Monday, August 20, 2012

The Post That Loses Me Followers

I don't usually write posts like this. In fact, I never do. I'd rather talk about peeing my pants and super gluing my finger to my face than religion or politics any day. But it's been awhile since I've blogged, and I have nothing funny to say. And also? I'm hella pissed. Thus, ranty blog post.

Let me start by saying that the intent of this post is not to get into a pro life, pro choice debate. I will do my best to keep my personal thoughts on that matter to myself. The point of this post is to express my absolute disbelief that douchenuggets like Missouri Congressman Todd Akin exist.

Don't know him? Allow me to introduce you to this twatwaffle. In an interview broadcast Sunday, the fine Congressman said that women's bodies can prevent pregnancies in the case of "a legitimate rape," adding that conception in such cases is rare. 

No! He didn't say that! NO ONE would really say that!

Here it is, friends, from the horse's ass: "It seems to me first of all from what I understand from doctors, that's really rare," Akin said. "If it's a legitimate rape, the female body has ways to try to shut that whole thing down."

Oh that's right, Akin! I totally remember learning about an egg's ability to detect unwanted sperm. If I recall correctly, it builds a toothpick/popiscle stick fortress and throws ovarian cysts at the tadpole suckers while shouting "no boys allowed!" Yeah, that lesson was sandwiched between worm dissection day and studying the mating rituals of dung beetles.

Honestly, this guy makes Honey Boo Boo Child look like a f*cking rocket scientist.

This totally factual comment was made in response to a question about whether Captain Asshat supports access to abortion in the case of rape.

He went on to say that if the female body did not shut it down (you know, maybe the egg was giving herself a pedicure while watching a Jersey Shore marathon and didn't hear the impending attack) he thinks "there should be some punishment, but the punishment ought to be of the rapist, and not attacking the child."

I have so many things to say about this, where to start? Oh I know, how about with the whole "legitimate rape" thing. After all, the first thing to do when a woman says she's been raped is to determine whether it was legitimate or if she's just a whore who was asking for it. Say for example, she was wearing a really short skirt and low cut top and gettin' low on the dance floor. Obviously she's just begging for a penis to end up inside her and therefore cannot declare her rape legitimate despite her cries of "no!" during the act.

Or say a girl is gettin' on with her boyfriend. The clothes are off, the tongues are licking, the hands are groping, all signs are leading to intercourse. But right before they're about to do the sex, she changes her mind and decides she does not, in fact, want a penis inside her. Well that's just not fair! She was leading him on! A man has a right to penetrate! And so he does and once again illegitimate rape occurs a.k.a. she wasn't really raped.

And oh how I love how Akin thinks there should be "some" punishment. Some? I can only imagine what type of punishment Akin thinks is appropriate for a rapist. Five minutes in time-out? No t.v. for a week? No dessert for a month? Whoa. Let's not be drastic.

Here's some punishment idea for ya, Akin. We chop off the rapist's penis and balls and grind them in a blender.

Too harsh? You're right. After all, a rapist has rights.

I'll leave the punishing of rapists to your divine wisdom, Akin. I'm sure you know the exact physical, emotional and psychological trauma a rape victim experiences. And I'm equally sure you know just how much the woman openly embraces the idea that the government gets to decide what happens to the pregnancy that results from the blissful union.

What's that? You don't know what it's like to be raped? You can't possibly comprehend the agony those women experience? You can't fathom what it's like to be (legitimately or illegitimately) pregnant?

Don't worry. We can help you out with that. Let me just call one of the fine upstanding men from the federal penitentiary to examine your anus with his penis for the next hour. Once that's over, we'll ask you how you feel about the whole thing, confirm whether the rape was legitimate then stick an embryo up your ass and enjoy watching you the next nine months as strangers rub your butt and speculate on the baby's gender and offer congratulations and tell you you are positively glowing until that glorious day when your butt baby arrives.

Oh, I'm sorry. Is a man giving birth to a butt baby highly improbable? Ridiculous? Ludicrous? Bat shit crazy? Probably. But it makes as much sense, Congressman, as your statement that if a woman doesn't want to be raped, she won't get pregnant.

It does make you wonder, though, about all those women who do get pregnant as a result of legitimate rape. Deep down, they must have wanted it to happen, because otherwise how? 

Listen, the world is full of stupid people. Seriously. Look at the person to your left, look at the person to your right. One of you is a moron. This does not shock me. What does shock me is that people follow idiots like Akin around shouting "Rah Rah Sis Boom Bee! I want you to represent me!" People voted for this guy. Like for real. It happened.

And people will continue to vote for this guy, and tons more just like him.

If that doesn't make your head explode all over your computer, I don't know what will.

Tuesday, August 14, 2012

My Life Is One Gold Medal After Another

The Olympics are over.


It's safe to say I was obsessed with the male swimmers' bodies. It was the most unproductive 17 days of my life. And that's saying a lot. Because unproductivity is kinda my thing.

I enjoyed watching diving, and swimming and track and beach volleyball. But my all-time favorite is gymnastics. Ever since the Magnificent Seven and the infamous "You can do it!" shout of one Bela Karolyi, I have imagined myself one day competing for team USA. As a gymnast. Which is only slightly ludicrous considering I can barely do a cartwheel and I break out into a cold sweat if I come within five feet of the uneven bars. Also? I'm twice the age of the average gymnast.

Still, it's good to dream, yes?

(Does anyone know at what point dreams become delusions? I'm asking for...a friend.)

If NBC wasn't showing coverage of the 2012 gymnastic team, I watched replays of Nastia Lukin and Carly Patterson on ON DEMAND. I watched highlights of the Magnificent Seven and Kerri Strug vault them into infamy. I watched Youtube clips of past Olympics. I watched gymnastics gone wrong: girls flinging themselves off the bars into the crowd, faceplanting on the balance beam, vaulting into the judges.

The more I watched, the more I realized my dream of being an Olympic gymnast was probably never going to come true. As you can imagine, I was devastated.

But you know what they say: If one dream doesn't work out, find a new one. (Do "they" actually say that? I have no idea.) And so I imagined myself competing in my own Olympic sport, complete with (gymnastic) announcers Al Trautwig, Elfi Schlegel and Tim Daggett. But instead of the Bars, Vault, Uneven Bars and Floor Apparatuses, I competed in Couch, Ice Cream, Sink and Shoes .

The goal of this apparatus is for competitors to lie on the couch for as long as possible, watching reality t.v. and eating a ten pound bag of mini snickers. Competitors get bonus points for glassy-eyes, drool stains on couch cushions, chocolate stains on shirts and husbands who yell, "you're still watching t.v.?!!"

Here's a snippet of the announcers review of my performance:

Al: Wow, Elfi. She's really been lying on the couch for awhile.

Elfi: Yes, Al. She's going on ten hours. Most competitors will only do four, five hours max. But SG can lounge on the couch like no one I have ever seen.

Tim: She really came into these Olympics prepared. She's been training for months, lying on her couch at home for hours, sometimes days on end, doing absolutely nothing.

Al: Look at the way drool just rolls off her chin. Truly amazing. What an athlete.

Elfi: Oh my! What's this?! Is she actually picking up a Snickers wrapper and taking it to the trashcan? That's a full point deduction. Competitors are just supposed to let their trash fall to the floor.

Tim: This is really unheard of for SG. A huge lapse in concentration.

Al: Wait...It looks like she's letting it fall to the floor on her way to the bathroom. Yep, that's exactly what she is doing. She has dropped the Snickers wrapper on the floor in the hallway. Her mess is no longer contained to just the couch. She'll get bonus points for that for sure.

Ice Cream
The goal of this apparatus is for competitors to eat massive amounts of ice cream in one sitting. Scoring for this is pretty simple: the more ice cream you eat, the more points you get.

Al: Is that ten scoops of ice cream? Ten!

Elfi: You counted right, Al. And that's just her warm up. She'll eat ten bowls of ten scoops each. One right after the other.

Tim: This is another area where SG dominates the other competitors. Most can only eat one or two bowls of only four scoops each, but SG has mastered eating ALL THE ICE CREAM!

Elfi: She's finished bowl eight and here comes her signature move: waving her spoon at her husband to indicate it's time for him to refill her bowl.

Al: Look at his face. You can just tell he loves it when she does that.

The goal of the apparatus is for competitors to leave as many beauty products on the bathroom sink as possible. Competitors get bonus points for yelling at husbands who move things to try to make room so they can brush their teeth.

Al: Just look at all that stuff.

Elfi: Four bottles of lotion, two hairbrushes, bobby pins, face cream, three deodorants, two handmirrors and three tweezers.

Tim: Most competitors only have one pair of tweezers. But not SG, she has three.

Al: Now what would a competitor need with three pairs of tweezers?

Elfi: No one knows. Certainly not her husband.

Tim: Look at that. She even has Q-tips, eye makeup remover pads and the tags of the last forty pairs of jeans she's bought. Such a competitor.

The goal of this apparatus is for competitors to leave their shoes scattered all over the house. Competitors get bonus points for leaving them in walkways where people, like husbands, have the potential to trip over them, breaking an ankle or impaling the sole of their foot on a stiletto heel.

Al: Look at this! SG has six pairs of shoes in the living room and kitchen alone!

Elfi: Actually, it's eight, Al. You missed the pair under the coffee table and the other lodged under the couch.

Tim: And she has two mismatched pairs under the dining room table. You can't teach that kind of talent.

Elfi: Look at that! She's left a high heel on the center of a stair about halfway up the staircase. She's been practicing that move all week and hadn't quite gotten it right. I was wondering if she was going to do it in competition. She has, and it's perfect!

Tim: Amazing. Absolutely Amazing. What makes this move so brilliant is what she does next. See how she turns off the lights and goes to bed? Well, her husband is already asleep. He has no idea she's placed a shoe there. At about two in the morning, he'll wake up thirsty and head downstairs for some water. He'll trip on the unsuspecting shoe, tumble down the stairs and break his ass.

Al: Wow. That will certainly be something to watch. Will she get bonus points for that?

Elfi: Oh definitely. The gold is hers, no doubt.

I have to tell you guys, there truly is no greater feeling than being an Olympic athlete. I now know what Michael Phelps must be feeling. And I'm sure Michael would agree that while the gold medals are nice, the best feeling is knowing I'm representing my country. I hope I have inspired others to follow their dreams of being lazy, ice cream eating slobs. Or maybe your dream is to be the Dishes Champion, where you see how high you can stack dirty dishes in your kitchen sink. It doesn't matter what your dream is. The important thing is that you have a dream, and you go for it.

And remember, just because you're too old to start training to be a gymnast, doesn't mean you're too old to train to eat ALL THE COOKIES. I'm pretty sure you can never be too old for that.
Now if you'll excuse me, I need to start training for a new event called Midnight Kitchen. It's where competitors get inspired to cook a five course, gourmet meal in the middle of the night, get tired halfway through, leave a mess and go to bed. The next morning, husbands wake up, turn on the lights and start to cry.  It's sure to be a fan favorite.

Comment Gems:
E.B. Black: LOL! My boyfriend is the EXACT same way. I love when he sleep talks to me because he says such ridiculous things. I encourage it and pretend to go along with whatever he's saying because then I can make fun of it when he wakes up in the morning. I've also been able to soothe him and change his dreams when he was having a nightmare just by talking to him.

For instance, one night, he woke me up in a panic. I always think he's awake because his eyes are open, but then he screamed at me:


TMC: I love your husband's Peter Pan-esque sense of style and his apparent ability to get naked between the kitchen and the bedroom. That's talent. And sassy.


Monday, August 6, 2012

Sleeping With The Husband

It's like Sleeping With The Enemy, except one of us doesn't try to kill the other one of us. Probably because we're both slobs. (That makes more sense if you've seen the movie.)

(Probably  not.)

There was that one time when the husband tried to kill me with a gold fish. Or maybe he was trying to play with a gold fish (because we all know how playful gold fish are). Either way, the whole thing was bizarre, at best.

Most nights, sleeping with the husband is nothing short of adventurous. And I'm not talking the horizontal mambo kind of adventure. Not that our horizontal mamboing isn't adventurous. I just think, that for all parties involved, it'd be best if the details of the horizontal mamboing were kept private.

Those of you who have hung around these parts for awhile know the adventure I speak of is conversations I have with the husband while he is sleeping.

If the husband had a choice, he'd spend 23 hours of the day asleep. It's not that he's lazy, it's that our bed is so freaking amazing. No seriously. It is. It's like sleeping on a cloud of marshmallows. And cotton balls. And the magic of a thousand unicorns.

No matter how awake, how energized, how amped up on coffee, 5 hour energy and Red Bull he is, if he comes within the general vicinity of our bed, he passes out. Instantly.

Yeah. He doesn't even make it in the bed.

With so few hours of the day spent awake, it only stands to reason that the husband needs to accomplish things whilst asleep.

Although wrestling furniture and yelling at the t.v. top his list of activities to do during slumber, sometimes he settles for plain ol' conversation with me, his often freaked out and baffled wife.

Take, for example, the other night. I get into bed. He, of course, is already there. I start talking and he opens his eyes.

Me: I'm wearing your underwear. It was in my drawer.

(Yes, I sometimes wear the husband's underwear. Yes it is very large and I have to secure it with safety pins and binder clips and there is lots and LOTS of extra room, but still, I wear it.)

The husband: I know. I gave it to you.

Me: Why?

The husband: There's a rip in it and it bothers me.

So far, this is making total sense. The underwear is, in fact, ripped. It doesn't even cross my mind that the husband isn't 100% awake. And then, this happens.

The husband: It's the blue and silver pair.

Me: There's no silver on this underwear, just blue.

The husband: No, my shoes.

Me: Shoes? What shoes?

The husband: My silver ones.

Me: You don't have silver shoes.

The husband: *sigh*

He's always sighing. As if I'm the one being illogical. He's a very impatient sleep-talker.

The husband: My sil-ver sho-es.

Thanks for the emphasis. It all makes sense now.

Me: Okay. So you have silver shoes and you gave them to me?

The husband:Yes. My silver tipped shoes.

This is where I stopped talking. Because if the husband owns shoes like this...
...I probably don't want to know about it.

The End.

P.S. If you Google "silver tipped shoes" a bunch of pictures of shoes comes up, and also? This...

Don't ever change, Google. Don't ever change.

Comment gems:

Classic NYer: But what if the monkey has a PASSION for ballet? Surely you wouldn't take that away from him with your restrictive "monkeys hate ballet" stereotype?
The Writer, Rinser, Repeater: The most searched phrase that leads to my page is "Hamster that poops glitter". I've never heard of such a thing, but now I know what the people want. 

Friday, August 3, 2012

I Really Shouldn't Say This

Guess where I am today?

I'm hanging at Shell's blog at Things I Can't Say.  Woot! She is amazing for many reasons, but she is known and loved by many of us for giving us a platform to say the things we can't say, either out loud to ourselves or to anyone else.

Have something you need to get off your chest? Are you scared, depressed, angry, happy, sad, elated? Write about it and link up with Shell. The community of support is a-mazing.

But in the meantime, go read my post about the time I dodged a train. Unless you're my mom. Then you probably shouldn't read it.

Comment Gems:

The Writer, Rinser, Repeater: The most searched phrase that leads to my page is "Hamster that poops glitter". I've never heard of such a thing, but now I know what the people want.

momnextdoor: Ballerina Monkey had me cackling...which I've just learned is not an acceptable behavior at work. Thanks for that lesson. Your blog is so multidimensional!

Wednesday, August 1, 2012

You Googled What? - The Here We Go Again Edition

I'm a day late with this post, but being late is one of the few things I'm good at so I try to be REALLY good at it.

Once again, it's time for the bizarre, the baffling and the downright mind-blowing Google searches that led people to my blog. Some of them are just too disgusting to include, but here are a few that won't have you asking for the brain bleach when finished. Hopefully.

not going to see my boobs
Well, fine. I didn’t want to see them anyway.

hey girl mondays ugh ryan gosling

E.L. James said her writing is crap
I couldn’t agree more. (For those of you who don’t know, E.L. James is the 50 Shades author)

how often do people get bitten in the penis by spiders
Umm... I have no idea. But I'm going to venture to say that once is too often and you should get thee to a doctor ASAP!
someone told me today i stink but no one else thinks i do
Newsflash. You totally stink. Everyone else is either too nice, too embarrassed or too gaggy to tell you the truth.

does anyone think 50 shades of grey is redundant
Funny you should ask... Fifty Shades of Oh Jeez and Other Redundancy
hubies pie building fire
Oh, totally. Couldn't agree more.

write bacon contest
Best. Contest. Ever.

ballerina monkey
This is the fifth highest all-time search that directs people to my blog. Is there some weird ballerina monkey club I'm not aware of? Because that would be awesome. But only if club activities involve watching monkeys do ballet. Not if you actually have to BE a monkey, who does ballet no less, to join. That would suck. Because I don't know ballet. Also? I'm not a monkey. Obviously.  

Honestly, I shouldn't have to explain these things.

On second thought, I hope no one is making monkeys do ballet. That just seems mean. And eventually someone's going to get their face ripped off. And everyone's going to blame the monkey, which is just ridiculous because THAT'S WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU MAKE MONKEYS DO BALLET!

This is common sense, people.

Want more You Googled What? Check out the previous months. But before you do, make sure you read the Comment Gems!

You Googled What? - The Poor Grammar and Other Horrors Edition
You Googled What? - The Baffling As Ever Edition
You Googled What? - The "Um..." Edition
You Googled What? - The Bizarre and Not-So-Profound Edition
You Googled What? - Anal Probe Edition

Comment Gems:
Marianna Annadanna This made me smile. Which I needed. Thanks. Also, it's mine and Hubbys anniversary tomorrow apparently. 11 years together. We don't really count the wedding anniversary. Because I regret marrying him. Just kidding!

Ducky: I am stellar at bowling! My high score is 69 for the pins....heh....and 7 for the people. Yeah.... Don't ask. It was a tad embarrassing which I'm sure you're wondering how given my pin score is shameful enough. Nothing scatters folks like an airborne bowling ball!

Coffee Lovin' Mom: I challenge you to a bowling suck off when we meet again...