Friday, October 21, 2011

Mom talk

Does listening to certain types of moms talk ever wish you had a concealed carry permit? I was at the gym the other day and I overheard these two moms planning a get together with their families. It should have been a simple 30 second conversation:

Mom1: Hey, come over for dinner tomorrow at 7. We're making burgers.
Mom2: Want me to bring anything?
Mom1: Yeah, bring Sangria.
Mom2: Alright, see you then.

Instead the conversation was:

Mom1: Yeaaaaaaah, we really need to get together.
Mom2: I know! Our kids play so well together and I haven't gotten to see you in a looooooooooong time.
Mom1: I knooooooow! Well, what would could we do to get in some girlfriend time?
Mom2: Why don't we have dinner together?
Mom1: Oh, yes, we should do that! You know we bought that new grill, I wonder if we could grill something on it together?
Mom2: Yeeeaaaaah, that would be greaaaaaat. How about burgers? Would your kids eat burgers?
Mom1: Yeah they would love that, what about your kids?
Mom2: Oh yeah, my kids will eat it. Unless you'd rather have hotdogs. Will your kids eat hotdogs?
Mom1: Yes, of course, unless you'd rather have burgers.
Mom2: Well why don't we have both?
Mom1: I hate to ask this, but would you mind bringing drinks?
Mom2: Oh, anything! What would you like?
Mom1: Well, I love sangria.
Mom2: Ohhhhhhh, well, I don't know how to make it, but I'll be glad to try to make it.
Mom1: I've got a recipe you can use.
Mom2: Well, you know I'm no good at following other people's recipes, but I certainly would be happy to make it even though I don't know how.
Mom1: Are you sure? Oh, nevermind, why don't I make it?
Mom2: Yeah, I hate to ask you to make it because I would be happy to make it, but I don't know how to make it.

SHUT THE FUCK UP! FOR FUCK'S SAKE!!! Cunt 1, tell Cunt 2 you're havin burgers. Cung 2, tell Cunt 1 you're not makin sangria. IS THAT SO FUCKING HARD?!

It's even worse when you get two moms with kids in the same grade. It becomes some kind of bizarre matriarchal pissing contest. The following conversation is bound to happen:

Mom1: How's your boy doing in school?
Mom2: Great! He's got all A's. He's in all honors classes.
Mom1: Ohhhh...that's good. My boy is in all gifted classes.
Mom2: Oh, did I say honors? Maybe it's gifted. I'm not sure. Whatever the highest is.
Mom1: Well, is your son taking the SAT next month?
Mom2: He's in 4th grade.
Mom1: Yes, but there's that early assessment test they did and my son scored so well on that that his teachers recommended he take the SAT.
Mom2: Ohhhh, that's right...yeah, my boy took that too, but he's taking the ACT.


Monday, October 17, 2011

Only kids have names

When you're a kid, nobody has names besides other kids. Adults only have names if they're famous and on TV and even then, it's questionable.

Teachers are Ms., Mrs., or Mr. Never first names. On the off chance you see a few teachers chit chatting in the lounge or after class and you hear one use the other's first name, you're indignant. Stacy? Who the hell is STACY? No, that is Ms. Borris, thank you. Didn't you get the memo?

Parents and family members, except other kids, have a similar name problem. The one exception is aunts and uncles, in which case their first names are Aunt and Uncle and their last names are Aunt Judy, Uncle Steve Steve, Aunt Sheila, Uncle Mark, Aunt Jenny, and Uncle Tom. Everyone else's names are Mom, Dad, Grandma, or Grandpa. Sometimes Grandpa's name is also Dad, which makes your childhood mind wonder what the fuck is going on with your family, but you're young, so you don't judge.

The first time you hear anyone address your parents by first name, it both confuses and angers you. Perhaps, they've dragged you to a grownup party and as they and their friends are on the way to deposit you into the "kids room" which is likely a musty basement or guest bedroom that hasn't been used in years...somebody died there in '03, and they haven't been in there except to put up a balloon so you don't feel like your parents were just too cheap and lazy to hire your favorite babysitter.

So, they toss you in the child depository, and on the way, you hear another adult, whose name is Mr. Garcia, refer to your father, "Hey, John, the kids are all in that room downstairs."

You rack your brain for this mysterious "John" character, thinking it's another child, only to realize Mr. Garcia is looking directly at your father. "He's not a kid, you asshole," you think for a minute, until you hear him do it again.

You put two and two together and figure out that the person you've known as Dad all these years is being referred to by this strange pseudonym. You get angry and correct everyone by saying, "Excuse me, um, there is no John here, you assholes. His name is 'Dad,' okay? Get it right!"

Alternatively, you may realize that Dad's real name is John. You've been betrayed. He's been lying to you all these years. The nerve of that prick to tell you his name was Dad. You, your mom, and your sister were the only people who ever called him Dad. Everyone else is referring to some asshole named John. What kind of double life is this man leading?

I wonder what other lies he's kept concealed. Maybe Grandpa's name really is Dad and this guy just showed up from nowhere. Maybe he had some dirt on the family and if Grandpa didn't let him pretend to be Dad, we'd all be dead because we'd have found out about the secret Dad Illuminati.

Over time, your sense if indignation fades, as you allow yourself to be brainwashed that this mysterious man, be he Dad or John or some other asshole, is here to stay and you can do little about it....

Until you're a teenager. That's why as soon as kids become teenagers, they hate their parents. They have flashbacks to that first time they caught their parents lying about their names and it's time to exact revenge on those liars....Well, that's what you get for lyin' to your kids!

Wednesday, October 12, 2011

A funny thing happened on the way to the treadmill

Happy Whore-oween!

I don't begrudge anyone having a nice body, especially if they work really hard to achieve and/or maintain that body and aren't just lucky with genetics. It's spectacular that you take care of yourself, especially when the obesity rate in America is what, 75% now? Howeverrrrrr, I am tired of every frikkin costume for women being, "Slutty ______."

Slutty witch, slutty pirate, slutty fairy, slutty nurse, slutty teacher, slutty santa, slutty doctor, slutty Rainbow Brite, slutty maid, slutty sailor, slutty schoolgirl, slutty Alice in Wonderland, slutty cat, I've even seen slutty CANDY CORN! WTF?! Not only are you ruining my childhood heroes, you're making a Halloween party look like a low-budget porn set. Well, maybe some parties are and I've been going to the wrong ones, but still!

You can be extremely sexy without looking cheap. Thumb through a photobook of Marilyn Monroe if you don't believe me. A run of the mill, made in China, low quality "satin," piece of crap created by child labor that you got at Party City for $29.99 does not help you with this endeavor. Pride and confidence are sexy, and the aforementioned costumes scream, "I reeeeeeaaaaaally need attention, but I can't be bothered to come up with anything creative. So, I'll run to the store at the last minute and see what slut wear they have left. PLEASE PAY ATTENTION TO MEEEEEEE!"

If you have a great body, but you have to beg for attention then....Self Esteem: ur doin it wrong. It doesn't make you look sexy, it makes you look cheap...unless of course half drunk frat boys are your target of interest. In which case, carry on. I would begrudge no one admittedly looking for a cheap lay.

Of course, it's your body, it's your costume, do what you want, but why would you want to look like a cheap skank when you could just as easily look like a creative hottie with a bit of class? A little allure is way sexier than just throwin' all your goods out there. You should have have people begging for your attention, not the other way around.

Tuesday, October 4, 2011

Bod Mods

I'm beyond tired of tattoos. There, I said it. Most of 'em are fuckin ugly, but EVERYONE has to have one now. A handful of folks can pull it off, but overall, they just make people look like they need a shower or spilled something on themselves. Have you ever tried to swat a bug off someone's arm only to discover it's actually a really ugly tattoo?

It's like when some new ugly handbag becomes trendy, and everyone runs out and spends a thousand dollars on it, because it's, "IN" right now. Only in this case, you'd never be able to buy another handbag in your could, however, try reshaping the bag to somehow look less ugly or retarded...and you'd fail.

The following types of tats are the most annoying:

butterflies: yeah that's original
ankle tattoos for girls: makes you look like a slut
tribals on guys: makes you look like a douchebag
caligraphy on ANYONE: makes you look stupid and uncreative (derp, I couldn't come up with concept art, so I just wrote stuff in pretty letters)
stars: again, you're sooooo original!
names: whoever it is, even if it's "Mom" or your own name, just in case you forge, you, at some point in your life, will hate this person and then hate yourself for having them permanently ON YOU
Chinese characters: you don't even know what they mean, stop it! Just because the asshole in the tattoo parlor says it means something doesn't mean that it means something. Ever seen that site, You more than likely have similar things permanently marked on your skin. Someone who does know what they mean is probably playing a cruel joke on you, and you deserve it.

Oh, and folks, STOP STRETCHING YOUR EARS OUT! You're not in a tribe in Africa, ok? You look fuckin stupid when you do it, like your head got stuck under a riveter. Guys look particularly ridiculous. With girls, at least it might be able to pass as some sort of big, ugly earring.

And what's the reward? You can't even wear 99% of earrings after you do it. You can just wear increasingly large ugly loops with little balls on the end or some kinda ugly rubber tribal looking shit. IT LOOKS RETARDED!

Blugh! It's your body, so do what you want with it, but why you'd want to permanently mark yourself as a dumb, generic, slutty, unoriginal, uncreative DOUCHE, be my guest. It will make you easier to point out when I start assassinating idiots.

Friday, September 30, 2011

When ugly people die...

Humans are shallow, shallow beings. Anyone who claims otherwise is kidding themselves. If you think you're not shallow, let me reassure you.

Do you ever notice what people say when an attractive person dies? The following dialogue is bound to take place:

Person 1: Did you hear that Jenna von Hottiepants died?
Person 2: Oh my god, that's terrible!
Person 1: I know. I'm really going to miss her.
Person 2: Yeah, and she was so pretty too.

Apparently, her being so pretty is the main thing her life amounted to. All her accomplishments, all her achievements, who she was as a person, PBTHBTHBTH! Apparently, the real travesty is that the planet has one less hot person on it. If she were ugly, the whole thing would be less tragic.

This happens a lot when news of dead soldiers hits. There's a picture of some fine-ass Marine in full uniform that you'd just love to wrap your legs around. You see the pic, hear that he died, and all you can think is, "Damn, another guy died in this senseless war....and he was so hot, too." Don't bullshit yourself, you know you've thought these things and likely said these things before.

Conversely, when an ugly person dies, the following dialogue is bound to take place:

Person 1: Did you hear Suzie von Ugmo died?
Person 2: Aw, that's too bad.
Person 1: Yup. Well, I gotta go take a shit. See ya later.

The End.

So, if you're ugly, rejoice. People won't be very sad when you die. Isn't that great?

Thursday, September 29, 2011

Sad Clown Syndrome

My whole life, I've dreamt of being an "artist." This is actually well documented in the form of my Those Wonderful School Days book. It asks you your teacher's name, your pets' names, your friends' names, what field trips you went on, and the be all, end all question for kids from kindergarten on up, "When I grow up I want to be_______________________." Let me fill you in on the results:

Kindergarten: An Artist (my mom wrote for me)
1st Grade: An Artist (thanks again, Mom)
2nd Grade: a Artest (my writing has since improved, yes?)
3rd Grade: a famios Artest (fukkin spelling)
4th Grade: an artis of paint (ALMOST THERE!)
5th Grade: An Artist (and in cursive too)
6th Grade: no entry. In middle school they stopped asking that question and so there is no entry for 6th grade. I guess by they figured by the time they hit sixth grade, the little fuckers oughta be gettin' jobs. So, for the next two years, I wrote them in myself.
7th Grade: Artist or Actress
8th Grade: An artist or an actress

Alas, I perjured myself in 4th grade because I have documented proof that I wanted to be a standup comedian in the assigned essay, "All About Me." In fact, I PLANNED on it, according to the essay. While I have always fancied being an artist or actress and my art and acting up were always very well received, the one job that, to this day, has been repeatedly recommended to me is comedian. It is also the one job I continue to fantasize about as a possibility. I don't think I'd have a shot in Hollywood or Broadway and I'm too lazy to market myself as a visual artist.

For years, I've mulled it over. Yet, I've never taken one single step toward accomplishing it. I guess that makes me kind of a big, fat hypocrite for all my GET OUT THERE AND DO IT talk. Oh well, those who can't do, blog.

There are reasons; okay, I'll admit it, excuses. The main excuse is crippling fear of dying pill bottle in hand, head in toilet. When I do decide to conquer this dream, I want to make sure I am mentally and emotionally prepared not to blow my brains out or OD, which is a more difficult prospect than it seems.

Virtually all successful comedians are haunted by an element of darkness. It's a profession with a disproportionately high rate of drug addiction, mental disorders, and suicide. These things are higher than usual in all forms of show biz, but comedians take the biggest hit. Lenny Bruce, Bill Hicks, John Belushi, Sam Kinnison, Richard Jeni, Greg Giraldo, Mitch Hedberg, Chris Farley, Ray Combs, the list goes on and on. Ever seen an old comedian? George Carlin is the only one that comes to mind and even he struggled with sobriety and suffered three heart attacks, despite being otherwise physically healthy.

This article sums it up best, "Why do comedians do this to themselves? It seems like more than most professions, depression is a prominent condition with comedians. I guess it's the classic sad clown syndrome — the smile is sometimes only painted on. Some comedians seem to have no happiness of their own, aside from the moments when they provide happiness to others. Even in death, especially in the age of the Internet, they can at least rest assured that they are still providing people with happiness."

A consistently busy travel schedule makes it difficult for comedians to form social or romantic relationships, adding isolation to the potentially fatal concoction. Other ingredients include, stress, insomnia, mania, social anxiety, and that beautiful yet crazy mind that only comedians have; that mind that sometimes forces them into comedy because they can't shoehorn themselves into any other role in society. Ingenious, radical thinkers and observers, but sad clowns one and all.

I'm in double trouble because of the idea that "women aren't funny." Plus, being sexually attractive AND funny seem to be mutually exclusive if you're a woman, and the idea of always being seen as hideous has little appeal to me. Name me one good looking, SUCCESSFUL female comedian. Eddie Izzard does not count. On the plus side, there aren't many female comedians who OD'd or blew their brains out.

In short, I don't want to end up dead before I need to. I don't want to become a drug addict. I don't want to flip out and randomly move to Poland. I don't want to be a sad clown. I don't want to be yet another human sacrifice. When I encourage you all to follow your dreams, make things happen, I'm most likely not steering you toward certain death. However, in my case....I suppose it really just makes me a big hypocrite, though I have pursued and accomplished many of my other mini-dreams.

I hate to leave on a downer, so let good ol' Georgie make light of the subject.