Friday, October 26, 2012

Stop Putting Horseface on My Magazines!

A calico cat puts her ass on a scary issue of Elle
Daisy says no to Horseface and yes to tuna.
My cat Daisy shares my sentiments when it comes to the world of fashion and the coverage of it. Yet again, I open my mailbox and stand aghast in horror as I see Horseface on the cover. Seriously, again with the Horseface? WHY?!? Is there some reason of which I am not aware that you are compelled to force her down my throat?

Are there no other people considered fashionable anymore so that you must frequently return to the same stable? I find that so hard to believe, considering that I myself know at least a few more than twelve people. Although they would not look as fabulous as I do, they would still be able to provide some variance to the medium. You fashion folk have an entire network at your disposal that I do not, so it now seems that you are simply trolling me.

On one of the other magazines that arrived a few days earlier, I had to endure That Other Girl from Twinkly Religious Propaganda Castrated Vampire Movie, which is only slightly better than Boring McOneExpression from Twinkly Religious Propaganda Castrated Vampire Movie.

Of course, I could have even been subjected to even more Boobage O'Drugbutt Fame Whore or Heiress vagFlash vonUseless, so I should really count my blessings. Hell, at this point I would even welcome more SadEyes Escapey DeBeard than these chicks, just because I'm happy her ignorant butt finally woke up and fled from her ex-husband Cult Shillington the Vile.

Fashion is a dynamic, ever-changing realm where ingenuity, creativity and innovation are essential and yet historical reference and tribute is also apropos. Why then is it, that nearly every month, the same faces are staring back at me from the fashion magazine covers? I used to subscribe to far more of them but was forced to discontinue my loyalty when I was tortured by repeated exposure to actresses, models, and celebutants for whom I could, how you say, give a "nary a shit".

Please, for the sake of all that is holy, find some new faces (that don't look like Skeletor, either) that could use the exposure and simultaneously help move the industry forward.

PS: I have been six feet tall since I was twelve, and according to your standards, I have always been plus size, even after I had mononucleosis and lost 10000 pounds in a month. Everyone thought I looked dead, not sexy. Hint hint.

Thursday, October 18, 2012

Let's Talk About Dreams

Many years ago now, back in the days of responsibility, I met a magical dream guru. Whenever I saw him at parties, he asked about my dreams but then didn't really comment on them besides nodding, humming or moaning in a peculiar way. He also likes to talk about cuddling a lot. Fascinating, but since he couldn't do much to help make me into the super-famous ultra-celebrity I know I'm destined to be, I stopped dreaming altogether so I wouldn't have anything to talk about if I ever saw him again.

Unfortunately, I started dreaming again a few nights ago and I am terribly conflicted by the messages I have been receiving. Since dreams are prophetic visions delivered straight from God I know that I must take each one of these messages very seriously and devote a majority of time figuring out their meaning and accordingly implementing changes into my life. I am not interested right now in talking to my magical dream guru so it'll have to be all me. Good thing I'm amazingly brilliant so this won't take much effort. Additionally, I've only had about three hours of sleep in the last week so I've got that working for me. I'll still try my best to dumb this down for you, my dear fans.

Dream #1:

I was on a ratty yet comfy couch and did nothing but watch an episode of CSI. Not the horrible NY one that makes me want to claw out my eyes or the Miami one whose untimely departure I still lament, the original Las Vegas one I still watch religiously. It was a fascinating episode involving the return of Gil Grissom, but yet his facial hair looked like that of Colonel Sanders and he had put on about 400 lbs. Is this the true fate of William Petersen? I think Manhunter probably wouldn't have had the same effect on me had the Fat Colonel been on the hunt for The Tooth Fairy. With the Taco Bell Chihuahua as Hannibal Lecter: "Yo quiero human flesh."

Anyway, the CSI episode was about how Sara Sidle got pregnant and Grissom wanted her to go on Maury for lie detector and paternity tests. I think this dream means that no matter how popular I become, I must always be ready to whore myself out for any occasion because there's no such thing as bad publicity. Duh. Stupid waste of time dream.

BRB, taking a break to make some 'Sketti for lunch and then barf it all up.

Okay, I'm back.

Dream #2:

I was sitting at a dressing table, looking in a mirror, putting on my three inches of face plaster, when I noticed something odd about my chest. It was covered in stubble. Seriously. I had about three days growth of hair all over my chest and torso. This was clearly a nightmare. As you know, I would never have stubble like that on my chest because I wouldn't shave it, I would wax it. This is probably the most unbelievable scenario I could have dreamt,because the stubble was also grey and I only have grey hairs in my eyebrows and beard. The ones on my chest are black.

Perhaps this dream means I should stop applying Propecia to my chest even though my stylist said it would increase my ability to be cast in an episode of Grimm. I think the show is about princesses and fairy tale crap like that and although I've never watched the show or know what the hairy chest part is for, I usually trust his sage advice in my career choices. I'm still confused, though, so I'm going to still keep applying it for the time being until I have a clarification dream.

Dream #3:

I don't have much time left before my nap so I can only dictate out one more for now (my cat is typing as I sip my coffee [I type real good meow help me she's crazy send help now meow]). As you can certainly remember, I am a WAG. My husband plays football in an over-40 league (reminder: that means the elite league, they score over 40 goals each season), and this is yet another way I am better than all of you. There are many reasons, yes, but this one is pretty much one of the best. The dream involved a discussion with my footballer husband regarding how he had been ignoring me for six months so I was going to go to Las Vegas to cheat on him. I was packing for the trip and removing clothes from an old suitcase. Once I pulled those clothes out, I lifted up the top of the bed and inside the mattress was a pool of water. I put the clothes in and then put the lid of the mattress back down.

I was then all of a sudden in Las Vegas, in a very low quality room without windows. All over the casino there were Icee machines filled with root beer liquor. This certainly had to be another nightmare as root beer is for simpletons and peasants. If this is a prophetic dream and I do end up in this hellish type of place someday, I'm going to put bleach in the toilet before I go in it and try to gas myself. I've tried it about 20 times before but I'm certain I will someday be able to make it work. Since all hotels stopped cleaning the toilets years ago the final addition of my alcohol-dehydrated super ammonia concentrated urine will cause an explosion of epic proportions. What an awesome obit that will be and the classy people will clap for me the most when I'm in the In Memoriam thing at awards shows.

Any and all dream interpretations welcomed, mine or yours.

PS: Dear Russian visitors, I see you. Welcome. I can always use admirers from all over the world.

Friday, October 12, 2012

Impostors! Scandal! Drugs! Entitlement!

It's come to my attention that a most egregious crime is afoot, as someone has been attempting to impersonate me on the internet and allege some horrific claims. My dear fans, let me assure you that my personal presence on the internet medium is to be increased from this moment forward, as when my absence is noticeable, that's when my impostor makes itself known. Fear not, I will clarify numerous points for you so that you may determine at any time if indeed you are hearing from me, or the devious rascal claiming to be me. How this deviant found a way to use my Twitter account when I leave it logged in all the time with my Firefox browser window open and my computer logged in by fingerprint I shall never know.

The misconceptions refuted and my personal goals upheld and expanded:
  • The rapscallion claims that I have once again become employed in the noble pursuit of educating children, incredibly enough mainly in the sciences and arts. My tears of embarrassment well up merely at the mention of such a notion, as I gave up that endeavor long ago, when the development of our youth no longer seemed as important to me as doing body shots of Goldschlager. I'm sure you can empathize with my plight. Please, if you hear about me performing any sort of noble deeds, please take them with a grain of salt, and tequila and lime.
  • My lack of updates is most definitely not due to new employment or being otherwise occupied with various activities, it can solely be attributed to my discovery of a fabulous new drug upon which I have become immediately dependent. Called "The Cet", "Zert Magic" or "SneezSlepe", this concoction has done more to encourage an out-of-body experience than anything I've ever tried. Within an hour of ingestion, I am already feeling myself lulled to sleep by any repetitive sound such as a clock ticking, cats meowing, or the dulcet tones of a leaf blower. I'm out like a light. Brilliant. I wake up not knowing where I am, who I am, or why I have an amazingly powerful nosebleed. Miraculously, I have noticed a stop to my sore throats and sneezing fits; what wonderful side effects! My dealer charges exorbitant fees for this drug so one day when he wasn't looking I found a bottle of it amongst his personal items and the medical name is Cetirizine. If any of my fans could hook me up with a cheaper dealer I would appreciate it.
  • I was in the deliberation stage of adding a new goal to my Rules of Engagement, that of aiming to be re-tweeted by a reality star, when my shameless impersonator accomplished that very goal with something I NEVER would have said. Adrianne Curry, 1st Top Model Winner and now undoubtedly my biggest fan, RT'd a statement regarding patriarchal oppression in religion. My true fans know that I would never had uttered such a statement, knowing that I have no interest in discriminating against religions by telling them to stay out of my life and basic rights. I welcome your control of my lady parts, because as soon as I am mega rich I won't have to worry about it any more anyway. I just have to find an old white guy to bankroll me and society's rules no longer apply to my life. I don't understand why other women haven't come to this conclusion, either. If you are pretty and he buys you lots of sparklies, remember to vote against rights that poorer women might want because it will motivate them to find an old rich white guy, too. We all win. Hooray sparklies!
  • In relation to the last point, I must take a moment to discuss entitlement as my impostor has an unfortunate liberal conspiracy agenda (and is probably a communist socialist). During this election season, I have come to the realization that I would be far more successful as an adult if I hadn't been given the entitlements of reduced school lunch or the gluttonous amounts of rice, milk, and actual government cheese when I was a child. I would have been far more motivated to make something of myself, working even more than the two jobs at a time, if I had been taught the important lesson of starvation. Of course my parents were working incredibly hard to support us, but it clearly wasn't enough because the children beating me up for wearing thrift store clothes were not impressed. If only my parents had found a way to either become job creators or receive the blessings of one and buy me designer clothes back then. Of course, I prayed constantly during this time for us not to live in a decrepit house with mostly non-functional heat, but I must have been sinning in some yet unknown way to not deserve the basic things in life. I am reminded every day on Facebook that I am immensely blessed to have the opportunity to vote for a lack of change to continue and to in fact expand these horrific circumstances for today's youth, because what an exceptional motivator utter despair truly is. 
As an addendum, please enjoy this look into my current redecoration hobby. I have been watching a lot of reality TV shows and one constant I have come to understand is that no one ever puts anything away when they move into the mansion/beach house/castle and they just leave everything out all over the floor and beds. You clear a patch on the bed when you bring someone back to smush or clear a path on the floor when you need to get to the bathroom to vomit or sit on the toilet with the door open. I've been making progress on the bedroom and I'm quite proud.

The biggest mess of a bedroom
I'm available for decorating consultation; email me anytime.