Posts filed under ‘life’

You see it


January 30, 2012 at 5:25 pm 1 comment

Awful-ly funny


… because Greeneyed girl didn’t find it amusing ūüėõ …

December 1, 2011 at 2:49 pm 3 comments

This much I know


I am no Mr. Blackwell
::: but hey, technically neither is he, since he’s dead ‘n all … :::

I am no Joan Rivers
::: thank GAWD!!! :::

I am no Heidi Klum
::: but I pretend to be every Thursday night¬†at Sammi … err, uhh, nevermind … :::

I am no high and mighty fashion critic.
I’m a fashion ICON!

As in ‘Icon see that shit and that shit ain’t right!’

And this shit ain’t right! —–>

It’s wrongness exists on several levels, but let’s not go into the granular details lest The Situation wannabe at my local LA Fitness who tormented MY EYES this very afternoon feel compelled to divert his rufie and hair gel savings and put it¬†toward the kind of marrow-level in-depth psychoanalysis his entire being is so desperately crying out for.

No.
Let’s not do that.
We simply don’t have that kind of time.

But address the all-out fuckery that IS those shorts – WE MUST!

Because they aren’t shorts.
Or Pants.
Or Shants.
Or Ports.

Those, my friends, are culottes, okay?

Fucking culottes.

As in women’s fashion trousers circa 1978!!!

As in kinda ok these days for (women who do) yoga but not much else.

So stop it, douchebag.
Because it’s annoying to watch you try to be all testeroney as you priss and strut and flex and grunt while wearing those ridiculous things.
Because it doesn’t work.
Because it doesn’t make you look muscular, or masculine or, well, much of anything remotely, uhh, male.

It makes you look like my Aunt Carol.

‘Nuff said.

There’s a Sports Authority at Southern and 441.
Visit the men’s clothing section pronto because, DAYUM!

November 20, 2011 at 9:24 pm 4 comments

YEAH!!!!!


Occupy Sesame Street

Because Bert don’t play, yo!

SOURCE: Break.com

November 6, 2011 at 12:11 pm 3 comments

Ad … Nauseum?


No, this is not me making a mad dash for my secret hiding place when the po po unexpected company has arrived.
::: I mean really. The couch? OBVIOUS! :::

This is not me¬†looking for that ‘little extra’ I sometimes need but have to hide strategically protectionize locationally.
::: Like I’d leave it where your chirrenz could steal it?!? Never! :::

This is not me putting a fresh coat of tummy gargle on the living-room Pergo.
::: Well, actually it could be. But it’s not. THIS time. :::

This is an advertisement.

A wide shot of some bitch’s admittedly hot ass is¬†the cerebral creation I have to believe a bunch¬†of dumb¬†Madison Avenue¬†morons¬†conveived at the conclusion of a long¬†afternoon spent¬†high on Hawaiian salt, trying to relive those long-long gone high school glory days when all it took was a¬†not-exactly-creative¬†‘nice ass’ and¬†a driver’s licenes¬†to get you nine-kinds of¬†in the door.

‘Cept the ad isn’t¬†edgy or creative or even fun.
It’s pathetic.

Because it’s too easy.

I mean, who doesn’t¬†know that the seat of all power, the center of¬†known universe, the source of all natural wealth, health and happiness¬†– as well as everything in reverse to the extreme times a gozillion¬†–¬†is and forever will be the Great Garden of Lady Goodness that makes the world go ’round?!?

Frealz.
We run this shit.

Which means this had to be the brainchildfart of actual grown-up type-human most-likely-male-type chromosome-carriers.
Old-type ones.

Because that kind of¬†generic¬†‘nice ass’ coming from a bunch of 50-60-ish adver-guys in ties gawking at the Hooter’s waitstaff while trying to evolve an idea has the same pathetic ring as ‘I live with my mom’ from a 30-ish trick trying to pick me you up at Applebee’s.

Just sayin’.
Can’t you do better?!

Guess not.

Because the Maddy’s testosterone mind meld apparently had them feeling enough ‘Captain’s of Concept’ that they¬†were able¬†to convince their poor schmuck of a client to buy the back covers of aawlll the supermarket ‘oids to showcase their duhhhh moment for all the world to witness.

Because I guess they don’t realize that this is a SHEconomy where 85% of all brand purchases are made by … WOMEN!
In case you didn’t know, this includes homes, cars, health care, food and medicines.
Hmmmmm, is this ass ad trying to sell us one of those???

Because I guess they also don’t realize that 91% of the value validating vajayjays out there feel advertisers *SHOCK* don’t understand them.

Because they really think the chuff is gonna help sell …


October 16, 2011 at 7:46 pm 1 comment

And suddenly I feel all …


Well, seizurey for damn sure … but then I take a step back and ponder Scrawberreh Shoatcake a while longer and suddenly I’m all …

… nah, still seizurey.

I mean, I get it.
I know we can’t all be Sahar!
Hell, Sahar can barely handle being Sahar!!

But try, ‘kay?
Maybe just a little?

Because jammin’ your hams into a mess like that is among the wrongest kinds of wrongs.

That pank is stank, yo!

I’m serious.
Stop it.

Because perpetrating this kind of absolute rock-bottom fashion fuckery is ick and blech and ptooey and I’m pretty sure illegal in several states because of all of the aforementioned reasonation-type shit not to mention it hurts my fucking EYES!

MY EYES!!!!!!

So seriously — stop it.
Frealz.

Because landing your bedazzled butt on POWM or Poorly Dressed should not be your goal, your fallback position or your alibi.

So, like, seriously really — stop it.

Because some things you just can’t un-see.

September 18, 2011 at 8:41 pm 5 comments

That crack is WAK, yo!


Because I just don’t see it.

I don’t!

I mean – I can FEEL that shit, but I don’t SEE that shit.

See, that’s my knee down there (HI KNEE!)¬†and, according to the HBIC at the walk-in I limped-in yesterday it’s cracked … maybe … possibly … so go see an orthopedic surgeon to find out for sure if that bitch is truly busticated.

So I did.
‘Cept he wasn’t sure either.

So now The Cookie’s gonna get her MRI on (NO SNEEZING, LIE STILL) tomorrow and maybe, possibly find the fuck out for good!.

Which makes me all ‘Really?!? Didn’t you guys learn how to read an X-Ray on, like, day 1 of doctor school or something?’

Because I sure can’t. But I don’t have to.
Because it’s a pretty¬†well-established indisputable 100 kinds of true FACT that I am not a doctor or a nurse or a nurse practitioner or a medical assistant or the front-desk lady who gives out lollies.

But they are, which is why this ho hooks up with healing-types when her shit brings the hurt.

I go see people who are supposed to know shit so they can look at my shit and tell me how to fix that shit!

‘Cept modern medicine’s not as hot shit as all that.

Because it requires multiple examinations by multiple people over the course of multiple days to maybe, possibly find out why pain is radiating down my leg from the outside of my right knee and maybe, possibly fix that fuckery so I can get back to bidness!!

Sheeeeeyut!

September 14, 2011 at 3:48 pm 1 comment

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