Hot Head

History Class is far more interesting in college. Maybe that's because the professor is the strangest woman I have ever met, from her stories about her wild sex life to her odd choice to sport one of those mushroom haircuts that middle-age women like to get.

Last class (that I actually went to) did not disappoint, as we learned about Plato's view on childbirth.

Apparently this dickwad (yep, that's a scholarly term. Oh you didn't know that? Clearly you have never attended a community college.) believed that women had almost nothing to do with birthing a child. They were just the 'ovens' essentially while the man's seed that he planted in the oven/garden/household item had the entire baby inside it. And what kept this little man egg warm was blood, so the woman obviously wouldn't have liked any Kristin Stewart movies. Actually, she couldn't like anything much at all, except maybe watching her drool hit the floor.

This is because women were not fit to be intellectuals, and educating a woman was a BAD idea. Not because you'd have to listen to her praise of Jodi Picoult novels, but because thinking forced all blood to enter your brain, and would leave the man fetus chilly. They didn't have Snuggies back then.

I don't know. Just when you think we've come a long way, the world is granted someone like Paris Hilton who would prove Plato completely right. I guess Kathy Hilton (why do I know her name?!?) had a heavy menstrual flow.

Oh hai Gary

XoXo

Gossip Girl

I Get High

Attention blogosphere slash the people who find this blog by accident when they search "Banana Hammock":

Have any of y'all been skydiving?

I'm thinking about doing it for my next birthday. You know, well before my ta-tas sag and flop around in the sky like deflating balloons.

Stare Down

Babies generally piss me off to begin with, but most of the time I can let it go and just find humor in the fact that most of them look like E.T. Not me, though, I was fucking adorable. And I was potty trained at 2 months, I just wore a diaper so everyone else wouldn't feel bad. Moving on, the worst offense that I have against these little blobs is that they stare into your soul without anyone telling them that it's rude. So if no one's going to tell them that it's rude, I've decided to show them instead. I do this with what I like to call a "learning glare" and it goes something like this:

Baby: (stares annoyingly)

Me: Fake Smile

Baby:

Me:
Baby:

Me:

And they can't tell Mommy and Daddy that that mean redhead girl is Doctor Evil-ing them while they sit minding their own business in their baby basket (bassinet?) because they CAN'T TALK. Well, once again, I could, but not everyone is up to my caliber.

New Yawk

^There I am, hailing a cab. Got swallowed up my hair scrunchie again. I just never learn.

NYC is a funny place. It never ceases to deliver the crazy (always collect the "we will all die in the pits of hell" pamphlets because they're full of Lolz) and the horrendous smells that I've found to be mostly urine with a hint of lemon. But it is also beautiful. Despite whatever hairy bastard sits too close to you on the Subway.

And my friend and I can proudly proclaim that we were tourist buffalo, as we were one step above the tourist sheep that stand in the exact middle of the crosswalks and wait to see if they should cross the rest of the few feet to the otherside or turn around completely. I don't know how the cabbies don't knock them down like bowling pins, to be honest. That also would seem quite fun.

Anyway, it was good times by all. Highlights include my friend belligerently yelling at Mickey and Minnie to see if they could see us inside their giant heads, and trying to decide if we were high or the sidewalk in Times Square WAS actually glittery. Apparently it was, and I've decided that that's the sweat of famous people.

Too bad I missed meeting up with people other than the giant fake mice (I promised you a shout-out, Mimi!) but there will definitely be a next time.

Martha Martha Martha!

First of all, let me just say that I love the above picture. Especially because it screams "I will strangle you with my mink scarf and use your gutted head for my petunias. I spent time in the big house."
But this post isn't about her sentence or the lack of a teardrop tattoo, but rather how unintentionally hilarious her show is. I started off my 11 o'clock hour watching The View, but when I realized that the occasion for menopausal arguing wasn't a required family gathering, I exercised my right to change the channel. So then came Martha-Living or Living With Martha, or whatever sugar-coated name they used to describe the hell that her fellow inmates went through. And boy, it did not disappoint! A quick summary would have M-Dawg spewing cuntiness from every pore and then covering up her impatient musings with "HAHA." For example, "GET ME MY PARKA- NO NOT THE GREY ONE YOU INCOMPETENT PIECE OF TRAILER TRASH- THE RED ONE!!! GET YOUR INBRED ASS OVER HERE BEFORE I NAOMI CAMPBELL YOU!!!" ............ "HAHA"

New Years With Maury

Someone just informed me that New Year's is coming up soon, but they also said that John McCain lost the election, so I'm pretty sure they're full of shit.
Anyhoo, I made some resolutions just in case.

1) Don't get gonorrhea again
2) Stop stealing from grandma
3) Tell Mike or Justin that he's the father
4) Learn what "misdemeanor" means
5) Find out what that stain in the bathroom is from