Archive | August, 2011


31 Aug

Two posts in one day. What have you done to deserve such an embarrassment of riches?  Well, I thought I’d take to my bully pulpit to show you my review for this ridonkulous shirt at Penney’s. I wanted to write one for this

but they, in a rare display of good sense, took it down.

But there’s this one

A friend said of this shirt, “Comes complete with Sharpie, so you can write the word “pole” before dancing, and “fluffer” before music.”

So I wrote a review. I’m very critical and shit. Anyway, I wrote a review which I will post here because I figure it will never see the like of day on the Penney’s website.

Good day to you, sir.

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(Note: In full disclosure, I have taken Penney’s to task before. Link here.)


To September

31 Aug

Have I mentioned I hate August? Yeah, I think I have. I hate August with a passion that burns like 10,000 yeast infections. Summer is not my friend. I have tried to break up with August several times, but he always shows back up, all hey, baby, if you let me crash at your place I’ll bring September next time. And I get all, NU-UH, August. And he gets all hey, girl. You know how I do. And finally I’m just like, okay, come in. Do what you have to do. I’ll just close my eyes and think of England.

August wears a mullet and jean shorts and is fond of the lip-hugging trash stache. August loves Night Ranger and Quiet Riot. August wears tube socks and Velcro-closure vinyl sneakers from Dollar General. August’s idea of foreplay is a nudge to see if you’re awake. WHICH YOU ARE NOT because who can stay awake when it’s swamp-butt hot outside? August’s idea of lube is plastic seat sweat.

But September? September gives me hope. September is good cop to August’s bad cop. In Memphis, it might not feel like Autumn in September, but it smells like it. Granted, the smell mainly comes from the Arkansas farmers burning off cotton, but IT’S A FALL SMELL and I shall be rejoice and be glad. Even as I gasp like an emphysemic trucker and writhe around like a fish out of water trying to lay my hands on my inhaler so I can get one more lung full of burning herbicides because THEY BY GOD SMELL LIKE FALL AND I WILL TAKE WHAT I CAN GET.

The light in August? Pfffft. One, you know how I feel about Faulkner. Two, September is purdier. And tomorrow? Tomorrow it will be September, finally. Tonight at 11:59, August will pack up his El Camino and leave out for…well, I don’t know where August goes when he leaves. A place where there’s a Chuck Norris marathon playing at the drive in would be my guess. Doesn’t matter. I don’t care where he goes because I don’t have to deal with him for another year.

September SEC football and pot roast. August’s bug bites and antibiotic ointments pale in comparison to college football. Yes, tomatoes are bountiful in August. See, I CAN say nice things about months I hate. But if August is a tomato, September is the bacon to go with that tomato.

I’m not promising I’ll be a kinder, gentler sarcastic wench tomorrow, but I won’t be any worse. And, hell, I’ll prolly be right giddy by the time October shows up. No, I won’t. I know. But that’s the thing about September. It gives me hope.

Do not spoil this for me.

Shut Up

29 Aug

Normally some ridiculous crack like this from Michelle Bachmann would bounce right off me, but I’m in a mood today. She was down in Florida and made some lame ass joke about Hurricane Irene and the East Coast earthquake being the manifestation of God’s pissed-offedness at us and at politicians.


You know what? It’s not funny. I don’t care that she didn’t mean it. I doubt she really believes that. She was trying to make a joke and it fell flat and people like me get to make fun of it. But it happens that today is the sixth anniversary of The Storm That Shall Not Be Named, and I’m a little touchy about natural disasters.

I hope that Candidate Bachmann never has to wait two weeks to speak with her family because all means of communication other than two tin cans linked with twine are down. I hope she never has to evacuate a barrier island. I hope she doesn’t have to decide what to do with her pets because storm shelters don’t allow animals. I hope she never has to deal with chronic illness from trying to clean unholy black mold out of her home after it’s been flooded for a month. I hope no one she knows ever dies in a shelter and is pushed against the wall and covered up with a blanket because there’s nothing else to do with the body. I hope she never has to know what it’s like to move into a house that finally got built four years after a storm only to find out the building materials used are so toxic, she’d be better off living under a bridge.

Most of all, I wish public figures would stop acting as if they are the only ones with direct lines to God. If you want to invoke God in your candidacy, fine. But do it by actions and not words. I happen to think being religious is like being a lady: if you really are, you don’t need to spend all your time trying to convince me of it. If God speaks to anyone, he speaks to all of us. Equally.

I know each time I check the news today there will be some piece about whether or not she was serious about what she said yesterday, and I’ll get pissed off all over again. The joke fell flat because it was too close to home. It was too easy to believe she wasn’t really joking. I mean, granted, she seems to have all the sense of humor of a grain sack, but she also really seems to believe that God is weak, so out of touch, that he has to resort to parlor tricks to get our attention. And that is not the religion I want in my White House.


Some Old-Fashioned, Self-Satisfying, Narcissistic Blogging

24 Aug

Here’s the thing.

I wrote this post a little while ago about a murder in Mississippi and the piece got a little attention. And by a little, I mean it got the kind of circulation of a solid, medium-sized city newspaper. I don’t know that it was viral, but it at least had a fever. And it was kind of weird for me because I don’t normally write about serious things, and when I do write about them, I do so from a rather snarky, cynical, slightly skewed perspective.

For example, I need to take this Michelle Bachmann person seriously, but she makes it so damn difficult. I mean, the woman says Planned Parenthood wants to be the Walmart of abortions. That right there is comedy gold. That ALONE keeps me entertained for hours on end. Does that mean she thinks Planned Parenthood wants to start outsourcing abortions to third world sweatshops? She thinks they should buy plastic speculums instead of stainless? Maybe have a nice greeter at the door? Oh, wait. They have that already. Although they are forced to wear flack jackets since uninsured women going for pap smears are the biggest threat to our way of life since the hem rose above the ankle. Maybe they should be the Sam’s Club of abortions and you must have a membership, but you can get samples of cheesecake while you wait. The woman is batshit and doesn’t know how to pronounce chutzpah. Here’s another Yiddish word for her: farkakte. As in, “Michelle Bachmann’s presidential bid is farkakte.”

God bless these fake conservatives. Comedy gold. Like remember that time at that Rand Paul rally someone from the camp across the lake sneaked in? And the Rand Paul supporters stomped on her and started yelling for the police? That was great. Not the stomping part. The irony. These are people who think income tax is illegal, but they still want all the benefits gained from taxes. Like police.

Then there was that time Lindsey Graham said he thought that freedom of speech stuff  was neat and all except when we’re at war. Freedom is slavery! You know, the Supremes ruled that corporations are people. So their speech is protected just like mine. So when Boeing wants to change its slogan to Boeing: Because Big Wars Mean Big Profits or Blackwater decides to change its name yet again and becomes War Express: Your War Delivered, I’m sure he’d rally against that as anti-American or warmongering or something. Oh, wait. I forgot my sarcasm font. Corporations are the champions of the little people, silly!

And there was that time Juan Williams got freaked out by Muslims in clothes. ‘Member that one? That was a good one. I actually like Juan Williams. I appreciate his honesty and his desire to have real, substantive debate. But really? You expect me not to touch that one? Please.

Or what about that time Sarah Palin wrote that book? I wrote seriously about that and had to take to my bed for several days after. It hurt. It was a pain that could only be soothed with massive infusions of Coke Zero and Little Debbie Oatmeal Cream Pies. Oh, and vodka. It did take a little vodka. Which was awesome because at one point I really COULD see Russia from my house. Even though I live in Memphis.

And right now I’m going to talk about these ridiculous “personhood” amendments. You guys know about this? Hold on to your girdle, Myrtle, this one’s a doozy. These initiatives want to define zygotes as people with all the civil rights you and I have. Ergo, forthwith, and heretofore, abortion would be illegal. As would the morning after pill and, as best I can tell, IVF and hormonal birth control pills.

Mississippi actually managed to get this on the ballot in November. I’m not sure how this is happening because the Mississippi Constitution specifically prohibits changing the Bill of Rights through the initiative process and I can’t figure out how this is not doing just that. But, well, I’m just a lady and what do I know about what’s best for me and my family?

Oh! And then there was that ridiculous poll that said Mississippi Republicans think interracial marriage should be illegal. That one was almost impossible to write about with a straight face. I believe I decided the problem was that the automated instructions said to “press” a number if you agreed. We don’t “press” in the South unless you’re talking about trousers. We “mash”.

You know, here’s the thing. I sound like a bleeding heart liberal, but I’m really not. I’m a throwback. I’m pretty conservative. It’s true. Old school conservative. I DON’T believe in morality through legality. Just because you don’t like something, doesn’t mean you get to enact a law to make it illegal. I’m not saying I advocate anarchy. Don’t get all oh, but what about rape? Don’t we need a law for that? Or what about robbery? Should that be okay? Only the weak with no intelligent input make those kind of broad arguments. And I happen to think if you’re reading my blog, you must be pretty bright, amirite?

But all this bullshit is making me tired. It’s all squeaky wheel theory. Most of the people I know, friends or not, fall somewhere in the middle. I mean, yeah, I’ve got that one aunt who REFUSES to believe Obama is a citizen and thinks the moon landing was faked. Extremists get print. Which is the more entertaining interview: Hillary Clinton rationally discussing the push for democracy in MENA or Oily Taint Orly Taitz screaming about fake birth certificates?

All this to say that my little blog has been picked up in Serious Writing Circles and I’ve been asked to comment on a few things by Serious People Working For Serious Organizations. And I might or might not comment. Dunno yet. Well, I have made my mind up about a couple. Stay tuned for more on that. But here’s the thing. I take the issues I write about seriously. Okay, I don’t really take Cosmo’s sex tips seriously. Got me there. I don’t take myself too seriously. It’s boring. There are plenty of people with self-important attitudes to go around. So don’t make me your spokesmodel if you don’t want me to poke a little fun at the situation.

And do not, under any circumstances, get me started on fake feminists. Evah.

WOW! Thanks, Cosmo!

16 Aug

Every now and then I like to pretend I’m on the Sexytime Editorial Staff at Cosmo. I like to have these imaginary brainstorming sessions. You know, pretend what it’s like to come up with compatibility quizzes. Here’s one I wrote about What Your Man’s Choice of Bakery Item Says About Him! As you will note, a key piece of writing a Cosmo Sexytime listicle is judicious use of the exclamation point.

Today, possibly because my other idea for a post involved a stimulating discussion of Science Citation Index as a means of bibliographic control, I wandered back over to Cosmo to see what great advice I could get.

Oh, mama.

My first hit off the Cosmo pipe involved something called “Weird Things That Turn Men On”. Derrick says his honey totally pulls a fast one on him by using fake tattoos and pink hair extensions. He totally doesn’t recognize her when they’re having sex, y’all! It’s like he’s boning a totally different chick! And how weird is this: Rob thinks that even though ball caps are TOTALLY for guys, when his girl wears one he’s all WHOA! That’s so hottt! But that totally doesn’t make him gay. Right? And Jeff wishes his gal would court pink eye more often by not taking her mascara off before bed. Because waking up with crusty, red eyes rimmed with smudged mascara is SMOKIN’!

Cosmo also asked dudes and their junkpackages what makes a woman undateable. They got lots of responses via Twitter. This one dude doesn’t like a girl who farts in her sleep. Because girls don’t poop, y’all! We wimmins actually have NO digestive systems. Nope. Our bellies are full of fluffy clouds, glitter, and chocolate bunnies. And Lord Voldemort7 hates it when a girl wants to “find her own Edward Cullen.” Must I point out the yummy irony of this one for you? And if this dude’s mommy doesn’t like you? Pack your bags, girl, because his mommy likes everyone. So YOU are clearly an alien succubus.

The great thing about Cosmo is that it’s sooo totally helpful in weird situations. Like–and this is SOOO out there it will probably never happen to you–say there’s a naked man in front of you, ladies. I KNOW! But let’s just say one shows up, okay? So there’s this naked dude and his junkpackage in front of you. You don’t know what to do, amirite?  Your friend Cosmo helpfully points out thirty things you can do with a naked man. Like you can get naked too! I KNOW, RIGHT??!!  And naked guys are total multitaskers. You can coat them in peanut butter and chocolate sauce so it’s like sex AND a high-protein snack in one. You could also boss him around. Because most naked guys love to have instructions barked at them. And then? If he does something you really like? Squeeze his ass. You know how well that works on you! Especially at work!

Cosmo is super frugal. See, Cosmo knows that in today’s economy, we need items that can be used for more than one thing. That’s why the article about tying your hair back with underwear was so helpful. Our Cosmo also has a great use for stockings. See, you should knot it and tie it around your guy’s junkpackage. Then you get on top and go to town! He’ll love the compression and you’ll love the feeling of the knot…you know what? Even I can’t finish that one.

Moving on…

Here are some sex tips you didn’t know. Which is weird because every other article is about some sex tip you didn’t know. You’d think that well would have dried up by now. BUT ANYWAY, you can put your hand in his pocket and whisper, “Is that a roll of quarters in your pocket or are you just glad to see me?” It does not, however, mention you must then pay a royalty fee to Tired Ass Cliche, Inc. after you do that. Seriously, I mean, first? Okay, first, if he’s only packing a roll of quarters, I DON’T think he wants to be reminded of it. And second? Who keeps a roll of quarters in his pockets anyway? You could do it in the tub. This one is excellent if you want to be left alone for a few days, ladies, because that UTI you’re going to get is pretty much going to put the kibosh on the sexytime for the next few days.

I would totally try some of these out, but us married ladies don’t like to have the hottt sexxxy sexx. Which is fine. Because what you don’t know is that on our wedding days we get our digestive tracts installed. So who’d want to have the hottt sexxxy sexx with us anyway, right?

Why? Because It Was There

16 Aug

Yesterday I got a card from my friend with that New Yorker cartoon on it. When I sat down to write this morning, I remembered this post I wrote a couple of years ago for another blog. It dovetails nicely with what I want to write about today. Enjoy! And check back later for more junkpackage tips!

WARNING: I use a lot of quotation marks in this post because I’m actually making air quotes while I’m typing. Also if repeated references to “man junk” offend you, go read this. There’s nothing offensive there.

Okay, okay. I admit it. I read Cosmo when I have the flu. There is a method to my madness. It helps with the nausea. There is nothing worse than feeling like you have to throw up but you can’t, so Cosmo usually helps that process along. Think of it as journalistic ipecac syrup. On the other hand, I like a magazine where you can go to their website, search “what your guy’s hot dog says about him” and actually come up with real results.

It’s stuff like the “sex tips” from “guys” that give me the heaves. The “tips” are usually stuff like: Splash water on your t-shirt while you’re doing dishes so I can see through it. Seeing you drink from a bottle makes me think of your mouth other places. When something exciting happens to me–like a promotion–offer me oral sex all night. The “tips” are usually from dudes who talk a lot about their “junk” or their “package”. Just a little tip, dudes: While an occasional “junk joke” might be funny, repeatedly calling you man bits “junk” will lead to them being treated as such.

I was just perusing the Cosmo website and I wanted to know what position it was they called The Naughtiest Position. It’s doing it against a wall, by the way. Apparently it brings out the “gotta-have-your-body-now erotic thrill in both of you”. I just want to point out that at NO TIME in this article does it give you the following advice: Do not, under any circumstances, try this while standing on a rug that is on top of a hardwood floor. It will not matter if there is a no-slip pad underneath. You will still fall on your ass. Look, maybe it’s just that I’m an old married lady, but I think the only thing I’d be thinking while doing it against a wall is but, but we have a perfectly lovely bed. Or oh, shit. Do we have Advil?

Okay, so the underwear thing. According to the October Cosmo, you know what will drive your guy–and his junk–wild? Taking off your thong and using it to pull back your hair. I could not bring myself to purchase the October edition, so I was forced to violate all sorts of publication laws, I’m sure, and take a picture with my phone of this article. No, I’ll not post that picture because I don’t know how to make my phone talk to my computer, but I’m sure it involves a data cable that I do not have. Anyway, forgive me, Helen Gurly Brown, if I misquote:

There are few things guys like more than long hair, women’s underwear, and sex. So combine all three!

If things are getting hot and heavy, stopping the action to go search for a ponytail holder will kill the mood. So instead, grab—or take off—your underwear. Simply fold the crotch up so that the thong forms an open circle, twist your hair into a low pony or bun, and use your panties like an elastic band to secure your locks.

Dear Reader(s), I cannot tell you how many times I’ve thought, “Wow. Sex would be so much better if only I could only find a use for my drawers other than wearing them–you know–on my butt.” Or, I suppose, in the case of a thong, up…never mind. But after realizing how boring I must be because I’m not having sex while leaning against a wall and wearing my panties on my head, another more pressing thought hit me. “Fold the crotch up so the thong forms and open circle…twist your hair…use your panties like an elastic band…”


Okay, first of all, I’m what Jane Russell would call a “full-figured gal”. So using one of my thongs? Well, let’s just say that I’m not sure Troy Polamalu has enough hair to be tied back with one of my thongs–if I wore thongs. The other thing is that I’m a visual learner, so those instructions made no sense to me. So I went to my underwear drawer and tried to find a thong. Now, even though I used to be in the underwear business, I’m not a fan of the thong. I did get a free one when the company I used to be with launched a new line of stretch lace undies (nothing says “classy” like a stretch lace thong!), but it’s got a rather conservative cut. It looks like a regular hipster from the front. It’s not really an honest-to-God g-string. But, of course, I tried it. My hair isn’t long, so I reverted to my dress-up ways of younger years.

I put tights on my head.

Yup. Every six-year-old knows that’s the best way to quickly acquire long, lustrous locks. So then I took the thong, pulled my “pigtails” through, and…nothing. I still didn’t get it. What I did get was the idea that it would be easier just to tie them in a knot, tie them in a bow. Maybe the problem was I had not been wearing them and wasn’t in a hurry to pull fake Spandex hair back out of my face so I could do something Cosmo- approved to my guy’s junk package?

How is this hot? How is this unlike the scene in Sixteen Candles where the geeks with jock straps on their heads shoot Samantha with laser guns? Because that’s all I’m thinking about. I’m thinking about the fact that the male version of this is to rip off his jock strap and stick it over his face. Oh? Or better yet? He can use his jock strap to tie back your long, lustrous locks! I mean, look, I don’t want to judge, but really? A thong in the hair? Why would you even think about that? And I’ve never worked on a magazine staff, so do the sexytime editors sit around a conference table and have serious discussions like:

Deb: So, Judy. What do you think is hotter? Licking strawberry yogurt of your guy’s taint or drizzling warm Dr. Pepper on your dude’s package?

Judy: Well, both have their merits, but let’s do a piece about testing your compatibility with your dude by comparing pizza toppings and then follow it up with a sidebar about trussing your Thanksgiving turkey with your favorite g-string so your man is thinking about sexytime with you all during dinner!

So, here I am, slightly afraid to ask if:

Is this hot to anyone? And by “this”, I mean the idea of the underwear in the hair. NOT my description of putting the underwear in my hair.

Would someone please try putting a thong in your hair and tell me what I was doing wrong?

Was writing this post a better use of my time than mowing the front yard on the first semi-sunny day in two weeks?

Today’s Mood

12 Aug

Geaux Saints!