Back in the 90's, when Billy Ray Cyrus erupted onto the country music scene with his charming smile and amazing mullet, he made everyone's heart ache and break. Except for mine. I was onto this choad at the ripe age of 11. He wasn't fooling me. The mullet can only get you so far in life before people stop taking you Cyrusly.
Thankfully for country music, Billy Ray was swept off scene almost as quickly as he had shown up, even though he did win a Grammy and has multi platinum records. So what? So does Weird Al, but I have had periods that lasted longer than Billy's tenure as a country music star.
It seems the Cyrus family has gone from an achy breaky worn out music career, failed marriages, random children, to Disney. Enter Destiny Hope, the sickening teenager we all know as Miley. Miley Cyrus/Hannah Montana is possibly the most ANNOYING person on this planet, in close competition with Kate Gosselin, Twilight fanatics, and a select couple relatives of mine.
Noah Cyrus, Miley's younger sister, has apparently taken lessons from her older sister and has turned into a First Class 9 year old hooker. Apparently, she was recently captured in a family video where, according to Gawker.com, she "'smacks her buttocks, thrusts her hips, and shimmies her shoulders," while singing to Akon's "Smack That". The worst part is no one intervened; no one stopped her. At the end of her performance, everyone clapped and cheered. Guess the Cyrus family's moral compass is broken along with Jon Gosselin's.
I'm not sure why people were cheering though. I watched the video. It was disturbing, annoying, and I wanted to shank someone. The child is hideously homely and the only thing I want to see her smacking is her head against a curb, knocking those snaggleteeth right out of head. If this had happened in the early 90's at least Billy's thick mullet would scared Noah into submission.
According to Popeater.com, "this is the second time in recent months that Noah has landed herself in some controversy. Most recently, her Halloween costume drew red flags thanks to her thigh-high boots and mini-skirt with heavy facial make-up." Fugly. I'm sorry, I know she's just a child, but no one hesitated to tell me when I was fugly, so I have no sympathy. She's FUGLY.
The Cyrus family is annoying, odd, and should be eliminated from this planet. I am sick of seeing your flavor savor on your chin (you're not a 21-year old college kid), and your hair is so perfect it's almost a work of art that belongs in a museum.
More importantly, I don't think it's appropriate to exploit your daughter because you can't write music anymore, to allow your youngest daughter to dress like Lady Gaga and dance like a porn star, NOR do I think it's appropriate for you two to have a slightly incestuous photo shoot with your midriff hanging out, your elbow in your Dad's crotch, all the while your father looks on with a pensive desire.
Billy, you took control of your mullet 18 years ago; it's time to take control of your family. Let your daughters be children, not Hollywood sluts. And has anyone EVER seen your son or your stepchildren? I can only imagine the drama they'll bring forth in the next 5 years, that is, if anyone still cares about the Cyrus family. Once Miley turns 18, Playboy will OWN her; unfortunately for Noah, unless she replaces all of her teeth and gets a face transplant, the only magazine that will want her is the JC Penney winter catalog so she can model gloves.
I've been requested by fans worldwide to post 25 random things about myself. You all know me pretty well...at least you think you do.
So...here y'all go!
1. I am a pretty rad cook, if I do say so myself. I like to compare myself to the one and only Marty Stew.
2. People think I'm judgmental; I think I'm just honest.
3. One day, I will be on the New York Times Best Seller List, even if it's posthumously.
4. I have a very eclectic taste in books and music. One day, I'm reading a murder mystery by James Patterson while listening to Kings of Leon to reading Jodi Picoult, listening to Tori Amos, all the way to reading British literature listening to Gaelic Storm.
5. I'm obsessed with being Irish, and am damn proud of my roots. I'm Irish 365 days of the year and most people can only say they're Irish on March 17...wannabes.
6. I would love to do stand up comedy with my amazing, hilarious best friend Rae, but we live world's apart, (she lives in the North Pole and I live in South Florida) and I'm not sure anyone outside of family and friends would actually find us that funny, although we are pretty spectacular.
7. I am funny, despite what the previous entry says. I love to make people laugh.
8. I have both my nipples pierced. There. I said it. Now everyone knows. If I were to see you in person, I would probably show you too.
9. I wish Chelsea Handler was on my MyFaves, that Kris Allen would sing to me every night before bed, and someone would bring back tight rolled jeans already!
10. I am obsessed with mullets. It's a love/hate thing. When I see someone sporting a mullet in public, I drop what I'm doing and stare, point, laugh, and am simply awestruck! I love learning knew names for mullets, and revisiting the old ones. I love classifying people's mullets when I am lucky enough to encounter them in the wild, and wish I had enough balls to sport the haircut, although my girlfriend would for sure dump my ass. Although I am the "man" in the relationship, doesn't mean I'm completely "butch", nor does it mean I could ever get away with a mullet, and if I did, I would only do it for one day, just to see what it felt like.
11. I am a shitty (insert your noun of choice here). Trust me, I've been called worse.
12. I love to quote the movie "Anchorman". If you don't like it, don't watch it with me. In fact, there are only two people I can actually watch that movie with, and Rae is one of them...that goes for the movie "Step Brothers" too...
13. I hate people who quote movies.
14. I wish I could be a pirate, or at the very least, a pirate hooker.
15. I wish I could live in a pimped out treehouse, overlooking the ocean.
16. My girlfriend Emily is the best thing that's ever happened to me. She is everything I'm not and she keeps me grounded and sane...and no one has ever accomplished that bold feat. I love you.
17. I eat swearwords like candy.
18. I love my family dearly but hate living with them. Sorry. Before you get upset, remember you feel the same about me.
19. When I become a famous author, I can't wait to see who's going to come out of the woodwork. I have a very strong memory--like a sponge--and I won't forget those of you who have supported me since day 1 and I won't forget those of you who haven't.
20. I love the friends of mine who don't require constant communication to remain close.
21. There are only two people in this world who I give my utmost respect to with absolutely no questions asked. Period. It doesn't matter what they do or say, they will always be my #1. Mom and Dad Kelly. 'Nuff said.
22. I miss my family and friends back in WI and scattered elsewhere across the US...but am really glad we got a fresh start in FL...nothing but positive changes have happened for us.
23. I don't quite know how to say this, but I'm a pretty big deal. I have many leather bound books and my apartment smells of rich Mahogany.
24. I am a videogame junkie, but nothing stupid like war games or Final Fantasy 652. LAME.
25. I am offensive, critical, harsh, blunt, and very outspoken and most people don't like it...but don't forget, I am also kind, caring, thoughtful, funny, and charming. You gotta take the good with the bad people!
Like a baker's dozen, here's an extra:
26. Thinks you're all incredibly brave for reading this; And I mean that in strictly the most clinical and professional sense possible, with no emotional, intimate, sexual, or any other undertones that you could possibly infer.
Who can forget the album Cooleyhighharmony, with tracks like "Motown Philly", "End Of The Road", and "It's So Hard To Say Goodbye To Yesterday"?
This album was one of my favorites growing up in the 90's, along with TLC's "Crazysexycool", and Red Hot Chili Pepper's "Bloodsugarsexmagik", and not because of their run-on names, but because they were simply awesome. As a kid, I do have to admit that I didn't particularly enjoy listening to the albums in their entirety, but what I did like was listening to my favorite songs repeatedly, like "Motown Philly", "Creep", and "Under The Bridge", respectfully.
Over the years, these artists have had a range of success--releasing new albums along with greatest hits albums, RHCP being the most successful of the three, and my personal favorite. TLC and Boyz II Men are both 90's has been artists, and that's where they should stay. No one liked "Fanmail", TLC's album that came out on the brink of 99-00. And I can't remember anyone buying Boyz II Men records unless they were greatest hits albums, of which there are several, although I only remember a handful of "hits".
Luckily, RHCP was able to break through into the 00's with even better records than the ones they released in the 90's. TLC and Boyz II Men are both talented groups, but let's face it, the white boys of RHCP beat you this time.
But now, Boyz II Men is releasing an album titled "Love", and it features songs about guess what? LOVE. I want to know how this album is any different than any other album of theirs. I did some research and found an interview on CNN.com, where Wanya Morris states about the new album, "The title embodies everything that Boyz II Men represents. Every album we have ever done has always had a representation of love."
Thank you Captain Obvious. Of course all your songs are about love--you are black R&B singers. What else are you going to sing about? That's what R&B is! This album features a variety of love tunes, including Journey's "Open Arms," the Goo Goo Dolls' "Iris," and "In My Life" by the Beatles. Great. So now we can look forward to singles done by white guys covered by suave, cool as a cucumber, sexy black men.
Sorry guys, but this album is a stretch. While I appreciate your creativity and musical talent, I can't help but wonder if this was your idea, or if Randy Jackson from American Idol had too much influence on you boyz to sing cover songs instead of writing your own? I mean, that's what they do on American Idol, right?
I liked you better with when you sported sexy flat tops while singing "I'll Make Love To You". Nothing, and I mean nothing, can beat that.
My heart goes out to all the victims of the Ft. Hood shootings and I cannot believe how many people were slaughtered at the hands of one man, a man these people should have been able to trust. Instead, he turned on his own country, on his own soldiers, and ruined the lives of hundreds of people.
As most of you know, Maj. Nidal Malik Hasan opened fire in Ft. Hood on November 5, killing 13 people and wounding approximately 42. According to CNN.com, Major Hasan, urged in 2007, "that Muslims in the U.S. Army be allowed to claim conscientious objector status when it comes to fighting other Muslims in war."
Am I the only one who has an issue with this statement? No? I didn't think so. Last time I checked, when you enlist with the US Military, it's all or nothing. You don't hear Christians begging to leave Iraq because they want to celebrate Easter, or Jews getting upset when they see a Christmas Tree on post.
Unfortunately for America, this worthless human being is an American, ONLY because he was born on American soil. He is a Muslim, pure and simple, and what's sad, is that Muslims, for the most part, are a generally peaceful people! Epic FAIL my foe, epic fail.
Hasan went on to say, during a slide show in 2007, "It's getting harder and harder for Muslims in the service to morally justify being in a military that seems constantly engaged against fellow Muslims". I understand where he's coming from, not wanting to violently fight with fellow Muslims, but maybe he should have thought about that before he joined the United States Army.
He also argues, "Muslims [sic] soldiers should not serve in any capacity that renders them at risk to hurting/killing believers unjustly." What a hypocrite! If you replace the word "Muslim" with "US Soldiers", the sentence would read "US Soldiers should not serve in any capacity that renders them at risk to hurting/killing US soldiers unjustly." He goes against everything he was trying to prove in the first place! So, it's NOT okay to engage in warfare against your "fellow Muslims", but it's okay to slaughter innocent "fellow" American soldiers?
I know there are many soldiers who join the military for other reasons besides engaging in warfare. Some do it because they believe it's their duty as Americans, others do it because they are headed nowhere in life and need some direction, and some do it because it's a family tradition. I believe when you join the military, you do it simply because you're American, and you will uphold what is expected of you as a soldier, no matter what happens.
What about the soldiers in the civil war, engaging in warfare against "fellow Americans?" There was a reason the north was fighting the south, just as there's a reason why America is one of the many countries fighting for peace in the Middle East!
It's none of our business what religion this man belongs to, or what he chooses to wear outside of his Army life, but it is our business why an American born Muslim US Army psychologist flew so low under the radar that no one had just an inkling that he might be a loaded gun, pun intended. Of course, his actions could be seen as unexpected, but maybe someone should have sent him to counseling or discharge him or even refuse a reenlistment after his 2007 slide show performance where he clearly makes his concerns known!
The United States won't allow gays in the military, but they'll allow American born Muslims to enlist, knowing full well America is ALWAYS at war with the Middle East? I say, DO ASK. and DO TELL. For people who are supposed to be protecting our country, maybe you shouldn't allow just anyone to join! Come on! Yes, of course Hasan is correct in saying it is a conflict of interest; however, he is the one who chose to enlist and it's up to the people who rule our country to use some discretion! Say I'm being racist, say I'm being judgmental, say what you want. Truth is, this guy is about as American as illegal immigrants.
The latest news is that Hasan is paralyzed from the waist down, and has pains in his hands. Boo fucking hoo. Cry me a river you murderer! Awesome that this guy is American, and as a "civilized" nation, we can't put this parapalegic murdering fuckstick in front of a firing squad, or better yet, in the many torture contraptions from the movie Saw until he suffers the same fate as his victims. Instead, he will get due process, will probably get a slap on the wrist, and enjoy all the wonderful amenities of a medium security prison in the United States.
If I were a doctor or nurse in charge of taking care of him, I would have an extremely difficult time living up to my Hippocratic Oath to ethically practice medicine and save this man's life. I would be tempted to amputate his now paralyzed legs with a hacksaw, or cut his dick and pour rubbing alcohol on it, or more humanely (although he doesn't deserve it), put a pillow over his face until he stopped breathing.
I am not a supporter of the Death Penalty, mainly because it's proven to be way too costly, ineffective, and I would rather have people suffer on a daily basis for their crimes rather than be allowed the easy way out by lethal injection; however, at least if he's convicted, he will be eligible for the death penalty.
I hope he gets a front row seat right next to Scott Peterson. Actually, I hope he gets shanked in prison, and bleeds out while everyone watches him die in his wheelchair. That's real justice.
No, it's not as glorious as receiving an Oscar, or a Grammy, but damnit, as a blogger, it's the next best thing!
I received this award from the clever, witty, and often hilarious Dave Wills, someone I have never met in person, but honestly believe that if we did, we would do nothing but laugh and make fun of everyone and everything.
On his blog, Mark My Words, he writes the entry "I Lost My Virginity Last Weekend, "KC Kelly at The Other 98¢. Great comedic, funny and interesting opinions and stories on life, people, news and everything in between." So, thanks Dave for the award and for thinking of me. Glad you enjoy my blog, as I do yours.
The rules for this award process are simple.
1. Copy the image.
2. Post in my blog.
3. Award seven other bloggers who should receive the award.
4. Make a list of ten creative things about myself.
NOMINEES:
1. Book Blog O' The Irish. I nominate Kathleen Kelly, A) because she's my mom and B) because she has a very interesting blog, which keeps her very busy and gets a lot of traffic. Although her page and blog is in the process of changing, it is a book blog, primarily Irish and British books, but others as well. She includes Irish history, giveaways, and is an official book reviewer. Head on over and check it out! Love you Mom!
2. Children of the 90's. Self explanatory. Genius. Hilarious. Anything and everything about the 90's, from popular TV shows to board games, to food and drink fads. Best pop culture blog I have ever read. Thanks for being so creative and reminding me how thankful I am to be a child of the 90's (best decade EVER).
3. 1,000 Words. Awesome photography blog with the premise that a picture is worth a 1,000 words, but after looking through their photos and reading their blogs, their pictures are worth way more than that. Brilliant photographers.
3. Funny Word of The Day. This blog is creative and points out weird and funny words in the English language, of which there are many. She explains the word, the origins, and puts her own personal spin on the words. Clever and always interesting to read.
4. Grumpy Old Twat. This guy says anything and everything and knows no boundaries. I praise him for being offensive, swearing, and putting his thoughts out there. I am often like him, not afraid to speak my mind, but I usually get in trouble. So, I share your sentiment "if you are easily offended by me and my friends, I suggest you fuck the fuck off". LOVE that mantra and think more people need to follow it rather than tiptoe around everyone.
5. The Dirty Whore Handbook. This one can speak for itself. Hilarious rules to follow for all you ladies who want to be a DW...don't think it's easy, because it's not. It is an art you have to learn and practice.
6. The Rest is Still Unwritten. David doesn't consider himself a writer, but I highly disagree. Maybe he's not a novelist, or a poet, but he is a mighty fine blogger with a lot to say. His blog is clever, brilliant, and he is a very talented writer. Think you need to redo your bio, my friend. You are amazing.
7. 365 Days of People. Clever, funny, blog featuring 365 days of people. His blog says "I Watch. I Judge. I Write. Here is the Proof." He explores many types of people, from Asians to people who invade your space, and his writing is hilarious and often very, scarily, true.
Now that's done, here's the last part.
TENS
1. I am a pretty rad cook, if I do say so myself.
2. People think I'm judgmental, but I consider it simple honesty.
3. One day, I will be on the New York Times Best Seller List, even if it's posthumously.
4. I have a very eclectic taste in books and music. One day, it's a murder mystery by James Patterson while listening to Kings of Leon to reading Jodi Picoult, listening to Tori Amos, all the way to reading British literature listening to Gaelic Storm.
5. I'm obsessed with being Irish, and am damn proud of my roots.
6. I would love to do stand up comedy with my amazing, hilarious best friend Rae, but we live world's apart, (she lives in the North Pole and I live in South Florida) and I'm not sure anyone outside of family and friends would actually find us that funny, although we are pretty spectacular.
7. I am funny, despite what the previous entry says. I love to make people laugh.
8. I have both my nipples pierced. There. I said it. Now everyone knows. If I were to see you in person, I would probably show you too.
9. I wish Chelsea Handler was on my MyFaves, that Kris Allen would sing to me every night before bed, and someone would bring back tight rolled jeans already!
10. I am obsessed with mullets. It's a love/hate thing. When I see someone sporting a mullet in public, I drop what I'm doing and stare, point, laugh, and am simply awestruck! I love learning knew names for mullets, and revisiting the old ones. I love classifying people's mullets when I am lucky enough to encounter them in the wild, and wish I had enough balls to sport the haircut, although my girlfriend would for sure dump my ass. Although I am the "man" in the relationship, doesn't mean I'm completely "butch", nor does it mean I could ever get away with a mullet, and if I did, I would only do it for one day, just to see what it felt like.
I came across this woman's blog on my mom's blog. Told her I'd help out. As a fellow novelist, it is my duty to help other writers in need, no matter their cause. And after doing some research and checking it out, the book looks great and would be a book I would definitely purchase were I in a bookstore!!!
Here is one of the many links to come!
Thaw Blogsplash - I need your help!
Ruth is 32 and she doesn't know if she wants to be 33. She commits to writing a journal for three months before she make her final decision.
Ruth's diary is my novel, Thaw, and on March the 1st 2010 I will start blogging the entire thing here.
I'd like as many people as possible to hear about the opportunity to read Thaw for free. I'm asking bloggers to participate in a Blogsplash on the 1st of March 2010. They'll publish the first page of Ruth's diary on their blogs, with a link on the bottom to my blog so people can continue reading.
If you're a blogger and you'd like to join in, email me at fiona@fionarobyn.com or leave a comment here. Once you're on the list I'll add your blog to Friends of Thaw.
If you'd like to read Thaw online, put your email in the box below and sign up to 'Fiona Robyn's Quarterly Newsletter' and I'll send you a reminder just before it gets going.
If anyone has any other ideas for getting the word out (i.e. if you want to interview me or if you have any contacts in the media) I'd love to hear from you.
Let me first preface this by saying I am not, by any means, a Céline Dion fan by any sense of the word. Not my type of music, not a big fan of her as a musician, and I am most certainly creeped out by her husband, René Angélil. And this news just makes it worse.
The creepy Canadian couple are trying to get pregnant. Again.
Perhaps what bothers me the most is the fact that this couple isn't focusing on Céline's musical career, or her many Vegas shows like they should be...I mean, she hasn't had a hit since the Titanic sunk, so... No. They are focusing instead on having another baby! There's a catch though...Céline cannot get pregnant without the help of science, which isn't that surprising, considering her husband was born a year after Pearl Harbor was attacked. Any man in his late 60's should need the help of science not only to achieve an erection, but also to make baby batter!
René is 67 years old, and Céline is 41. Together, their combined age is 108 years. My problem isn't the fact these two are trying to have a child, my concern is for the unborn child being born to two parents who are eligible for AARP and Medicaid. It's bad enough they already parented a child in 2001, a boy who is now 8 years old, with parents who are 67 and 41. Neat.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, age is just a number...try telling that to a 15 year old boy whose father just died from a heart attack, and a mother who has just been diagnosed with breast cancer! Sure, these can happen to any family at any time, but the chances are higher, the older you get.
Let me say that my own father is 67 years old, the same age as René, and I cannot imagine having an 8-year old sibling, or accepting the fact that my parents are trying to have more children at their ages!!! Boy do I feel sorry for their young boy, not just because he has a senior citizen for a father, or the fact that René was nearly 30 before Céline was born, but because his parents are Céline and René!
If they do end up getting pregnant vis a vis test tubes and sperm squirts and whatever else is involved in VF, when the child is 5 years old, he'll have to be changing his father's diapers!!! Talk about role reversal! I just don't think it's fair to bring children into this world (celebrity or not) after a certain age. Your babymaking years are behind you, so far in fact, they are a mere speck in the distance.
Try adoption. Or fostering a child. Both are less expensive (not like you have to worry), intrusive, and a more fair way of bringing a child into this world.
Maybe Céline wants to have as many children as she can because she herself is the youngest of fourteen children. Stop being selfish and think about your future children. Do you want them to play with trucks and Legos, or administer blood pressure meds and morphine to their parents before they're teenagers?
Céline, I promise you, both your heart and uterus will go on without polluting the planet with more scientifically made test tube babies. And the world will thank you.
Clearly, celebs are capable of just about anything...and what's worse, they get away with it!!!
Chris Brown can abuse his girlfriend, and still sell records. OJ can get away with murder, although he was caught stealing. MJ can have kids sleep in his bed while he gives them milk and cookies and calls the experience, "charming"; meanwhile, MJ still has the best selling album of all time. And Lindsay Lohan can get arrested for a DUI and only spend 84 minutes in jail. Most of these celebs have the WORST mug shots...that is, except for Katt Williams.
The most recent celeb arrest is Katt Williams, a hilarious and renowned comedian, who was arrested for burglary in Atlanta, GA. Why the F would Katt Williams need to burglarize someone? What could a house possibly have inside it that Katt Williams either doesn't have, or doesn't wear himself? I mean, the guy is always decked out in expensive clothes, jewelry, and shoes...
Apparently, Katt was a guest at the house he is accused of burglarizing. According to CNN.com, "The house, on a horse farm in rural west Georgia, is owned by record producer Barry Hankerson...Williams has been living in the Coweta County, Georgia, home for nearly a month while filming a movie produced by Hankerson". Williams was arrested after one of Hankerson's employees called the police and reported that Williams had broken into the house with a crowbar.
According to the police report, "about $3,500 in jewelry and collectable coins were stolen." Again, why would Katt Williams steal jewelry and coins that total mere pocket change for him? Does this look like someone who needs to steal jewelry and coins? No...the sock he wears on his left foot is more expensive than my humble Saturn Vue.
The whole situation is ridiculous and I think the grounds for arrest are stupid, especially because he had permission to stay in that house indefinitely during filming! Whether it's true or not, the sad thing is, because Katt's a celebrity automatically means either all charges will be dropped, or he might spend 43 minutes in jail.
Either way, Katt is one of the celebs who I will continue to cheer on...I like Chris Brown, although he pulverized Rihanna's face; I still love the movies "Mean Girls" and "Georgia Rule" although LiLo is a d-bag; and MJ's death saddened me on a deep level...so Katt, you still rock and you are possibly the ONLY celeb I have ever seen beam so widely in your mugshot...
One more thing...Flava Flav called and wants his outfit back...and he's missing his clock and whores too...
I passed the written test and driver's test for my driver's license on the first try, shortly after my 16th birthday. A few of my friends failed on the first attempt, but for obvious reasons like running over the curb, hitting another car, or forgetting to buckle the seatbelt. Point is, a driver's test is not that difficult and there really is no excuse why anyone should fail the first time...or second time...or third time...or the 949th time, like one Korean woman.
Cha Sa-soon, 68, of South Korea apparently can't pass the written test for her driver's license. I can't help but wonder--can she even read? That would be my first guess. If she can read, then what is her deal? Is her IQ below 35? Is she blind? Or is she really that dumb?
According to MSNBC.com, she has tried to "pass the written exam for a driver's license with near-daily attempts since April 2005 has finally succeeded on her 950th time".
Even more amazing is that this woman spent 5 million won (USD $4,200) in application fees for the same damn test! She could have saved that money by taking the bus, a cab, or even walking!
What I really want to know is why now, in her 50 some years of being eligible for a driver's license, why she chose to start in the last few years? Maybe she didn't need it before; maybe she was married and her husband wouldn't allow it; maybe she couldn't afford it. Yes, there are multiple maybes, but maybe she shouldn't have waited until she was dependent on a walker, was a full member of AARP, and had more wrinkles than Bea Arthur's inner thighs to get her license!!!
Perhaps the funniest part about this story is the fact that she spent so many years, so much money, on JUST the written part of the test! Now, she has to pass the actual driving portion, and I just want to say that I am thankful I am not living in Jeonju (130 miles South of Seoul) when she goes for that test. Who knows how long that will take her? Every day for another 4 years? At that rate, she'll be 72 before she's actually allowed to drive.
Here's a tip for you lady--move to Florida; if you have a pulse, the state of Florida will NOT hesitate to give you a driver's license, and you can even take the test in a variety of languages! Don't feel too bad though; the Florida DOT is just as dumb as you are.
Have you ever had unforgettable sex? The kind of sex where you don't want it to end, and when it does, you carve it into your memory so it will never be forgotten? Well, I've recently learned that there is such a thing as "f**king your brains out.
Enter a woman named Alice. She had sex with her husband one morning, and then within moments, she forgot everything and started acting strangely. If I were her husband, I would have been offended that the sex was forgettable. But little did they know that Alice was suffering from amnesia.
Apparently, the sex was either mind blowingly amazing, or so blasé she forgot all about it as her husband turned on the TV during their post coital cuddling. According to the article on CNN.com, Alice appeared confused and perplexed when she saw the Olympics on TV. Her husband Scott asked her who the president was, and she said "Clinton" (this happened in 2008).
At this point, I think Scott should be proud of himself for porking his wife so good, that she was blown away and couldn't remember simple facts. Unfortunately for Alice, this was a more serious condition than just the side effects of good sex.
Alice was suffering from Transient Global Amnesia, which "usually occurs after the person engages in strenuous activity -- such as having sex, vigorously exercising, suddenly immersing into icy or hot water, straining to dig a stuck car or even bumping the head". Patients who have a history of migraines and headaches are more likely to get TGA as some people report getting terrible head pains related to orgasms, called coital headaches.
The amnesia didn't last too long, but it surely freaked out both Alice and Scott, and even their children learned more about their parents' sex lives than they bargained for. The funniest part of this story is not the fact this woman got her "brains f**ked out", but the fact that "Alice says the amnesia had not deterred her sex life, but she avoids having intercourse when she has a headache. She tells her husband, 'So sorry, you can wait.'"
Isn't that the oldest line in the book for women who don't want to have sex? Blame it on a headache? Not anymore ladies...instead, we get to start using TGA as our next excuse NOT to have sex with you.
November is National Novel Writing Month, and for my first time ever, I am participating in NaNoWriMo. I have 30 days to write a novel that is 50,000 words or more. On average, I have to write 1,667 words per day if I am to meet my deadline. Given that I will be out of town for about 4 days and moving to a new apt. for about 2 days in November, I have to kick it up a gear and write at least triple that each day.
For this challenge, I decided to approach "chick lit", a genre I used to read in college, but have outgrown as a reader. For those of you who don't know, "chick lit" is like a "chick flick", but literature, which is a genre of women's fiction that is written and marketed for young and single working women in their 20's. "Chick lit" often features professional, strong, and independent working women, mostly in the publishing, writing, law, and journalism fields. It almost always takes place in large metropolitan areas like New York and London, and often makes use of sex, slang and multiple cliches.
Sex and the City is a great example of "chick lit", as well as any Red Dress Ink book on the market today. Although these books are cliche and have common and often predicable story lines, they are still bestsellers. People are saps for love stories with happy endings, especially single women in their 20's.
Below I have featured a short blurb for my story. Keep in mind--it is subject to change as the novel writing process is fluid and constantly changing. Yes, it is cliche. Yes, you have probably read books or seen movies with a similar storyline. It is my job, however, to make it as original and clever as I possibly can. If you were into reading "chick lit", and this blurb was on the back cover, I hope you would pick it up and buy the book. Although this is still a synopsis, in 30 days, it will be a full novel. Wish me luck!!!
Salsa, Sangria, and SouthBeach
Zoë Martin is a fierce and feisty Toronto reporter, who is assigned to a story that will either make or break her career, a challenge she has been waiting for years to take. What she doesn't know is her personal life is about to break wide open when she uncovers the slimy truth about her fiancé Etienne.
Desperate for a fresh start, Zoë escapes her life in Toronto and follows her "snowbird" parents to SouthBeach for the winter. Zoë spends the first two weeks locked away in their rented beach house, watching Lifetime movies and feeling sorry for herself, while her parents enjoy the sun, sand, and surf.
After a surprise visit from her best friend Collette, Zoë is rejuvenated and finally heads out to explore and flaunt her newly single self. Her very first day on the beach, she unluckily encounters a stingray and meets the South Florida sun and ultimately suffers both painful stings and severe sunburn. Frustrated and in pain, Zoë cannot seem to catch a break...that is, until she meets a man who will change the way she approaches life, love, and everything in between.
Enter Sebastian Santiago, the sexy, irresistible lifeguard who administers first aid to Zoë's many wounds, and eventually administers healing powers through salsa dancing, sangria, and a late night rendezvous.
After meeting Sebastian and living life the South Beach way, Zoë discovers herself in ways that shock and pleasantly surprise her. Back in Toronto, she has unknowingly become a local celebrity from her scandal causing, career-making story, the same story that uncovered the truth about Etienne, and her boss Serge offers her a promotion she can’t refuse…When Etienne hears about her new zest for life and celeb status, he decides he wants her back and travels thousands of miles to prove it. Will the new, relaxed, and spontaneous life Sebastian and SouthBeach have shown herbe enough to make her stay, or will the promise of a brilliant career and a devoted husband tempt her into settling back into her once comfortable life?
I promised myself I would never WASTE another blog post devoted to the dreadful Gosselin family, but being that it is so close to Halloween, I simply couldn't resist!!!
As I scanned CNN.com this morning, I saw Gosselin trash everywhere. Although everyone likes ragging on Jon (he's nasty, fat, and stupid so it's easy), the real idiot here is definitely Kate...from her haircut to her fantasy land that her kids aren't affected by their TV show, to her future plans as a movie star.
Movie star you ask? Yes--she has recently said she wants to be in the movies! Are you kidding me? She stated, "I've done enough years on TV that I feel like it's a normal, comfortable, natural place to be". NO! WRONG! You've spent enough years ragging on your husband, which blew up in your face, and because you had twins and sextuplets by artificial means, and TLC came sniffing around and gave you a TV show, does not mean you're qualified to be an actress...hell, you couldn't even act like a loving wife, so what makes you think you can act at all? IDIOT!
She then goes on to say, "I'd love to be in a movie at some point, I'd love to be the voice of a cartoon character in a movie for my kids. I think that would be fun." Pretty sure America hears enough about you; we don't need any Disney/Pixar animated films featuring the annoying, nagging voice of K.G.
The second article I read was about how Kate Gosselin wigs are selling out in stores across the nation. One person on the Today Show even dubbed it as a "reverse mullet", and for those of you who know me, know I am absolutely obsessed with mullets and all the variations, the reverse mullets being one of the most rare and intriguing of them all.
If I were dressing up for Halloween this year, I would have done anything to get my hands on this wig. For a Halloween costume wig, it's pretty damn amazing. I want to go out Saturday night just to see how many people have donned this wig.
Even celebrities are getting into the spirit of dressing up like Jon and Kate plus 8. Check out Speidi's Jon and Kate costume...although Spencer and Heidi make me barf in my mouth, I thought it was pretty hilarious. The picture is perfect!!! Heidi dressed as Kate has her mouth wide open, presumably yelling at Jon or one of her kids, and Jon is dressed like a serious douchebag, as usual.
More importantly, USWeekly has a link on their page where you can see other celebrities with Kate Gosselin's haircut. For your entertainment, I have taken the liberties of taking these photos and posting them to save you the work. Kate's haircut is horrible, yes, but at least it's versatile.
I am still confused as to how Kate doesn't think the TV shows, the drama, the divorce, and her haircut have NOT affected her children...together, she and Jon have made a complete mockery of their lives worldwide. It is a stigma these kids will never outlive, and "Jon and Kate" drama will soon join the same scandal club where we have filed OJ's "innocence" and Clinton's "I never inhaled". Good luck living this one down J.K.+8.
Seems like coyotes and the music industry have been colliding quite frequently these days. First, it was with Jessica Simpson and her dog, which she believes was "taken" by coyotes. Obviously she doesn't understand the difference between "taken" and "eaten".
In recent news, coyotes attacked again! Except this time, it wasn't a pet dog they killed; it was a Canadian singer. No, sorry folks, it's not Shania Twain, as much as we would all love that.
The victim this time was Taylor Mitchell, a Canadian folk singer, who was only 19. According to CNN.com, she "was killed by coyotes this week in a national park in Nova Scotia...she was at the beginning of the Skyline Trail in Cape Breton Highlands National Park on Tuesday afternoon when she was attacked".
Of course, this is a sad situation. When you think how you're going to die, and don't lie, we all think about it once in a while, you definitely don't picture yourself being attacked by coyotes, especially at the ripe young age of 19.
What's puzzling about this article isn't how Taylor is the only person to have been attacked by coyotes in this park, or even that a young, talented artist was killed. What I don't understand is the lack of common sense these park rangers have when wondering how coyotes could have possibly attacked someone?
In the article, there are several statements regarding the puzzling nature of this attack. Chip Bird, the Parks Canada field unit superintendent for Cape Breton, said "A pathologist will test the animal's body for diseases that might have triggered the attack". Save the money and resources Chip; I'll tell you what you need to know. Coyotes attacked because they're WILD FUCKING ANIMALS AND HUMANS INVADE THEIR ENVIRONMENT!!!
This douche then goes on to say how the search for other aggressive animals in the park continues. Seriously? Of course you will find other "aggressive" animals in the park; park=outside; outside=wild/aggressive animals. Bird also goes on to say how public safety is their primary concern, which is great and true, but then he says "that animal was killed because of "lack of fear". NO SHIT!!! Of course coyotes aren't fearful...they're wild, untamed, unafraid carnivores...
Perhaps the most ironic and disturbing part of this whole incident, is the common sense Taylor's mother shows in wake of the worst tragedy a mother can ever encounter...her daughter has just been killed by a wild animal while hiking in a park, and she gives a statement to the press that totally counteracts response to this attack.
Emily Mitchell, Taylor's mother, makes a statement in which she says, "We take a calculated risk when spending time in nature's fold -- it's the wildlife's terrain. When the decision had been made to kill the pack of coyotes, I clearly heard Taylor's voice say, 'please don't, this is their space.' She wouldn't have wanted their demise, especially as a result of her own. She was passionate about animals, was an environmentalist, and was also planning to volunteer at the Toronto Wildlife Centre in the coming months."
So, Taylor Mitchell, a talented musician was also an environmentalist? Well, that explains what she was doing hiking solo in this park. But the fact that her mother is probably right in that Taylor would not have wanted the animals to be hurt, we humans do what we always do--we destroy whatever hurts us, inconveniences us, or what doesn't work for us...and in this case, it was a couple wild coyotes.
Next time these coyotes encounter a musician in their park, I pray to every God in this universe that it's Celine Dion. Just looking at her pisses me off and makes me want to pound nails into my temple. I won't even be that upset if they take down Terri Clark's redneck ass. Just don't take Alanis.
Today I entered a writing contest entitled "*Another* Another Faust Writing Contest". My mom featured the link on her blog, and I couldn't resist. I am no short story writer, and I've only entered maybe one or two poetry contests in my life. My niche is novel writing, but this contest seemed interesting and last week, I wrote my story in two days.
This link to the contest is here, and my short story is featured below. For those of you who did not check out the contest link, here's the contest details in a nutshell--write a story that deals with the Faustian bargain, which is simply making a deal with the devil. Pop culture movies like The Little Mermaid, The Devil's Advocate, and Bedazzled all feature the "making a deal with the devil" motif.
**Warning: This story was emailed and entered into the contest earlier this morning; it is now in the hands of Daniel and Dina (contest creators), so it would be pointless for you to even think about stealing it. Create your own story.**
Please see below to read my short story. Hope you enjoy!!!
Fausty Freeze
Gone were the days of perpetual sun, sand, and surf. Grilled hot dogs, corn on the cob, and crisp watermelon. Sunset bike rides and baseball games. Gone were the girls in their summer dresses and boys in their summer growth spurts.
Winter had now settled in. The snow was already falling. Lakes were already frozen over; animals were hibernating. Children have brought out their sleds; adults their shovels. Christmas decorations already hang from the eaves of every house, and carols can already be heard in the city square.
Frank Faust hated winter. He despised the bitter cold on the nape of his neck and crunching of the frozen snow beneath his boots. He loathed the way he could see his breath every time he stepped outside, and hated the way the harshly cold wind would take away his breath.
Ironically, Frank lived in Winter Falls, Alaska, where summer was short and sweet, and winter was long and dreary. No matter how hard he tried, he could not escape winter. During the fleeting summer months, he thought if he stayed outside long enough, drank enough iced tea, and pedaled fast enough on his bike, the mythical weather gods would see how he enjoyed summer more than life itself, and would cut him a break. Every year was just as, if not more, disappointing than the last. Summer seemed to get shorter every year and winter seemed to creep in weeks too soon.
Because Frank was an able bodied teenage boy, his mother made him offer his snow shoveling services to the senior citizens in town, help cut down and carry Christmas trees, and even participate in the annual Snow Ball, which was an event held in the town square every New Year's Eve. Frank would grumble and mumble and swear under his breath, but he finally figured out it was just easier to go along with it than to fight it, so every year he swallowed his pride and hesitantly asked a couple girls to accompany him to the dance.
It was no surprise Frank was rejected every winter, and always ended up escorting his mother to the ball. He was a good-looking adolescent boy, strong facial features and a popular haircut. Girls rejected Frank not because he wasn't nice, or cute, or friendly; they rejected him because he wore a bad attitude like a favorite outfit. The girls in town worshipped him during the summer, with his bronzed skin and bleached blond hair, but ignored him in the winter, which was probably for the better. It was as if a dark force overcame him in the winter months, and Frank knew he would be better off in hibernation.
One night during dinner, a week before Christmas Eve, his mother reminded him about the Snow Ball, as if Frank would ever forget.
"Have you got a date yet?" she asked, playing the same routine year after year. Janet popped a baby carrot in her mouth, and forced a smile.
"No. Do you?" Frank replied cruelly. He wanted his words to hurt, just like his parents had hurt him. It wasn't until looked at his mother and watched as her face went from pure shock, and then crumpled deep into itself in agony that Frank's mother had not had a date in years, not for lack of trying, but she had always put Frank's needs above her own.
"Mom, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that," he said quickly, as if his apology could erase the hurtful words that he spat from his mouth.
"I won't stand for backtalk Frank. It's spiteful and unnecessary," she said sharply, and her words sliced through him like a jagged piece of glass across a fleshy pear. Frank swallowed hard and lowered his head.
Frank and his mother ate the rest of dinner in silence. Usually, she asked Frank to help her clean up the dishes, but that night was different. Janet wept as she washed each plate, and Frank watched her struggle with keeping her tears out of sight. Eventually, he retired to his room, but could hear his mother's quiet, forlorn sobbing.
Every year as the Snow Ball approached, his mother would get weepy. The holidays always made her weepy. Frank's father had left on Christmas Eve when he was just four years old, to start a new life with a new wife. The holiday season crushed Janet's spirit, but the Snow Ball always seemed to revive it.
That night as he lay in bed, Frank mumbled a weak prayer, to anyone who would listen.
"Please make winter go away. Please make winter go away. Please make winter go away. I'll do anything," Frank repeated, over and over again, until he eventually fell asleep.
The following morning, Frank engaged in his typical morning routine. It was the last day of school before Christmas break; a day during which most kids could barely contain themselves, but Frank dreaded it. He looked outside and as usual, his prayers were unanswered. Winter was still here, and it appeared as if it had even snowed several inches overnight.
Frustrated, Frank stormed out of the house and headed toward the bus stop. To his surprise, there was a man standing there. Winter Falls had hardly any crime, but Frank couldn't shake the creepy feeling he had as he approached the stranger.
"Good morning," he muttered in an attempt to be friendly, and also to stop his teeth from chattering.
"Hello Frank," the man replied, staring at him confidently. The man wore a freshly pressed black suit, a red tie, and had a thin mustache. Apparently he was unaware that it was below zero degrees, and seemed to not mind.
"How do you know my name?" Frank asked the stranger, backing up a few steps.
"Don't be alarmed," said the stranger in a voice that sounded hundreds of years old, a voice that invoked feelings of fear in Frank's gut. He was certain he was about to get mugged or murdered, although that seemed like a stretch.
"Um, no. And you're creeping me out. You mind leaving?" Frank asked honestly, figuring he had nothing to lose by being rude. Ignoring him was not an option, so being blunt was the next best thing.
"You can't stand winter, can you?" the man asked self assuredly.
Frank stood in astonishment that the stranger was relentless, then eventually shook his head and licked his dry, cracking lips. Even his lips couldn't stand winter.
"I have a bargain for you."
Frank was afraid, yet intrigued. Something about the confident way the man spoke fascinated Frank, although his senses were still trying to attach to the correct emotion. Was it fear or curiosity Frank was feeling?
"If it's money you want, I don't have any. On me, I mean," Frank stuttered the first thing that came to his mouth.
"I don't want your money. I want to make a deal."
Frank was shaking at this point, partly due to the frigid Alaskan winter air, and partly because the man's presence was overwhelming.
"What kind of deal?" asked Frank. The man leered at him, a half smile forming in the corner of his mouth. Just then, the bus pulled up. Frank glanced at his bus driver, held up his index finger signaling to wait just a moment, and he turned back to where the man was standing.
Except the man was gone. Frank twirled around several times on the snow, looking in almost every direction, until the bus driver honked loudly and opened the door.
"Get on the bus!" the bus driver shouted. As the bus peeled away, Frank looked desperately out the window for any sign of the strange man. He was nowhere to be found.
The rest of the day at school, Frank was distracted. He wondered if the man had been a dream, or at the very least, a hallucination.
During lunch, as his friends bragged about their new skis and sleds and vacation plans for Christmas break, Frank sat in silence, struggling to make sense of the strange man and his "bargain".
On the bus ride home, Frank was ready to chalk up the entire experience as a delusion, one that he was more than prepared to put behind him for good. When the bus stopped, Frank stepped off and started his half-mile trek home.
As he turned the corner onto his street, he heard someone whisper his name. Frank stopped dead in his tracks, and glanced around furiously. Was it happening again? Was this yet another hallucination?
He suddenly felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and as he slowly turned around, he discovered exactly why.
"Hello Frank."
"Whoa!!! Who the hell are you?" Frank yelped, and was immediately embarrassed for the girlish tone of his voice.
"I wouldn't use the word 'hell' loosely like that if I were you," he said ambiguously. "And you can call me Damien."
Frank took a few steps backwards, shuttered, then walked briskly down the road. His house was in view, and he had never been so excited to see it before in his life.
"I didn't ask to be here Frank. You summoned me," the man said matter-of-factly. He was still wearing the black suit, and looked exactly the same as he had this morning.
"What are you talking about?" Frank mumbled under his breath.
"Last night. You prayed for winter's end," the strange man announced, and Frank stopped walking. In the bitter cold, the memory of last night came to him in a whirlwind. But I don't even believe in God, Frank thought to himself.
"You don't have to believe in God to believe in me," the man said, surprising Frank.
His eyes got huge and his heart started pounding. "How did you...I didn't say that out loud!" he yelled, then took off running. This had to be a bad dream. His feet pounding the hard snow, Frank willed himself to wake up and snap out of this dreadful hallucination.
Out of breath when Frank finally reached his house, Frank put his hands on his knees and breathed in the harsh, cold air. He looked behind him and was relieved to see the man had not followed him home.
"Are you ready to bargain yet?" the man sneered, standing on the front step. Frank was so startled that he fell backwards into a pile of snow, and cursed loudly. The man reached out to help him out, but Frank ignored the offer.
"If that's what will make you disappear, then YES!!!" he finally agreed, brushing snow off the seat of his jeans. There was no point in trying to escape this man. He was around every corner; in front of and behind Frank. He dropped his book bag on the ground, crossed his arms in defiance, and glared at the man.
"I can give you summer. Forever," the man began. Obviously Frank thought the man was crazy.
"Where? Here? Or in Florida?" Frank joked. Maybe it was Frank who was crazy. Either way, he was going to play along.
"No. Here. I can give you an Alaskan summer forever, where the sun never sets and the air is as fresh as the day is long."
This piqued Frank's interest.
"What's the catch?" Frank questioned the man.
"You must sabotage the Snow Ball by six o'clock in the evening on New Year's Eve. If you fail to do so, you have just bought yourself a lifetime of winter," the man explained.
Frank toyed with the idea. It might be difficult to sabotage a highly regarded annual event, but Frank was up for the challenge. He stood there, contemplating the offer, when the stranger interrupted his thoughts.
"Let me warn you that once you agree, a deal is a deal. There will be no turning back, no changing your mind. This is a bargain that will never be undone," he warned ominously.
After a few moments of reflection, Frank extended his hand towards the man, an offering to seal the deal. The stranger studied his face for several moments, before accepting the handshake.
Frank spent the next week researching and making plans for his master sabotage. He thought of everything from arson, to a bomb threat, to kidnapping, and discovered he was incapable of committing any crime.
Christmas came and went, a quiet celebration in the Faust house. Frank and his mother exchanged a few presents, a couple sweaters, hats, gloves, and new boot, the same as every year. Nothing he could use in the summer; just the winter. For the millionth time in his life, he felt defeated.
The night before the Snow Ball, Frank still had not devised a scheme to sabotage the ball. This was turning out to be more difficult than he had anticipated. Even worse, the snow was continuing to fall, and the water was still frozen over. A skier's dream, a skater's fantasy, was actually Frank's nightmare that he prayed he would escape from soon.
He gave up and headed to the kitchen for a snack. Being devious had made Frank extremely hungry. Frank grabbed an apple from the table, and watched his mother roll out fresh cookie dough, and cut holiday shapes in preparation for the party before the Snow Ball.
Janet Faust lived for the Snow Ball, and looked forward to it every year. Frank was convinced it gave his mother a renewed sense in romance, if only for one night, and that true love actually does exist. Because he loved his mother, Frank bit his tongue when she asked his opinion about what kind of punch to make, or what dress she should wear every year.
Normally, Frank just smiled and nodded, but this year as his mother talked about the Snow Ball, he felt sick to his stomach because he was going to sabotage the one time of year his mother was truly happy.
With a sated appetite, Frank felt refreshed, yet uneasy and returned to his room to continue planning, although he had barely started. He closed his bedroom door and saw an instant message flashing on his computer screen.
"24 hours," the message read in thick, red writing. Of course, there was no name or a reply button, but Frank knew exactly whom the message was from.
Frank stayed up all night, and it wasn't until the wee hours of the morning that he finally devised a plan guaranteed destruction of the Snow Ball. If he could pull it off, summer would be here for good. If he failed, he would be trapped in this winter nightmare.
Sunlight was fading, and the Snow Ball would commence in two short hours. Frank put on his suit and combed his hair back to better blend in, and headed downstairs to execute his scheme. He drew no attention to himself, and no one suspected anything.
Frank's scheme involved sabotaging the ball, but he wasn't going to destroy the venue, the food, the DJ, or even the ball itself. No, he was going to start at home. What's a ball if no one shows up?
As Frank looked around the living room, he noticed people were already starting to grab their coats and were getting ready to head downtown for the Snow Ball. It was now or never.
He quickly walked to the back of the house where the security alarm panel was located. After Frank's father left, his mother had installed a security system since they had no man and no dog to protect them. Barely noticing, he had bumped into Damien, and he was wearing the same suit with the same red tie.
"Time's almost up Frank," he stated seriously, tapping his wristwatch. Frank was instantly flustered. In order to execute his plan, he needed to take action immediately. Frank looked around the house one last time, and noticed only a few people had left. He shrugged it off because the majority is what counted.
Of course, Damien had disappeared once again, but in his place he found his mother, who was smiling diamonds and looked stunning in her slimming black dress, her hair done perfectly. But there was something that distracted Frank from his plan. It wasn't necessarily his mother; it was that she was talking to a man. Rather, she was flirting with the attractive ski instructor named Jack, the same instructor his friends bragged about and the girls fawned over.
With his hand on the security alarm panel, ready to shut it off, which would lock everyone in the house and bring him closer to his dream of destroying winter forever, Frank watched his mother and Jack closely.
He watched his mother's grin light up her face like the downtown Christmas tree as Jack asked her to the Snow Ball, an invitation which she humbly accepted. Janet had shown many expressions throughout Frank's existence, but this one was brand new to him.
It was then Frank made his decision.
Promptly, at six o'clock, the clock tower bells chimed, signifying the start of the Snow Ball.
"Time's up Frank," Damien stated, standing in front of Frank, who sat on the front steps of his house, looking up into the clear, cloudless black winter sky.
"I guess I'll just have to get used to this," Frank said, exhaling loudly.
Without winter, there would be no Snow Ball, and with no Snow Ball, Frank's mother would never again smile the way she did tonight. Although Frank was cold, he wasn't cold-hearted.
"Goodbye summer," he whispered mournfully, and a harsh wind skated across Frank's face as if to remind him of his bargain, and he knew what he had sacrificed wasn't nearly as significant as what he had just saved.
