was into you, he would've met you by now!

How is it that even middle-aged male cab drivers can grasp this concept, and yet millions of women are agonizing and rationalizing and doing all sorts of crazy -izing things that we do in order to attempt to placate ourselves in the epic battle of Men Vs. Women?

Once my joint serenading and relationship counseling session was over, it was time for an extremely exciting and challenging 8 hour Amtrak ride to Boston. While I don't usually mind the train, this time I was in for a most unwanted surprise - I was on Survivor!Amtrak! In order to test their passengers' mettle and will to survive, the train conductors cranked the AC up from "Moderately Chilly" to "Siberian Winter" and watched eagerly. I spent 8 hours freezing solid, and suddenly gained a new sense of empathy for poor Mr. Torrence at the end of The Shining.

That's it, next time I'm flying

I slept fitfully, at best, but managed to thaw out once finally arriving in Boston and getting out of the meat freezer. My mother took pity on me and took me out for breakfast, and then we had a fun filled day of mowing down slow elderly shoppers with our cart at Ikea (only partially by accident, as the floors were very slippery) and driving Sleep Technicians out of their minds at Jordan's Furniture. In the end, I made out with a bed, a mattress and box spring set, and the vast majority of dishes and plates and other things I needed for the kitchen. Next weekend I'll go pick up the bed frame and the table I ordered, and I will be that much closer to being a real adult. Well, being a 'real' adult is debatable, but I'll definitely be one step closer away from being a homeless money-sponge, as my mother so fondly calls me.

Down with Feminists

Since I'm still in the interview process (meaning I have no job and no apartment and live off Erin's extra Digorno pizzas, while watching a guy on LA Ink announce that his cat is his soul mate), Erin decided to take pity on me. She was recently promoted from Front Desk Bitch to President's Assistant Bitch, and accordingly the Feminist Majority needed someone to come in and temp for them while they looked for a permanent replacement.

I know, I know. The Feminist Majority has a bit of a reputation: men hating, revolutionary bi-curious women that forgo shaving and get thrills from wearing tank tops and mini skirts, while shouting derogatory slurs at men for their past crimes. They beat up pro-lifers with their own posters of half-aborted babies (which look alarmingly like raw chicken breasts), they constantly find new and inventive ways to talk about vaginas and then bring the hate if you get uncomfortable, and when it gets cold they don't wear jackets, they wear layers of plaid flannel button-downs and pretend to be lumberjacks.

I was so pumped. I like hating on men, shaving sucks, plaid flannel brings out the green in my eyes, and if Angelina Jolie propositioned me I'd totally hit that. And I have ALWAYS wanted to beat the crap out of a pro-lifer.

Unfortunately, when I went in I only met super nice women of varying ages, all of whom appeared to shave on a regular basis, liked the majority of men, were even-tempered and polite, and more than happy to help. There was no screaming, no vagina comments, and not a single flannel shirt to be found in the entire office. Not even a hint of plaid anywhere.

This is gonna suck.