I'm a Dirty Dirty Girl

HA HA HA! I love that pic. No, I'm not talking about that kind of dirty. (I just wanted to shock you.) I'm talking about being dirty, literally, on the inside.

So I've been thinking about doing a colon cleanse lately (I know, I know, it sounds SO retarded-socialite-with-nothing-to-do), but I'm not talking about the shoving a tube up my ass and having my shit sucked out version. I'm talking about the herbal fast and detox version, which, rumor has it, makes you poop like this. (WARNING! DO NOT VIEW WHILE EATING, OR WHILE THINKING OF EATING, OR GETTING READY TO EAT.) Gah. Gah gah gah gah gah! The only thing that horrifies me more than those images is the prospect that something like that could be inside of me. And I want it out!

I am a fairly healthy person; I try to eat as many veggies as possible, I usually go for the salad over the french fries, and I NEVER eat fast food. (Seriously, the last time I did was years ago, and it wasn't pretty.) So I figure I'm in good shape. But I haven't always been (read: college) and I do drink alcohol fairly regularly (read: almost daily), so I've been thinking about it.

When I was in college, I worked at a co-op, and many of my co-workers swore by the Master Cleanse thingy, which basically consists of drinking nothing but a concoction of organic lemon juice, organic maple syrup, cayenne pepper, and water for 10 to 13 days. But, then again, I was in college, and the idea of intaking nothing but gourmet lemonade did not appeal in the least.

So now I'm older (certainly) and wiser (questionable, but I think so) and I want to take care of my body for the long haul. So I'm thinking about this cleansing idea.

Anyone ever tried it before?


Dutch Idol Awesomeness

I don't... I can't...

I just don't know what to say.

Simply the Best.


Babies + Lemons = Awesomeness

But this shit it just hilarious. This is one of the things I look forward to for when Robb and I have kids. Hey! My mom (and probably some member of everyone's family) did it to me. It's why we have kids, right? Well, that and the free slave labor.

Yep, this is my Monday afternoon. I fucking love kids.


Vick the Prick: Re-do or No-do?

If you had asked me, maybe even as recently as three weeks ago, whether I would define myself as idealistic, I probably would have laughed in your face. Partly because I like to laugh in people's faces, but mainly because I am uber-judgemental. Lately, however, I have been repeatedly disappointed by American "role models", and I have to ask myself: Self? Are your expectations too high? Or are you simply a blind idealist?

I suppose if I answered that question right now, it would have to be both. My expectations must be off the charts, because I cannot condone this attitude of goodwill and forgiveness towards a person that mutilates another living being after using it for violent means. And apparently I must be a naive idealist, as I think public figures should create strong moral standards and be examples that we can point to as our leaders and role models.

I am, of course, talking about Michael Vick.

I certainly believe that people constantly evolve throughout their lifetimes, and I definitely believe in 2nd, 3rd, 4th chances. Hell, I've had my share. But there's a big gap between giving repeats to people who atone (ah, I hate that word) for their wrongdoings and people who want those repeats just because they think they should have them.

To be fair, I have heard nothing from Vick about being accepted back into the NFL. But I think he's the only one that hasn't expressed an opinion about it.

Vick has agreed to a plea bargain, guaranteeing prison time. He has agreed to plead guilty to several charges. He was the ringmaster in a disgusting and inhumane practice, the underground world of dogfighting. He mutilated animals: chopped off their heads, drowned them, and killed them in what resembles the anti-humane. (In my brash opinion, there is not a long way to go from mutilating animals to mutilating humans. Most serial killers would agree.) And that was after he forced them to fight, sometimes to the death, and certainly to the pain. He hasn't even gone to trial, and already there are those voices coming to his aid, urging our country to give him his re-do.

Well, I say fuck that.

Until he does his fair share of community work, work with animals, donating to charities, and the rest of that celebrity walk-of-humility (do they have rehab for animal abuse?) then I say he gets no second chance. Action, motherfuckers. Action, action, action.

So screw you R.L. White. Vick has to prove to me that he deserves to earn that multi-million dollar paycheck before he goes back to the NFL. He must make amends. And yes, I think it is fair to hold our public figures to a higher standard. They make the big bucks because they appeal to a huge part of the American public. With great power (money, media pull, corporate sponsorships) comes great responsibility, and if we don't hold our role models to these standards, we are undermining the moral codes that keep our society functioning.

In the words of a famous little man with a funny hat: Go to jail. Go directly to jail. Do not pass Go. Do not collect $200.

Some interesting commentary, from both sides, on this Michael Vick issue:
one from an asshat
one from a realist, with the a view of the bigger picture

Cheers! And love your animals.

Ear Candy: Deadboy and the Elephantmen

For your listening pleasure, Dax Riggs, formerly of Acid Bath.

Happy Thursday, betches.



Steven Spielberg: Fuck You

This is insane. I really thought I was the only one. Apparently not.

I have been traumatized by E.T. No, not that horrendous TV show dedicated to giving celebrities their daily blowjobs (although, as an adult, that shit truly is TERRIFYING). No, I'm talking about the Steven Spielberg movie from 1982 with the little brown alien that everyone thinks is so fucking cute. Yeah, that E.T.

I was a mere 2 years old when that movie came out, and one of my parents (probably my mom. bless her heart) took me to the theater to see it. Now, a 2 year old in a theater is bad enough, but if you remember that opening scene, (the one with the scary guys with flashlights and guns and the aliens with their creepy fingers and spaceship and then that little fucking alien running through the forest with the most horrible shriek I have ever heard!!!) then you know that it is pretty intense for a normal person, much less a 2 year old.

Let's just say I didn't stop screaming until my mom got me home. Seriously.

I had never seen the entire movie until this past December 31. Seriously.

Even seeing that creepy-ass face on a cereal box was too much for me, up until about a year ago. Seriously.

I had recurring nightmares about E.T. until I was 25. SERIOUSLY.

E.T. and me: not cool.

So, today I'm procrastinating and reading Pajiba, and I start looking at the comment thread (awesome way to pass the time, dudes) and the first motherfucking comment is this guy saying he was scared of E.T. Wow, I think, I've never heard of anyone else being scared of that. People (especially my FAMILY, assholos) always used to make fun of me (read:torture me) about this particular phobia (despite the fact that my brother used to have nightmares about ranch dressing, ha!) and for the longest time I really thought that I had some repressed childhood memory attached to E.T. that manifested itself in the form of terror.

Apparently, there is an entire generation of us that are scarred by the most lovable alien ever to be created for the silver screen. Spielburg, I'm forwarding my therapy bills to you. And I suggest that everyone else do the same. Motherfucker.

I mean, I'm sorry but THIS:


If I saw something like that poking its face around a door, I'd either a. run away screaming or b. try to fight it and then run away screaming.

Or, at least I would have a year ago.

My husband took me to see this movie, all the way through for the first time, on December 31, 2006. Yep, just 8.5 months ago. It was playing at our local brew 'n view, and we were super bored, so we ate some mushrooms and went to see the movie.

And you know what? E.T. was a good movie. I was really surprised. After a lifetime of unexplainable terror, a crushing sensation in my chest just hearing those two little letters, a jump of fright in my stomach when inadvertently seeing its image, I was able to watch the movie and enjoy it.

But sometimes when the moon is just right, and my imagination decides to take hold of my brain functions, I can still hear the scritchscratch coming from the darkened bathroom and know that He's there, waiting for me.




  • You want to know what is cooler than cool? Walking into the bedroom after a relaxing shower, loosening my softball-knotted muscles (I'm the starting pitcher! HELLS yeah) with some stretching, and finding my husband in bed, nekkid, and in a kinky mood. :)
  • Also, these awesome SHUES that I've wanted forever, and they FINALLY went on sale!
  • And then watching The Last King of Scotland. That is a DAMN good movie.It doesn't get much better than that.
  • And I have another tattoo appointment today! Woo!
  • And we are buying (because someone hit my husband and totalled his truck) a new car.
  • Jucifer on Sunday night.
  • Girls night tonight (after tattoo plezh-ah).
  • Being forgiven!
  • The weekend!!!

Have a great one, everyone. Even you, Vermillion.

Boo out.


Screw Angelina: Jane Austen, Adopt Me!!!!

I often fantasize about living in eras that are not my own. I have a bordering-on-obsession obsession with the Regency period, (obviously, I'm not alone here) having read almost every Austen novel and seen every adapted-for BBC movie. (Pride & Prejudice with Colin "Darcy" Firth? Awesome.) Today, more than most days, I want to be there.

Fuck cell phones, fuck TVs, fuck IM, fuck computers, fuck answering machines and their evil stepsister voicemail. Fuck e-mail, fuck snail mail (I'll take mine on horseback, thank you), fuck checkout lines, fuck coke lines, fuck bylines. FUCK celebrities, fuck media, fuck car "collisions" (since "accident" implies guilt). Fuck higher learning, fuck airports, fuck taxis, fuck work-related functions. Fuck PC, fuck democracy, fuck peace (thanks, MJ). Fuck trannies, fuck bars, fuck pampered dogs. Eh, fuck it.

Believe it or not, I'm not really in a bad mood. I'm just tired of dealing with all the things that get in the way of my thinking. I need a nice, quiet place to sit, read, crochet, maybe even paint a fucking watercolor. (Those of you who know me, know how very far-fetched this is. I'm allowed to be a dichotomy, dammit.) I need to feel like I'm hearing my inner voice that is only mine, not all the white noise and static of the things we are all exposed to every day. I mean, can I really, please, someone, get through one day without seeing a single ad? No, I cannot. And they won't rest until they acquire the adspace on the backs of my fucking eyelids.

I want to wear heavy dresses that drag the dust. I want to challenge the Regency ideal of feminism. I want to worry about my chances for a financially advantageous marriage. I want to ride horses into a hunt. I want to be treated as a delicate flower. I want to sleep with hot stones in my bed on cold nights. I want to laze away my days in boring idleness.

Wait, wait, wait. Hold on a second. Maybe I don't want Jane Austen to adopt me. Maybe I want to be bare-breasted, galloping into battle beside Boudicca, slaughtering Romans and feeling the spatter of warm blood on my body. Yeah, that's better.

Fuck Jane Austen: Boudicca! ADOPT ME!!!


Tour De France Brings Out the Bike Nuts

Dedicated to OnTheVirg.




Just in Case you Didn't Motherfucking Know...

WOW! I wonder how the fuck that is possible. Perhaps I'll contemplate it over a few rounds off my M16 and a couple rails of blow...after a good session of butt sex.

Or perhaps I'll contemplate it on the Tree of Woe.




Barry Bonds: Fuck You

Dear Barry Bonds,

I would like to give you my heartfelt congratulations on beating a record. We all know what a legend Hank Aaron is and always will be; you must feel so accomplished to have beaten his career home run record.

You know, some people might say that you cheated. I am not one of those people. I strongly believe that performance-enhancing drugs are just the ticket to getting your name in the Baseball Hall of Fame; I don't see what the big friggin deal is, really. We live in a country of opportunities, and for all the young black men struggling to create a good life for themselves, you are such an incredible role model. I hope that all the kids playing ball around the country look to you as an icon of what a professional sports player should be: drug user, liar, cheater, and all around general jackass.

Not that you didn't have talent before the good ol' roid days—you did. But why stop there? Why be satisfied with good, when you could be legendary?? I totally get it.

Congratulations Barry. You deserve it.




Hear Da Lamentations of Da Women

For you, TK.

I LOVE other people's bebes.

My dear friends created a dear bebe. And here are my first impressions of Isaac "Ike" Rose.

Sweet eyes. A perfect mix of mom and dad.

Sweet soul. Barely a cry all weekend.

Curious with the world and ready to start discovering.

The best thing about my friends having bebes is that I can play with them, and buy cute bebe things for them, and then go home without them! I love kids, and I love having my free time, so being an aunt is the perfect in-between.

Isn't he precious?? Seven weeks old. And I can't wait to start teaching him all of the illegal and evil things I have collected during my life. MWUAH-HA-HA-Haaaaa....


Ear Candy: Rasputina

We went to see Rasputina last night, and what an amazing show! My Brightest Diamond opened, and also so effing amazing! It is such a pleasure to hear incredibly layered, dark, rich music from women not afraid to be smart, witty, and talented.

First, My Brightest Diamond:

That woman has a fantastic voice.

Next, Rasputina:

I wanna have sex with Melora. Not even kidding. I've told my husband this already; he seemed cool with it.


Yesterday was a GOOD DAY!

Several wonderful things happened yesterday.

I had lunch with a good friend I haven't seen in a long time, and it was like we hadn't skipped a beat. I LOVE that.

I got a promotion. FUCK yeah! (money money money!)

More tattoo work. BEHOLD:

That is one hell of a cover up. I don't know if you can tell from this image, but where my guy shaded the wing was formerly a chain of chinese characters (that happened BEFORE everyone else started doing it, i SWEAR), and you would never know it. Gorgeous, gorgeous work.

I have to say, yesterday was a good day.


Mormonism: Part Deux

Well, I knew posting the cartoon video of that certain take on Mormonism would spark something. Luckily I haven't received death threats, but I did want to do a bit more research.

Here's a 9-minute video on one man's experience with being gay in the Mormon church.

It's heartbreaking, I know. And having had first-hand experience with this (my Mormon father was gay), I know this to be fact. Homosexuality is perhaps the highest on the list of intolerable things for the Mormon church, and if they can't be "cured", then they are usually excommunicated (which is what happened to my father, although he never actually admitted he was gay, even to his family).

The cartoon video from the previous post certainly has a negative spin, but I don't think they said anything that was not true. (Granted, I have not been an "active member" of the church since I was 14, when my bio-dad passed away. But he was extremely devout, some might say fanatic, and so a lot was crammed into my head those first 14 years.)

Mormons do believe in polygamist gods, with their goddess wives, that live throughout the universe. Mormons do believe that the Lamanites were "cursed" with black skin, and the Nephites were "blessed" with white. Mormons do believe that Jesus was a polygamist while here on earth, and that Joseph Smith was one of his direct descendants. I have been to the place where Mormons say Joseph Smith saw God and Jesus, called The Sacred Grove.

Ok, here's another video, this time discussing certain rituals that take place in a Mormon temple. It is a negative spin video, but IT IS ENTIRELY ACCURATE. My mother (a Mormon her whole life until she divorced my father when she was 28) has described this to me many times before I ever saw the video. It is an endowment ceremony, and only married people and other adults are allowed to be involved. Baptisms for the dead are another thing, but I did those when I was 14, so I know that is totally accurate. *Deep breath* Here we go:

Talk amongst yourselves.