Next weekend Mr. Bunny and I are going to a wedding. Contrary to lots of folks’ (mostly husbands) opinions about going to weddings, I love love love love LOVE them! Now that my own wedding day is long gone, going to other peoples’ weddings gives me a chance to renew my own marital spirit, reminisce about the magical ceremony Mr. Bunny and I shared, and stuff myself with cake.
However, there is one dark cloud that hangs over every wedding I attend: my pathetic dancing. Unlike my sister Mock, who was the star of her high school glee club (jazz hands ‘n everything!), in my formative years, I was much too busy listening to Ozzy and experimenting with marijuana to ever really learn how to dance. So I am always nervous whenever there is a chance I may need to put my boogie shoes on. To get an idea of how awful my dancing is, imagine a carrot having an epileptic seizure.
So imagine my delight at discovering this clip. I totally know all these moves!
So according to this story, a judge in Ohio fined local douchebag Andrew Vactor for blasting rap music on his car stereo. (I should point out that the article, not me, used the words “rap” and “music” together in one sentence.) Many of you are aware of my sentiments regarding rap, but for those of you who aren’t, let me bring you up to speed. I can’t even stand listening to it long enough to make fun of it. I think it totally sucks and is an insult to actual real MUSIC which requires some actual real TALENT. Let me sum up my feelings about rap by borrowing what Dr. David Thorpe wrote about metal: (http://www.somethingawful.com/d/your-band-sucks/metal.php) :
“I haven’t heard anything, seen anything, read anything or met anyone who could convince me that metal, as a whole, is not artistically bankrupt, direly uncool, and irredeemably fucking dumb. Not most of it. All of it.”
Anyway, this judge gave the defendant a choice: pay a $150 fine or pay a reduced fine of $35 and listen to 20 hours of Bach, Beethoven, and Chopin. Being the douchebag he is, Vactor simply paid the full fine rather than subject himself to actual real MUSIC. . . but I love this judge’s style. Her reasoning was to force Vactor to listen to music he hates, since that is exactly what he forced others to do.
These bizarre-looking new school buses. They look like scary, futuristic, Battlestar Galactica-ish transport vehicles. They have lost all their “old school” charm and are, frankly, totally creepy. If I were a small child I would be terrified to board one for fear that doing so would be like entering the Twilight Zone. But then, I also have a completely irrational fear of street cleaners, so maybe I am overreacting.
Speaking of school buses and schoolchildren and school, you know what else I hate? The 25mph speed limit in school zones. Even in HIGH SCHOOL zones, where the students themselves drive like complete maniacs. When I was in school, we children had to fend for ourselves. We actually had to look both ways before crossing the street, and obey actual traffic warnings, and use appropriate crosswalks instead of simply plowing into oncoming traffic with reckless abandon. You know, COMMON SENSE. Now, I am not suggesting that people drive 50mph in school zones. BUT – I will say that I am so obsessed with not wanting to get a speeding ticket in school zones that I am barely watching the road at all, because my eyes are totally glued to my speedometer. Can you imagine the irony of running over a gaggle of schoolchildren because you were watching your speedometer instead of the road because you weren’t supposed to go over 25mph or you would get a speeding ticket, all in the name of keeping our schoolchildren safe?
Perhaps I should start using the public bus system. That is, as long as they aren’t those creepy new buses.
Why why why why WHY do women do this??? Why do they subject themselves to the torture of ripping perfectly good eyebrow hairs from their follicles, only to then DRAW THEM BACK ON??? I mean, I can understand shaping…contouring…manicuring. But this? No. I do not understand. And as someone who has the worst “hair genes” on the planet and is desperately lacking in the eyebrowular area, this process confounds my mind and infuriates my soul.
I saw these at JC Penney yesterday and totally cringed. They were on a mannequin, and I gazed at them for almost two solid minutes with a look of pain and confusion on my face. This trend must NOT be allowed to take hold! They flatter NO ONE, despite what their ad says:
Play up your curves in these retro-inspired high-waist jeans! They cinch and flatten your waist so they look fab on all body types from naturally curvy to a more boyish figure.
Fabulosity can say whatever it wants, but I guarantee these would NOT look “fab” on me or anyone else I know. All they would do is create some serious muffin-top and look like an Adam Ant constume.
So yesterday Nick Hogan turned 18. Behind bars. (Irony #1) His parents came to visit – separately. (Irony #2) His mom bought him a skateboard for his birthday. (Irony #3) His dad brought a large cake…but he wasn’t allowed to give it to Nick. Nick could only look at it on the video screen. (Irony #4) When asked if the cake had a file baked into it, the Hulk jokingly replied, “There was TEN files in it!” (Irony #5 AND Hatchetwoman’s grammar wrath)
I could go on an on listing all the ironies of the Hogan family…but instead I’ll just post this great pic:
Let me just begin by saying that gangsta rap is to music as cancer is to life.
Complete lack of musical ability aside, DMX is ridiculous. (It pained me just now to put the words “musical ability” and “DMX” in the same sentence.)
Anyway, he is in legal trouble (again). That’s really not surprising, considering he spends all his time either glorifying crime through rapping, or associating with other criminals, or engaging in crime himself – but what is kinda surprising is that when asked about his recent felony charges, he broke out into a rap. As if this is perfectly normal and within the established parameters of regular discourse. You can read the full story here.
From now on, when my boss asks me why I haven’t finished that proposal, I intend to respond in rap-form.
This post goes out to all the women in MockDock world. Ladies, I know you all understand the trials and tribulations associated with being female – namely, those four or five days of every month when we “fall to the communists”, if you catch my drift. I’m talkin’ bout the curse. Periods. Menstruation. And since you’re all familiar with this crappy aspect of being a woman, you’re probably also familiar with its symptoms, to wit:
-Unprovoked bouts of rage punctuated by sudden spells of glee mixed with uncontrollable crying intermingled with a deep sense of peace which is broken by an overwhelming sense of annoyance and irritation, leading to further unprovoked bouts of rage
-Crying over commercials with sappy music
-Feeling completely disgusting
I’m sure you could list many others, but let me pause with that last one, about feeling disgusting – which really leads me to the point of this post. I was having a terrible time getting ready for work this morning. Makeup? Going on crooked and blotchy. Hair? Flat and lifeless and full of split ends. The topper was when I found myself sitting on the bedroom floor, surrounded by piles of fabric from the giant clothes bomb that had exploded around me (you know what I’m talking about – when you put on an article of clothing, look at yourself in the mirror, grunt and roll your eyes, let out a huge sigh of exasperation, then angrily rip the article off your body and throw it on the floor with the dozens of articles of clothing which you’ve already subjected to this process over the last 20 minutes). Anyway, there I sat, feeling enormously bloated and hideous and completely defeated. And at that moment, do you know what I suddenly thought of, and it made me feel a thousand times better? I thought of the lyrics to Sir Mix-A-Lot’s Baby Got Back. Specifically, this verse:
So Cosmo says you’re fat
Well I ain’t down with that!
‘Cause your waist is small and your curves are kickin’
And I’m thinkin’ bout stickin’
To the beanpole dames in the magazines:
You ain’t it, Miss Thing!
Give me a sister, I can’t resist her
Red beans and rice didn’t miss her
Yes. The poignant words of Sir Mix-A-Lot have made me feel beautiful and happy again.
At least until my next bout of unprovoked rage takes over.