Quote of the day

" I base my fashion sense on what doesn't itch." -Gilda Radner

Quote of the day

"Have you ever considered just telling her how you feel?"
"Leonard I'm a physicist not a hippie."

-Big Bang Theory

Why you actually love your period

Okay, okay I know getting your period is like the worst thing that could ever happen to you every month. Really, wouldn't we all just rather be infertile? And if you don't already know, here's why:

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• cramps feel like someone stuck a pair of scissors up your vagina and just went at it--if you don't have a shitload of Ibuprofen at your disposal you get to spend your day in the fetal position wishing someone would just stab you and get it over with already--it's like being hungover for a week!
• you blow up like three sizes the week before and the week of your Bloody Hell but you never realize it's connected so you just walk around feeling like you're fat and ugly all on your own
• the week leading up to your period sucks because you know that this torture is imminent yet you're still hoping that The Big G may spare you
• bleeding profusely from your vagina is just effing obnoxious
• your beautiful once-porcelain skin erupts 
• you ruin all your nice lacy undies trying to pretend your not spewing red death from your undercarriage

 Now, with all this crap just flying around it is difficult to see the silver lining in all this. But the truth is that there's some positive aspects of being on your period. They are as follows:

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• yes cramps are the bane of our existence, but who doesn't want an excuse to start poppin pills to help forget about our pathetic lives?
• because there is no way you're having sexy time while "the painters are in" (unless you're into that sort of thing) you don't have to worry about being your normal sex kitten self--break out the french fries, lava cakes, flowy shirts and sweats




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• you get an excuse to wear your super comfy, super ugly period undies that your mom got you when you were twelve but for some reason never got rid of--honestly we all know Limited Too and Wal Mart made the most agreeable underwear

•  the day your period ends feels like a rebirth, from which you emerge as your most beautiful self ready to take on the world and seduce hundreds of men

So basically you love your period because even though you are writhing around in pain all gross and ugly, it's the only week a month that you can just not give a flying squirrel; the one week you can say "FUCK YOU" to hygienic rules and social norms and literally no other female can say anything. Men will be too scared to come near you so you don't even have to worry about dealing with them. 

Quote of the day

"Don't matter how you feel, it only matters how you look" -Miranda Lambert

Quote of the day

“But the essence of being human is that, in the brief moment we exist on this spinning planet, we can love some persons and some things, in spite of the fact that time and death will ultimately claim us all.” -Rollo May

Ah Pope Paul, he looks just like my mother

So the other night my Nana and Grampy Z, on my mother’s side, came over for dinner with her and me. As usual, I was skeptical about how this meal would go, but with my underwhelming current social agenda I had nowhere else to be. So they arrive and the excitement begins. Grampy asks the usual probing life questions that I’ve gotten pretty decent at reciting since he seems to forget between each of our gatherings.

The whole point is to fluster me so that he can punch Nana going, “Listen to this, ha, listen Mum.” Things get pretty heated and eventually Linda starts berating me for asserting my flawless points and accidently saying “Jesus” to my grandfather. Apparently now that I’m older, running my own life and living on my own it’s important to her that I don’t take the Lords name in vain, but it was fine those other twenty years.

My Grampy is quite an intelligent old Italian man (mum always says she wishes she got his brains instead of Nana’s), so he starts throwing out questions like “How many dollars is the US currently in debt?” (I got it wrong last time, he clearly has selective memory), and making statements like “You can’t trust some of those people from the Middle East,” and “Why are you in Communications you need to be a lawyer so you can get me out of trouble." Meanwhile Nana is throwing in stuff like “Why are you on birth control?,” and "No Pope Paul looks like my mother, not Pope Benedict," “Are you getting married in a church?” To the latter I casually answered “Nope.”

My Nana looked at me as if I had literally just spat on Jesus himself.

Then swore at him.

Then flipped him off.

Then kissed a woman.

After her initial “NO YOU WILL NOT,” complete with wide eyes and heavy breathing, Nana demands to know why. When I say that I don’t believe in Christianity and that I don’t go to church, Grampy (at this point he joins his wife on the Christian battlefront) asks horrified, “When did you stop going to church?”

“Umm, when you guys stopped making me?”

In retrospect that probably wasn’t the most suitable answer for diffusing the situation at hand.

At this point the dinner breaks out in full on pandemonium. Nana and Grampy are yelling—they’re old so it’s not that scary—and Linda goes into full backup mode like “STEPHANIE that’s not true. Mom it’s my fault I never took them to church.” She’s also forgetting the part that she additionally never went.

On a side note, if there were ever a King and Queen of the Ptown Catholic church, it would be Theresa and Danny Z. Need an example? My sister and I spent approximately three weeks in CCD classes. We quit after the woman told us to live our lives like salt (plain and simple) and never looked back. To say the least we were not qualified to be baptized. Where we baptized?

Damn straight we were.

A good four years after the age deadline.

In our own private ceremony.

Why? Because Theresa and Danny wanted it done. So yay I’m not going to hell at least on the most basic level—I didn’t bother to tell Nana and Grampy I don’t believe in hell because they are old and I didn’t want to be responsible for their deaths (I also didn’t mention that they would probably be dead by the time I got married anyway).

So to sum up the topic had to be changed stat before Nana was carried away in a stretcher and we all enjoyed the rest of our meal as if I didn’t just stomp all over their beliefs and vice versa. The rest of the gathering was pleasant until Grampy shouted on the way out the door, “Don’t marry a Muslim for Christ’s sake whatever you do!” Needless to say I ended the night in a glass of Pino Grigio.

Quote of the day

"Did you take a Benadryl and fall asleep while pleasuring her? Because you can die that way." -Big Bang Theory

Most disturbing image on Pinterest

Alright I'm sorry but this is quite possibly the creepiest picture I've ever seen:
 
 http://flickr.com/


I know it's supposed to be an amazingly beautiful image of life blah blah blah but sweet Jesus when I saw it it was all I could do not to upchuck. I have nothing against babies or pregnant ladies for the most part but that foot borderline coming out of that stomach looks like something out of a sci fi film. Next that thing is going to rip this woman apart then kill her along with all the rest of the humans.

But really though

http://www.buddytv.com/tvshow/page/pretty-little-liars-games-1.aspx

Alright can we just talk about how fossing annoying Pretty Little Liars is getting recently? I feel like I don’t even know what’s going on half the time anymore. So the girls are now teaming up with Mona, who literally JUST tried to kill them for the seventh time and, yes I know they still don’t trust her, but if it were me I would have just taken a shovel to that wench myself and wiped my hands of the whole thing. But then I guess they would have to deal with the other twelve “A’s” trying to kill them, so that wouldn’t solve anything. But in my opinion the more of that team they put down for good the less concerned they have to be.

                 

But while we’re on this topic, how many people could possibly want to torture these girls? It seems like the minor bullying they dished out to Mona in high school somehow doesn’t add up to years of agony and fear getting dealt to them. And if “A” is instead after Alison (Wait did “A” kill Alison or was it someone else? Who killed Alison? Is “A” for or against Alison’s killer? Is “A” one person or thirty?), why is she/he/it/them taking out his/her/its/their aggression on her innocent friends? And for the love of The Big G how are Jenna, Spencer’s sister, that hot dead detective dude, and Ian all connected in this? WHO WAS AT THE BELL TOWER? I’m all for compelling television but I’m going to have to start making a diagram for this soon. Every time I watch an episode I feel like I’m taking a cumulative final where there’s so much information that I know I’m missing at least a few key things.

But possibly the most frustrating part of the show is in the intro when the glossed-up lip moves and the surrounding skin doesn’t move with it. 
 
http://pretty-little-liarsxx.tumblr.com/

The first time I saw it I was all “YES, thank god that is not real skin,” because who wants to feel even worse about themselves? Now when I see it I feel like writing a personal letter to The CW demanding they get that ish locked down so I don’t have a spastic attack. 

Don’t even get me started on Aria’s outfits. I know each girl is supposed to have her own “style” and everything (yeah like they wouldn’t all dress exactly the same in real life) but there is no way a high school girl is confident enough to wear black and white striped skinny jeans. When I was in high school I felt uncomfortable if I put on eye shadow and these girls are strutting around in heels like they’ve actually more to do than get to home room in time and finish The Scarlett Letter. Aria has the most obnoxious style by a landslide—a deadly landslide. I’m not sure if the producers just want a more edgy look or are trying to make Goth more appealing but they need to slow their roll on the black-with-skulls-and-lace-and-five-inch-earrings-and-two-hundred-dollar-boots. One scene is enough to render the viewer blind. Maybe that’s how Jenna lost her sight.

The main point here is that a show has to have a top notch intro in order to stick it out—unless you’re SVU then you can repeat the same 90’s theme song complete with pictures for three decades and still be number uno in everyone’s hearts. DUHN DUHN, DUH DUH DUH DUH DUHN, DUUH DUUH DUH DUHN, DUH DUH DUH DUH DUUUH DUH DUHUHUHUHUH DUH DUH DUH DUH DUUUH.

All I want is my damn bacon

So the other day I’m at my friend Jameson’s house, which may possibly be one of the nicest houses I’ll ever step inside unless I get so poor that I have to resort to some B and E—highly possible if I continue my Ebay shopping addiction. Think Barbie’s Dream House, but with less pink and more naturally sized humans. Although I must say that Jame could give that blonde plastic betch a run for her money boob-wise. As usual, I’m trying to cook some bacon, so I mosey my way over to wear I know the microwave should be, because not only does this family have a normal state-of-the-art fridge, they have two other separate crispers, a mini fridge, a garage fridge, a guest fridge, a built-in microwave and oven. I get to the cabinets, bacon in hand, and stare blankly at my options. Jame, now taking notice of my struggle shouts out “Jesus it’s the top one, you idiot.” So helpful. 

Now comes the tricky part. First off, this thing has like 30 buttons with numbers and letters and mathematical symbols to the point where you basically have to crack a code before being able to shoot electromagnetic waves at your snack. I go to push in 4 minutes on the pad but I’m not even sure I can do that because this thing was so advanced—like seriously NASA doesn’t even have this technology. Jame, clearly frustrated by my inability to work this God damn time machine starts rattling off instructions like “Press ‘Time,’ now ‘Up,’ ‘Up’ again, ‘Yes,’ ‘No,’ turn the knob—more—MORE…’Down,’ ‘Down’…”Bacon,’ ‘Start.’ God it’s not that difficult.” 

Yeah, that was a breeze. 

Finally I look at her, now with my bacon safely cooking away in the microwave, and give her my most impressive “I want stab you with a sharp, shiny kitchen utensil” face, not to be confused with my “I want to string you up and hang you from a tree like my daddy’s dears” face. All that for four pieces of bacon? Who wants to have a high end microwave that makes you wait twenty minutes just get my saturated fats? 

Even worse, I watched Jameson clean up after a party the other day and witnessed, literally, the most magical invention thus far in human civilization. So she is sweeping the floor and making little piles of dust, crumbs and candy wrappers and placing them on opposite ends of the island (it’s larger than my bed). She then kicks a little switch where the island cabinets meet the floor, causing a flap to open which is then accompanied by this loud noise and then ALL OF THE DIRT IS JUST SUCKED AWAY. It was like a magic trick or a science fiction movie where the dust is just pulled into oblivion, never to be seen or heard from again. The whole thing was so baffling, like it was straight out of Smart House—you know the scene I’m talking about—where the house tells them to just throw all the trash on the floor and then she just sucks it into the carpet. It was that level of awe with which I looked at Jameson. She was like some sort of Dirt Master, yet she looked at me like “Oh just another days work.” Uhhhhmmm no. That was magic.

Not only do they have a kitchen straight out of Star Trek, they have seven bathrooms. You know how people say you can tell how affluent a family is by counting the number of bathrooms in their house? I’m not saying Jameson’s family is rich, all I’m saying is they have SEVEN. There is literally a private bathroom in every single corner of the house. You cannot turn a corner without running straight into one. Even the cat has his own bathroom. And yet with all these separate bathrooms it is still surprisingly easy to walk in on someone during their alone time. 

You know when you’re hanging out at a friend’s house with them and their family when suddenly you are like, “where did she go?” I had that moment a few days ago after Jame and I had returned from the beach and were at her house. Naturally like the fabulous friend I am, I went looking for my partner in crime, only to turn a corner run straight into her white arse on the other side of the shower glass. Seriously though who leaves their room door and subsequent bathroom door open when taking a shower? 

A few weeks prior I had had a similar experience involving her high school brother. Apparently he hadn’t realized I had slept over in his brother’s room and fancied going up a flight of steps in order to enjoy the adjacent shower instead of taking one in the shared bathroom next to his quarters. Needless to say he kept the door open the whole time, so I got to turn the other way and pretend to be asleep for a good 40 minutes. At least the family all has cute butts. 

(just kidding Jameson I didn’t look at Little Muffin)

Abercrombie's righteous battle against the fat and ugly

http://intentblog.com/5-questionable-quotes-from-abercrombie-fitch-ceo-mike-jeffries/

By now I’m sure all of you have heard about the CEO of Abercrombie and Fitch stating that he doesn’t want ugly, fat people wearing his clothes. How does he keep this from happening? No, he doesn’t have armed guards outside the entrance, mostly because they refuse to wear the clothing, but by not offering sizes XL and XXL in the Abers women’s clothing.

                

First, am I the only one who never noticed this during those regretful four years in middle school which I spent my parents’ hard earned money to look the same every season? Unfortunately it’s probably because I was always a small or medium, but let’s not get into that. Second, yes what he said was horrific and offensive and TRUE OF ANY FASHIONABLE CLOTHING STORE. We might have all gasped when we scammed the story on Elitedaily.com (because with a title like “Abercrombie and Fitch CEO Explains Why He Hates Fat Chicks,” who isn’t going to read that?), but if you think about it for more than seven seconds you realize that every clothing store only wants hot, skinny people in their clothes. CEO Mike Jeffries may be an ass, but he’s an honest ass. And a brave ass. An honest, brave ass. Jeffries is clearly the only company head who’s willing to state what every other apparel company on solid ground thinks but pretends not to.

                 

The fashion industry is so funny—they show exclusively size -5 models who just got back from 3 hours of hair and makeup (and you know they skipped lunch), and their size small looks like it should be in the Little Miss section, yet they are like WE LOVE ALL SHAPES AND SIZES minus yours and yours, and yours. Realistically what CEO is briefing the marketing and art departments going “Okay yeah the pretty skinny girls are fine, but what about the chubby homely ones? How can we attract their business?” Nothing says free marketing like fat ugly chicks wearing your clothing!

   
 
 https://www.facebook.com/lefteousindignation/posts/662225410470744
       

So in summation, it’s a sad, cruel fact that the fashion industry hates anyone who  isn’t a 32”, 22”, 32” and the height of an adult giraffe. It is true that while Mike Jeffries is definitely overdue for a bitch slap and a new mirror (seriously, have you seen him?), he’s not the only one. But I say regardless of whether you’re fat and/or ugly, buy whatever the hell you want, except Abercrombie and Fitch because, honey, you’ve got to have some self-respect.

How To: Ruin any chance you have with a fella

So a few weeks ago my friend Jameson brought me to The U (she goes to school there) for some partying, dancing and general chaos. Having not bee out of my apartment for more than a pint of Ben and Jerry’s the past few months and subsequently not seeing a specimen of the opposite gender, you could imagine I was pretty excited.  I slipped on my best high rise black jeans and Brandy Melville tank (one size fits most my shapely bottom BTDubs) in hopes of beguiling the fellas. We skipped the ankle-snapping heels since The U is in fact situated in the middle of the forest—and as every respectable college lady knows, uneven ground + heels + alcohol = young, beautiful corpse. After the first party gets busted, we end up at someone’s apartment with some thirty odd other coeds. It wasn’t Project X, but things were looking pretty groovy and, best of all, the wine had settled in.

While Jameson talks to people she knows in the living room I am left to my own friend-acquiring skills. A few awkward conversations later I had made some drunken friends. Then I spotted him, the only male at the party with a beautiful face and a bod to match. He was a little on the shorter side but who was I kidding? It was the best I would get for the night. We had had a few casual run ins and witty comments when I made the mistake of telling Jame and her guy friend (who is actually in love with her so I got to hear about that for a while earlier—why do guys think you want to hear about how great your friend is? It’s like, yeah I know, I chose her) that I was interested in this fox.

Word to the wise: a setup is always a bad idea. Did you get that? ALWAYS. It will never work out in your favor then you end up looking like a desperate tween who has never been kissed and is way too over eager.

                

And that’s exactly what happened. So Jame’s friend is all “Oh yeah Mr.Sexypants is my friend, I’ll introduce you!” RED FLAG. Meanwhile I’m getting the wide eyes from Jameson that clearly say “Put it back in your pants or I’m not associating with you.” Great, now I feel pathetic and desperate, and yet the wheels are already turning and her friend’s mind (clearly in order to impress her). So now I have one guy on the hunt for the other, meanwhile I’m trying to pull out the “Oh it’s really not a big deal please don’t say any—no, please—uh no oh my God don’t do tha—oh there he goes, oh he’s coming over. Shit.

So Jameson’s friend flags down Mr.  Sexypants and states casually “Have you met Steph?” to which Mr. Sexypants replies, “No, I haven’t.” At this point he’s literally right next to me. So Jame’s friend thing tells him who I am, then says we want to hear him sing (apparently he has a lovely singing voice). Jame and I throw out the dear-in-the-headlights looks, and trying simultaneously to make a recovery and keep the conversation afloat, I tell him I want a full on serenade (when in doubt start making jokes). THEN—and this is where the wine kicks in—I tell him I want him down on his knees. Mr. Sexypants looks both frightened and excited in my opinion, and laughs. I continue on with some sort of “Yeah, totally” phrase when I slowly start to her Jame and her friend from behind me going “Oh, no. Oh no stop digging, stop, just—just stop.”

Mr. Sexypants turns and glides away, out of my clutches forever. We still aren’t sure if he heard the comments or not, though considering he was RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME it seems pretty logical that he could catch comments coming from two feet away. And thus ends my only dip into the wonderful world of romantic connections.