Smoochie Woochie Boogums

If there's one thing that's more annoying than a crappy pop song overplayed on the radio featuring Pitbull, or a baby crying, or knowing that your roommate is eating all your Uncrustables while you're away for the weekend, it's Newlyweds.

Obnoxious, in-your-face, gooey, mushy, affectionate, chipper, cheerful, self-righteous Newlyweds. I hate 'em.  And although everyone keeps suspiciously (i.e. they're all against me) repeating "It'll happen to you," I don't think it will. I don't think I could ever possibly be that irritatingly "in love." I like to think when I'm in love it'll be more practical and less "I have to caress your hand at all times lest it fall off." I tell myself I won't call my new husband "Gushy-bear-lovey-pooh," or "Siwwy-wiwwy-lovey-puss." Yeah, I'm gonna stay away from the latter especially. Just like this little girl at the royal wedding.

What IS it that makes people lose all sense of propriety?  What could possibly make someone want to baby-talk a grown human being? What tragedy must occur to coerce you into acting like a zombie?  A zombie that instead of groaning unintelliglby and only lusting for braaains, makes weird smooching noises and only yearns to trace pictures on their hubby's hand?

And if I have to read another freaking word on your freaking blog about how much better your cake was than anything you've ever tasted (let's be honest, it tasted like decorative frosting, which tastes like nothing) I'm going to sick that bride up there on you.  I don't want to see a million pictures of your shoes (What's with the "trendy sneakers"???) or your fake flowers or you guys' names in a heart. 

Call me cynical or bitter, I just really can't stand anymore  newlyweds.

And Then I Said...Stop Flirting with Your "Best Friend"

Top 5 Things NOT to Do While in a Relationship

1. Talk about your ex all the time. 

 

If I hear another dumb sentence about how great your ex was then I'm going to shove something sharp down your throat. I don't care if she was Angelina freaking Jolie. I don't want to hear ANOTHER WORD.

2. Compare your girl/boyfriend to your ex.  Ever.

 

I am not your ex for a reason. That reason being because your ex is not me. Duh. There's nothing else to say about this.

3. Say dumb stuff like "Man, I'd hit that." While staring at someone else. Not your S.O.

 

If I go to a restaurant, a mall, a parking lot, a sidewalk, with you I expect you to pay attention to me. And even if you're not, I expect you to PRETEND goshdangit.  I'm not turned on by your weird attempts at making me jealous. Yes, I can see her Double D's flailing, I don't need you to rub it in. Jerk. Why am I with you again?

4. Spend inordinate amounts of time with your "best friend." Who is of the opposite gender.

 Unless your "best friend" is a dog I don't want to see you kissing her. Or him. Or whatever. Stop pretending you don't want to get with your "really really wonderful best friend" who you'd "never date because you're like siblings" and just get with them already. I'll go find my best friend--cake.

5. Post pictures on Facebook of you with your "best friend," with hearts and smiles in the comment section. 

 I do not want to see bullcrap pictures of you and your "best friend" hugging and rough-housing in adorable Instagram settings. Nope.  Those pictures are either with me-YOUR GIRLFRIEND AHEM--or no one.  

Any other dating faux pauxes?  Let me know!

Uno Dos Tres, Let's Kill Pitbull Already

Picture this.  A recording studio.  J-Lo or Jay-Z or somebody with a hyphen in their name decides to lay down a pop-ish track to create another top 40 piece of worthless crap song.  The beat drops.  And suddenly...DALE!!!
Pitbull has arrived to make his 11 millionth "feat. Pitbull" top hit. 
Seriously, does the man hide in recording studios?  Hiding in wait to jump in the middle of a song with a gallant "Mr. Worldwide!"? Or is his agent just an OCD perfectionist with a need for power?

Either way, with an infamous "uno dos tres" we're off, topping charts, surprising no one.  Except me.  What is this scary white bald dude who only sings in broken Spanglish, parading under a ton of crappy aliases like "Mr. 305," and "Mr. Worldwide" (What does that even mean??!?), doing in EVERY single top hit?  Maybe this is chicken or the egg, but does the song he features in become a top hit by itself and he just happens to be there, or does he feature in them, and THEN it becomes a top hit, BECAUSE he was in it??

If the latter is the case, I'm not sure I want to be a part of this society anymore.

I'm not sure if any song is safe from this crazy cuban anymore.  He started out chanting the everlasting words "Hotel Motel Holiday Inn" and progressed to featuring in everything wrong with the pop industry.  Out of 79 singles he's released, he's a featured artist in 48. 48 singles that have featured Pitbull. That's almost 49 which is almost 50 which is half of a hundred.  Basically Pitbull's featured in half of 100 singles.  Incredible.

Regardless, as we all know, Mr. 305 is conquering the radio one song at a time.  Soon he'll even be on the Indie channels and public talk radio stations, I'm sure. In my opinion, he's doing a great job at being the only rapper that our generation will recognize. He's basically the best rapper there ever was.  Most of his listeners don't understand Spanish but all enjoy yelling UNO DOS TRES every 20 seconds.  Thank you Pitbull for making me feel personally connected to the Latino culture. 

Retaliation

Dear Upstairs Neighbor,

If you're wondering why I was vacuuming at 6 am on a Saturday morning it is because I was/am mad at you for having LOUD sex while I was TRYING to sleep! 

Ok, I understand that you're a belly dancer and you've got to get it on or whatever.  Just, please, QUIT WITH THE OBNOXIOUS MOANING. And when your dog starts barking at you....DO SOMETHING. IT'S 2 IN THE MORNING AND I'M UNABLE TO THINK IN BETWEEN THOSE ANNOYING GROANS.

I'm not bitter that you're having sex. Really.  I don't care if you have sex with that huge, no-neck, tattooed beast of a man I saw you entering you entering your part of our tri-plex with at 1.  Nope, I really don't care if you have sex with him.  Even if it happens right above my room. What I DO care about is that YOU FREAKING SHUT UP.

So, if you woke up at 6 this  morning after a busy, ahem, night, and felt irritated that my vacuum was going and I was simultaneously singing "Call Me Maybe" at the top of my lungs, now you know why.  My roommates weren't even home so I wasn't disturbing anyone BUT YOU.

Hope you're wandering around as groggily as I am today.  Jerk.

Sincerely,
Me.

Writer's Block

Guys,
(Or girls, if you are a hardcore feminist)

I have writer's block. I really do. I don't know what to write about. I have several good rants that I can think of: hipsters, Pitbull, modern music, why I'm the only person who likes All-American-Rejects anymore, gas prices, college prices, my landlord....BUT I can't put them into words. Here. Have an image:

This image is exactly how I feel right now.  Right now my percentage of wins in Solitare is about...5%. Great.

Back to writer's block.
Those of you who don't write don't understand at all what we go through. We being the writing community. We being me pretending to be part of the writing community.  (And yes, I've written novels. They're just sitting on my computer un-published and un-read. It's fine.)  Writer's block is a sickness. It's like you have so many things to say. And you start to type and the clicking of the keys or the music in the background (which is right now, "It Ends Tonight." Stop judging) or all those thoughts swirling can't settle into something comprehensible, let alone readable. 

So we wait. Or at least I do.  Trying to write through writer's block is like trying to push through an invisible wall of cheese.  You think you're going somewhere and then you just end up smothered in cheesiness and you smell like Cheddar.  Weird analogy, but now I'm craving a grilled cheese.

Moving on. 

Thoughts swirling, right.  So those thoughts are all trying to sift through one another and you think, naively, "I'm going to write through it." WRONG. You can't.  All the words look and sound stupid. You feel amateur and illiterate.  You throw out words in your work like, "Supercilious," and "Exorbitantly," and all that does is convince you that you actually have no grasp of the English language.

So.  My small and probably non-existent group of readers--forgive my lack of attentiveness.  I need to get rid of this block and come back with a great post concerning Pitbull or How To Make the Best Grilled Cheese Ever.

Until then....

Why Nicki Minaj Should Get Out Of My Life

A conversation between Nicki and I:

N: "Starships were meant to fllyyyy, hands up and touch the skyyyy. Let's doo this one more tiiiime" *rap-like words ensue*

G: Thank you, Miss Minaj for that garbled crap.  Please, sit down.  You're done.
N: "Ok, I get it, let me think I guess it's my turn. I think it's time to put this p*ssy on your sideburn."

G: No...No. Nobody wants you to do that. Nobody wants Herpes either, so  keep your pants on.

N: "I beez in the trap, beez beez in the trap!"
G: ......That's the best rapping you can do Minaj? Really?  If I wanted to hear about you having sex I'd just have to...listen to anything else you feature in/sing in.  NOW SHUT UP OR DIE.

And that is how a conversation would go with her.  That is, if she decided she was going to be a human for the conversation and say intelligible--no--coherent--words, instead of simply yelling/grunting frightening sounds.

Here she is.  Before she was plastic (or, at least, before she was 95% plastic) when she first joined the rap group Young Money.  And here she is before/after surgery:

Does she ever pop/melt in heat?  Have her lips ever deflated after going from a cold place to a hot place or vice versa really quickly?
And also...how did this plastic slut get to be so big in our country?? And no, I'm not referring to the size of her balloon boobs or shelf-butt.  I'm talking about her popularity.   Half the time she doesn't know which character she wants to be. British, Rapper, Psycho...Half the other time she's repeating her name as though we don't already know it. That isn't music! That's not even rap!  What the heck is it?  Why is this thing famous in our society? Paris Hilton? Famous slut.  Pretty. Ok, I get it.  Brittney Spears? Pop "singer."  Lots of problems to dramatize in the media. I get it. Nicki? What the heck is going on? Why is that whore on my radio?!

And just for ONCE I would like to see her in a t-shirt,  (no Nicki a T SHIRT not a corset. They don't even sound the same) loose jeans, and minimum makeup.  (Minimum because I think after all that makeup there's probably a fine layer of chemicals that won't come off anymore.)  And heck, she'd probably be mildly attractive!  Except for that mouth.  She could stuff an entire cake in that mouth, geez.

But now I'm just being rude and shallow. 
It's just that I keep seeing this kind of image of her:

And this image: 

And I can't help feeilng concerned that she's either mentally insane, or we are. Either way, could she please sink back to anonymity? Thanks.

Dental Hatred

Where can I buy this book??

I hate the dentist. Not personally.  It's the "He's a great guy but I hate his profession" syndrome.  I never have cavities, but it's like every time I walk in  they conspire against me--whispering in undertones about ways to make me uncomfortable and/or nervous.  Everyone dislikes going to the dentist.  We don't want people in our mouths. We don't want weird sounds emananting from scary objects approaching our gums.  We don't want to be in the compromised and vulnerable position of laying on our backs with our mouths open!  It's a proven fact that redheads fear the dentist more than people with other hair colors. And it's also a proven fact that no matter how nice your dentist is, he's secretly an evil being. 


I went in today.  I had no cavities. I had little tarter. But of course, the hygienist uses that new invention--I call it Satan--the electric tartar scraper.  It makes a highpitched noise akin to nails on a chalkboard, and this is, consequently, enough to get my palms to sweat and my "fight or flight" syndrome awakened.  Needless to say I was already on edge. 

Then I hear that dreaded phrase from dentists, "Hmm what is that?..." That has got to be one of the worst feelings ever--invoking sinking dread while watching their face turn curious as they probe something in your mouth.  "That" turned out to be a salivary stone. Seriously, who gets these?  Me!  I didn't even know my salivary glands were under my tongue! Now I have a build-up of calcium in them?  What is this?!

Why are dentists such awful people?! It's like no matter how confident you feel going into the dentist office, you will feel exponentially more awful walking out.  Even if your teeth are beautiful, you might have a salivary gland stone now!! Or, if you're one of the lucky ones with absolutely nothing wrong, your gums are still sensitive from being attacked and you're stinging with fresh guilt from the "FLOSS MORE!" chastisement. 

I can't take it anymore.