tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-194279462024-03-23T11:28:30.139-07:00Sanity, Interrupted...LadyHAHAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05091191050470228928noreply@blogger.comBlogger421125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19427946.post-44424582063788564172012-01-01T20:12:00.000-08:002012-01-22T07:25:14.780-08:00You're So 2000 and LAMEIt smells like 1995 in here; therefore, this blog has MOVED to the year 2012 - come join me why dontcha? <div><br /></div><div><a href="http://www.sanityinterrupted.com/">http://sanityinterrupted.com/</a> </div>LadyHAHAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05091191050470228928noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19427946.post-62329115330895239292011-09-23T10:18:00.000-07:002011-09-23T14:17:39.420-07:00Judging Books By Their Covers Part Two<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpwETxyFhmcUOOcodJdQzNoIvmDKVh58TdAD3E0kLFlFkLFJGSSMRxCegu8iJkWVN2QQTd_WMUvM2R_B9RIAxZdTnwpJoaTJo_Jz3Q4fQuLPJb-tHzqZi-LHQOew05bI0p_jL7ZA/s1600/mario-lopez-spa1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 252px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpwETxyFhmcUOOcodJdQzNoIvmDKVh58TdAD3E0kLFlFkLFJGSSMRxCegu8iJkWVN2QQTd_WMUvM2R_B9RIAxZdTnwpJoaTJo_Jz3Q4fQuLPJb-tHzqZi-LHQOew05bI0p_jL7ZA/s320/mario-lopez-spa1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655607200711622306" /></a><br /><div>Today kidlets, we look at the meticulously groomed, glossy, double dimpled cover of Mario Lopez. You probably know by now that if we actually saw a Mario Lopez book cover manifest, it would of course have a picture of himself on it. What you wouldn't know is that the picture would be on the inside cover and the first page would be a mirror, so the picture of himself could look ......at himself.</div><div><br /></div><div>His cover also reads...</div><div><br /></div><div>I don't mind being called a douche because douches go into vaginas, indiscriminately. What do you think I do in between double dimpling the public and flashing my pecs? </div><div><br /></div><div>Instead of ladies screaming my name during an orgasm, I scream my name <i>FOR </i>them - because that's what a gentleman does.</div><div><br /></div><div>Taking off my shirt is the ONLY foreplay I do. You're welcome ladies.</div><div><br /></div><div>When I have sex, I put my face about two inches away from her and smile like this:</div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9pTpMzh1SLMI4ij4pM-JK-8dE91tQQmOoQh_15pNfqU-L_A1M2D0e6U2YyNBPl8Ihqp8ZHytOVDNqQoExXJYaUEy15Z3FAlFoLVhNmUa4d2dzlGAL2LERphg27KPh6Yh25wTGlQ/s1600/mario-lopez-smile.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9pTpMzh1SLMI4ij4pM-JK-8dE91tQQmOoQh_15pNfqU-L_A1M2D0e6U2YyNBPl8Ihqp8ZHytOVDNqQoExXJYaUEy15Z3FAlFoLVhNmUa4d2dzlGAL2LERphg27KPh6Yh25wTGlQ/s200/mario-lopez-smile.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655612589008892482" /></a></div><div>So she won't forget how lucky she is to be underneath such a magnificent Latino stallion.</div><div><br /></div><div>I don't know Spanish.</div><div><br /></div><div>When I want immerse myself completely into my culture, I go to Taco Bell and order a Gordita. I make sure I roll my r's and shorten my a's when I order because that's what Latin people sound like.</div><div><br /></div><div>I only read books with pictures in it. Of me.</div><div><br /></div><div>My turn-ons are girls who wear glasses because when the light hits their glasses just right, I can see my reflection. </div><div><br /></div><div>I would totally have sex with guys. Not because I'm gay, but I believe in equal rights. It would be completely unfair if only women can get to experience me. </div><div><br /></div><div>I shower in slow motion.</div><div><br /></div><div>Hand mirror = my kind of porn.</div><div><br /></div><div>My penis is named "Dios Mio Es Tan Pequeno.' A girl screamed that out once when she saw it. I don't know what it means as I've been too busy exfoliating myself to look it up in my Spanish to English dictionary but it sounds like it refers to God so that's gotta be good right? </div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div>As the years go by, I get better and better looking. But somewhere there's a picture of AC Slater with a gray, overgrown mullet that's getting fatter and fatter.</div><div><br /></div><div>My balls are tan. </div><div><br /></div><div>My soul is made of 10 percent hair gel, 90 percent narcissism.</div><div><br /></div><div>Just kidding, I have no soul.</div><div><br /></div>LadyHAHAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05091191050470228928noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19427946.post-79374721432526068302011-09-21T11:58:00.000-07:002011-09-21T15:28:41.046-07:00Judging Books By Their Covers: Part OneSince I have absolutely no time to write. I'm introducing a new blog quickie called Judging Books By Their Covers. Today's subject is Kris Humphries, whose cover says....<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFuwQnICYqwXpCFAFNeeKD6PPraVV6foZr6GHN7MSPOvl3Z6ALt2mOVY_rbg-ADEEAD_5IFk_1MhGk6hq9AnZ6YfWfs1_KF4862SgJorB4YOijVhzv7DM_0mGVzmXUKSnp32T6rQ/s1600/krisuglies.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFuwQnICYqwXpCFAFNeeKD6PPraVV6foZr6GHN7MSPOvl3Z6ALt2mOVY_rbg-ADEEAD_5IFk_1MhGk6hq9AnZ6YfWfs1_KF4862SgJorB4YOijVhzv7DM_0mGVzmXUKSnp32T6rQ/s320/krisuglies.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5654892821903164306" /></a><br /><div>I'm an open mouth breather</div><div><br /></div><div>I consider 'passing gas' and 'dutch oven-ing' people as one of my hobbies.</div><div><br /></div><div>I say 'supposebly' </div><div><br /></div><div>I think it's perfectly fine to turn your underwear inside out and wear it again</div><div><br /></div><div>I scratch my nuts then smell my fingers, then I make other people smell them.</div><div><br /></div><div>I think it's perfectly fine to scratch my back with a dinner fork</div><div><br /></div><div>I own all the Jackass movies and think they are cinematic feats of awesomeness</div><div><br /></div><div>Driving with my seat all the way down with one hand on the steering wheel makes me gangsta.</div><div><br /></div><div>I still giggle when people say my last name (you said 'Hump!' hahahaha!)</div><div><br /></div><div>If you're really my friend, you've been teabagged by me at least once.</div><div><br /></div><div>Showering in Drakkar Noir is the same as actually showering.</div><div><br /></div><div>I don't know how to spell Kardas ...Kardasch....Kardashyn...whatever, she has my last name now anyways.</div><div><br /></div><div>I believe that burping is an opportunity to share your meal with others.</div><div><br /></div><div>Eating whatever's under my fingernails is a form of recycling.</div><div><br /></div><div>There's no fun in blowing my nose if it can't be in the form of a snot rocket.</div><div><br /></div><div>I like big butts and I cannot lie....</div><div><br /></div><div>Spiritually, I believe in the word of Beavis and Butthead</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>LadyHAHAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05091191050470228928noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19427946.post-65777899879244892692011-09-02T19:38:00.000-07:002011-09-03T17:50:40.474-07:00Dear Budget K.D. Lang, I miss you.<div style="text-align: left;">When I was 29, my daughter was almost 2 and I was finally losing the poundage I had gained AFTER the pregnancy due to the lack of sleep and abundance of corn dogs that somehow always ended up in my mouth. I had a conversation with myself (AKA: a normal day) about what my reward would be to me now that I had lost X amount of pounds</div><div>
<br /></div><div>Food was obviously out of the question, because once I break in to a bag of Munchos, you best believe I'd dive head first into that bitch and in 10 minutes be licking its insidey parts like a gentle lover. Clothes - meh, no fun. (Yes. I am that one rare straightish butch who doesn't like to shop.) or..ooh! A HAIRCUT! Yes! Mama gonna get her hair did! </div><div>
<br /></div><div>A haircut it was! My hair hadn't seen a pair of scissors since I opened my pair of scissors and unveiled the baby from the lady curtains. (oh the visuals I give you people! You're welcome).</div><div>
<br /></div><div>My hair was all the way down to my waist. I looked like a midget who makes her living as a Crystal Gale impersonator at the local bingo hall. But I didn't want to get just ANY haircut. I wanted something drastic. I wanted something that wasn't in the way, short, fun but - oh Dear Sweet Baby Jesus, don't let it turn into some hideous animal like what's on top of that chick's head from Jon and Kate Plus 8. I felt like any 'hip' style that a stylist gave me (A STYLIST!? look at me talking like I'm JLow (HA!) When I say stylist just assume I mean Supercuts) would immediately take a hard south towards mommy hair hell once my travel sized blow dryer and two-in-one pack of hairbrushes got a hold of it.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>So I avoided a mommy hair cut the only way a creative albeit lazy person knew how:</div><div>
<br /></div><div> <img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFSzEPnpWDI9rR9gG9waE98plDu8EIeANBbwHMRGpkKcwigKRIZ6RkPmM2lQWg2CXyrSYwFjGBfzgB5z6wZmvrfBag9sqaEEa5iprNZoei_1yJ4i_2SPCiRKzQ9NOGnRi31k5sLw/s320/mohawk.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5648174767262217490" /> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkoekTkUnPFX7a1Fgc87JA3W6y3hdcOKgjIGC8UH1topr2j3ux5x5MXPjzhqtO6jKjuL96vPuoFh44uitPS8dHF4R5eH1o5mZ4PnrNEgUEZ_EVSzbkWptXe2W9FUUBNpMIXGG7cQ/s1600/mohawk2.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkoekTkUnPFX7a1Fgc87JA3W6y3hdcOKgjIGC8UH1topr2j3ux5x5MXPjzhqtO6jKjuL96vPuoFh44uitPS8dHF4R5eH1o5mZ4PnrNEgUEZ_EVSzbkWptXe2W9FUUBNpMIXGG7cQ/s320/mohawk2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5648175649365291170" /></a>
<br /></div><div>I got a faux hawk.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>For almost two years, I was walking around looking like I had gotten into a fight with a weed whacker that ended in a tie. My faux hawk was a dream, easy to manage, easy to style and out of the way. Plus, I figured it was something I couldn't pull off once I had hit my 30s. When I did hit 30, I let it grow back out and now it's just a distant and sweet memory. It was done. We had good times but after 30, I had filed that experience under "Budget K.D. Lang Years" and never looked back. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>Or so I thought. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>In the past year, I've been revisiting that file, looking at my soft focus memories of my lovely faux hawk and reminiscing on the wonderful way the breeze kissed my neck every time I walked outside or how delightfully fuzzy 80 percent of my head was. I was LONGING (GB:2 subject. cough cough) for that feeling of hair freedom again. But then I also remembered my husband hating it and at certain angles, if the light was just right, I looked like my brother. And really, my cheekbones weren't high enough for that cut and I'm not nearly gay enough to pull that look off ever again. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>I'm 35 now, I want to get a new hairstyle but the old 'mommy haircut' fear remains. I want a haircut that has a lot of the faux hawk's features as far as how convenient it was, but I want to keep my hair somewhat long so my husband doesn't feel like he married a Craigslist twink on female hormones. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>It's like finding a boyfriend who has as big of a skin snake as your ex-boyfriend did without any of his clingy tendencies or crunchy socks under the bed. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>And then last night, as I was watching Project Runway and marveling at their magic (because seriously a man's three piece suit completed in one day while here I am using <a href="http://www.asseenontvus.com/style-snaps/">Style Snaps</a> to hem all of my normal people sized pants?? MAGIC!) I received a visual gift from God in the form of this chick's hair.</div><div>
<br /></div><div> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmZyvm6XdwzDrexk0YbDGXLiOmCTRAs2WNdGNH1hyphenhyphen0rQYixgj7T4zk2MJBxpk_aBeDs7dtpbc6gsj0JNAlw9WJQTPAgRrKIWn3gSFxCH6jTKJVcrBCqa2ALXMH9d6oks669PEptg/s1600/realitytv_project_runway_anya.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmZyvm6XdwzDrexk0YbDGXLiOmCTRAs2WNdGNH1hyphenhyphen0rQYixgj7T4zk2MJBxpk_aBeDs7dtpbc6gsj0JNAlw9WJQTPAgRrKIWn3gSFxCH6jTKJVcrBCqa2ALXMH9d6oks669PEptg/s320/realitytv_project_runway_anya.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5648177267360003970" /></a>
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAc0gdEFjWaJIWTC6IYwXogdH6HrhQxXixVYTpmNFN6ndgCF61aNb6izDRlpj8drFhxshYrXRIhgRY8Wc9GCP2fAUSMHEAPHTojZW2gM9ENkYHISEBW6Fd-Yq4j5vzdUqSuxV5sg/s1600/anyapjr.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAc0gdEFjWaJIWTC6IYwXogdH6HrhQxXixVYTpmNFN6ndgCF61aNb6izDRlpj8drFhxshYrXRIhgRY8Wc9GCP2fAUSMHEAPHTojZW2gM9ENkYHISEBW6Fd-Yq4j5vzdUqSuxV5sg/s320/anyapjr.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5648177569755566274" /></a></div><div>
<br /></div><div>The boyfriend with a big skin snake, who respects my space and comes in his hand instead of a sock had responded to my ad! As in, THIS was the long style I was looking for with all the convenience of faux hawk hair!</div><div>
<br /></div><div>Shaved sides. So simple and yet so cool. I can rock a long version faux hawk but I can also leave it down and have flowing lady locks that my husband and my non-existent cheekbones love so much. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>Please note that this haircut is happening soon, but not right away as I'm working on the X amount of poundage that came back with a vengeance with baby number two. Vengeance, as in 'Is that a hippo vagina or is that actually my ass in the mirror?!?' </div><div>
<br /></div><div>I'm slowly but surely winning the battle. See you soon faux hawk 3.0! </div><div>
<br /></div>LadyHAHAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05091191050470228928noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19427946.post-49556340457672999482011-08-26T20:15:00.000-07:002011-08-27T10:13:39.800-07:00Chock Full of Shit.<div>The blackheads have taken over my nose.... again.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>Before I get into the ugly details, let me tell you about this oily war zone I have on my face that used to be my nose. I have a typical Filipino nose. A nose that no troll could live under because I have no bridge. (That last sentence made a lot more sense in my head I swear.) Then if you go just past the no bridge, you'll get to the bulk of my nose, which sits on my face like a half-eaten mushroom. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>On top of this deformed mushroom is where the blackheads have multiplied like horny rabbits. It has always been a volatile area since the pores on top of my nose are so large you can park your Ford Fiesta in there. But lately, it has gotten a lot worse - maybe its the humidity here in the Midwest or maybe my parents were right, I am full of shit and I'm finally overflowing.</div><div>
<br />
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJpWmBCOCzocTSINE4ZPRaSRIP-x7MT4Hac-KbVdbwDz5s7tRtMzTihESDM9KF_O6OMWewsuFsVHY5XqX8cVSm9Hr-DraaQz-Nr5zCLYKVXGlOmNz-dudt3iwmqeXrdjIQTUvf3g/s1600/nose.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJpWmBCOCzocTSINE4ZPRaSRIP-x7MT4Hac-KbVdbwDz5s7tRtMzTihESDM9KF_O6OMWewsuFsVHY5XqX8cVSm9Hr-DraaQz-Nr5zCLYKVXGlOmNz-dudt3iwmqeXrdjIQTUvf3g/s400/nose.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5645510932321684722" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><i>click on the picture to see the gory details....</i></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>
<br /></i></div><div>Regardless, the blackheads on my nose have been GROWING WILD (<-- hi GB2 subject of the week!) on my nose as of late. Thankfully, due to my short stature, a normal sized person would have to take a plank position to even see the top of my nose. It hasn't offended anyone but me. The problem is mine and mine alone. So I armed myself with a Biore strip. A Biore strip is not only entertaining in that it's the only time you can paper mache your nose with no apologies, but it also sucks the blackhead out harder than Pamela Anderson can suck a hot dog through a straw. (Again that was way more hilarious in my head than on paper. Stick it out folks, its gonna be a short post I promise.)</div><div>
<br /></div><div>So there I was, feeling victory being had on top of my paper mache'-ed nose while I caught up on Jersey Shore episodes. (Yes I watch it. And yes I hate myself for loving it). </div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEistagD-d9G-UN8CYzWs_6xfryatt3QfBg1p2QzV_rdGpdEahezbGYwhjTCkaGvsVxXlKacFhKqXIM8STBk46_z9Pd4hXkyKcJXy2dKJc_o3RkGVKmN8MSoPa0VOQi4EJjhMBm-eg/s1600/papermachenose.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span">
<br /></span><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEistagD-d9G-UN8CYzWs_6xfryatt3QfBg1p2QzV_rdGpdEahezbGYwhjTCkaGvsVxXlKacFhKqXIM8STBk46_z9Pd4hXkyKcJXy2dKJc_o3RkGVKmN8MSoPa0VOQi4EJjhMBm-eg/s400/papermachenose.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5645384897565706946" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span">Super Strength Biore</span></i></div><div>
<br /></div><div>15 minutes later, while putting the fist pumping on pause, I peeled the strip off nice and slow, pulling out the enemy - expecting to see a handful of them only it was more than a handful. It looked like a grassy meadow - except the grass was made with oil, dirt and stank that had been squatting on my nose pores. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>It was satisfying, like every Biore war I have on my nose. A satisfying feeling seeing those tiny slivers of muck standing out in the open, exposed for the disgusting things that they are and disposed in my bathroom trash can.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>So satisfying in fact that I wrote a whole post about it. I'm enjoying it right now because I know my vacant nose pores is a temporary thing. Slowly but surely - the squatters will come back and I'll have to break out the big Biore guns. Good thing there's six in the box. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>For now, let's have a moment of silence to listen to the wind whistle inside my empty spacious pores. Thank you for sharing my victory. And feel free to enjoy looking at my squeaky clean mushroom nose. Try not to fuck up your back while you're admiring it. </div>LadyHAHAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05091191050470228928noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19427946.post-32666385138665413052011-08-09T18:49:00.000-07:002011-08-15T06:43:16.360-07:00Irreconcilable Differences - The Celebrity Marriage Epidemic<div>GBE 2 challenge this week is a picture prompt.</div>
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrvT9aoqRNEaztRejv4GtlULTcN0oz14JWngbcWSlbbjxx0kbcHsTV5sJ5MpFI-mvesn1qPd7vPbx-9CWxOtD0-XMdFJcmLCVQ-NWX4moCYBsCr1ScI0Z-GdcbuiQM7iHHyvvOLA/s1600/GBweek12pic.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrvT9aoqRNEaztRejv4GtlULTcN0oz14JWngbcWSlbbjxx0kbcHsTV5sJ5MpFI-mvesn1qPd7vPbx-9CWxOtD0-XMdFJcmLCVQ-NWX4moCYBsCr1ScI0Z-GdcbuiQM7iHHyvvOLA/s320/GBweek12pic.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5640160208086045858" /></a>
<br />So of course, today class, let's all sit down and talk about marriage. To be specific, Hollywood marriages. Because who cares about us peasants and our sorry little two-cent unions when there are demigods and demigoddesses doing weddings bigger and better than our bag lunch bargain huntin' couponin asses can ever dream about! When it comes to weddings - celebrities are WINNING! - said like a tweaked out Charlie Sheen - (redundant?) Some celebrities even have weddings that take days in remote locations where they play dress-up Aladdin style with their poor, unwilling guests before they FINALLY put everyone out of their misery and say I do. (I'm looking at you Katy Perry....)<div>
<br /></div><div>But when it comes to marriages...(you know the thing that happens AFTER the big party is over with and the fireworks display has blew it's last smiley face explosion?? - which by the way, never fails to make me one of those annoying people that go, 'woowww' during a fireworks show.) Celebrities are doing this not so well and it seems that the culprit is always irreconcilable differences. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>Here's just a few recent celebrity break ups that were taken down by this mysterious celebrity divorce epidemic called 'irreconcilable differences.' Maybe, if we look for clues in each situation, we can figure out what this is and how to stop it.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>* Marc Anthony/JLo - allegedly that little Skeletor was sticking his lil chicken bone boner into other girls and showing JLo that he had the power of Grayskull by telling her and her ass to stop being fabulous. You can't stop the power of her ass Skeletor. It is much greater than you...(seriously, JLo's ass has got what? 10 pounds on Marc Anthony...at least?)
<br /></div><div>
<br /></div><div>* Arnold Schwarzenegger, Maria Shriver - allegedly he was sticking his twig (but no berries because you know... steroids eat balls.) into the fanny of thine nanny! For shame Conan! </div><div>
<br /></div><div>* Christina Aguilera and that unfortunate looking, but I'm sure he's really nice guy with a big wang, dude she was married to (too lazy to look up his name) - allegedly Christina was the one that ended the relationship because she found someone with a better face. Just kidding. I don't really know the real reason but I can't imagine why that reason wouldn't be close to the top of her list. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>* Eva Longoria and Tony Parker - allegedly Tony Parker was parking his lil' Tony into other people's parking spaces. Hello Eva, he's in the NBA! The complete opposite of marriage material. I believe NBA really stands for N.ever say no to B.oobs and A.ss. ( Boo. Hiss. Yeah that was me reaching for the joke, just kick me down a chuckle for my hard work all right?). </div><div>
<br /></div><div>* Sandra Bullock and the white trash Nazi devil - allegedly the devil wanted to make his dick even hotter by sticking it into Myspace whores selling, cheap tattoos, good times and gonorrhea. His mission was accomplished, but not after the angel that is Sandra Bullock found out and bid the devil goodbye. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>* Leanne Rimes divorced her gay husband to be with Eddie Cibrian. Maybe because she got tired of always being 'the top' in the relationship?</div><div>
<br /></div><div>* Eddie Cibrian divorced his wife to be with Leanne Rimes. Maybe because Leanne offered something his wife didn't; protruding shoulder blade handle bars to hang on to when they're having sex. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>So judging from those situations, I can only conclude that irreconcilable differences means famous people are total sluts. I think the only way we can avoid another celebrity divorce is to institute the Clooney/Brangelina Act whereas for every celebrity that feels the need to marry each other must inform the proper authorities immediately and a committed gay couple will step into their place and take the nuptials instead. Therefore avoiding disaster prone celebrity couples from getting married and allowing a legitimate loving couple to marry the PERSON they love. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>(don't ask me about celebrity gay couples.. we'll have to write an addendum for them later...)</div><div>
<br /></div>LadyHAHAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05091191050470228928noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19427946.post-554031558629920732011-07-20T19:19:00.000-07:002011-07-21T09:52:25.605-07:00Pee On The Bed or Brave The Scary Bathroom? My Midnight Dilemma<div style="text-align: center;"><i>My first post for <a href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/209032889129479?id=231837163515718&notif_t=group_activity">GB:2 Blog On</a>. This week's subject: MIDNIGHT.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>(yes, I've signed up for another weekly blog subject thingy, I'm doing two now. shut up.)</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiLE64fEgKFirJMkhKr4ekMvP3-gR3d40WPbg-ojeK1JZo4RX5X3rdx7YLdw4K549yt2XIar0341586GrYCrLG4t1Mdhrx95XmlNNnUm0ecKNjPtT1-y72opIvU63_UfVKVQpdeA/s1600/chicken-shit.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 230px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiLE64fEgKFirJMkhKr4ekMvP3-gR3d40WPbg-ojeK1JZo4RX5X3rdx7YLdw4K549yt2XIar0341586GrYCrLG4t1Mdhrx95XmlNNnUm0ecKNjPtT1-y72opIvU63_UfVKVQpdeA/s320/chicken-shit.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631647764381631346" /></a><br /><div>When the midnight hour comes around and I find myself still awake I have a slight panic attack.<br /><br />The first thought is ...shit, I have to go to bed, the little one is going to get up early and I'm going to be a zombie the whole day! Must. Go. To. Bed!<br /><br />Then the second thought is....crap, I'm not sleepy. And double crap, now I'm too busy thinking about trying to sleep and getting myself all worked up to even THINK about being sleepy.<br /><br /></div><div>Third thought is...hmm, maybe I'll go into the living room and watch Ice Loves Coco, because Coco's enormous, out of this world ass makes me think of overstuffed pillows and overstuffed pillows make me sleepy. Yeah, that's a good idea. Let's do that!</div><div><br /></div><div>Then as I get up out of bed I think........wow. ...um ...it's kind of quiet. Hmm, it's kind of dark too, especially in the hallway. Remember that one part in the movie where something walked across the hallway....<br /><br />And then in an instant, I'm wide awake scanning for shadows in the hallway. </div><div><br /></div><div>Midnight and my imagination is not a good combination (oooh I'm a poet and I don't know..ok ..ok...I'll stop.).</div><div><br />I think I might have somehow overloaded my brain with creepy content back in the day. For as long as I can remember, I've always loved scary books, movies, I loved Twilight Zone, M. Night Shamabanana's movies (well the first three...) I remember I couldn't WAIT to watch the Blair Witch Project when it first came out (you can imagine how pissed I was when the scariest thing in the movie is the giant snot lined nostril that fills the screen for a couple minutes), I read every Stephen King and Clive Barker book I could get my hands on. Paranormal subjects were right up my alley too. I have been interested in U.F.O.s for as long as I can remember and I'm a sucker for ghost stories. In short, I just loved the thrill of scaring my own pants right off.<br /><br />Now that I'm older, I'm pretty sure I've had my fill because if I catch myself awake at midnight, it is almost guaranteed that my thoughts will pull up some scary thing I had seen or read from my overflowing scary shit file and bombard my brain with it. This isn't particularly fun if at that same time that I'm scaring the bejeesus out of myself, I also have to go to the bathroom.<br /><br />If this happens my fourth thought is...I wonder if I can hold this until 5:00 a.m.?<br /><br />And now I'm wide awake, full of terror and urine at midnight. Not fun.<br /><br />Usually I just put my big girl panties on (IE: turn on every light as I run from the bedroom to the bathroom.) and do the deed as fast as humanly possible all the while thinking of rainbows, puppies and Joyce Dewitt (because who doesn't smile when they think of kooky Janet Wood?) to keep from convincing myself that the girl from The Ring is in my bathtub waiting to jump out at me.<br /><br /><div><div><div>[Pssst....here's why I have turned into the biggest giant pile of chicken shit....Exhibit A: I was going to put a picture of that girl RIGHT. HERE. but when I googled the image...it was way to0 creepy to save on my computer. So I said screw it, you know what that girl looks like right? She's kind of damp? Long stringy hair? In serious need of a shower and some moisturizer? Always in a bad mood? Let's just post one of Joyce Dewitt instead!]</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW-NlHJoWgDGxrNGOG8iiSzMKtNt-UV142ZFw8SGbpyjPZeRFoZAbX60JynUFzHiRgDrf7G5TNE_GzZzKcFEwO6DPqChzTdgwBfJE1SYadnBakv3sVmO_Layw6fLxgvXkyOM3ulQ/s1600/joycedewittgorgeous.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 282px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW-NlHJoWgDGxrNGOG8iiSzMKtNt-UV142ZFw8SGbpyjPZeRFoZAbX60JynUFzHiRgDrf7G5TNE_GzZzKcFEwO6DPqChzTdgwBfJE1SYadnBakv3sVmO_Layw6fLxgvXkyOM3ulQ/s320/joycedewittgorgeous.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631772251366530578" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Damn. I think this is even scarier....</i></div><div><br />So yeah, midnight. If you don't find me asleep, you'll find me wide awake on the toilet clutching the toilet brush like it was Thor's hammer, ready to swing it maniacally at the laundry basket for looking at me funny.<br /><br />And yet for some reason I still really really want to see Paranormal Activity. I'm pretty sure after seeing that movie, investing in a bedpan probably wouldn't be a bad idea.<br /></div></div></div></div>LadyHAHAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05091191050470228928noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19427946.post-12693233408119144102011-07-17T20:13:00.000-07:002011-07-17T20:31:09.225-07:00When Did My Life Turn Into a Country Song?'Said goodbye to the palm trees and made it to a strange land. Where the hot steamy weather boiled everything bland. I left a home for nothingness, seemed like this joke would never end. And if being lost wasn't bad enough, I lost my best friend."<br /><br />Twang twang. What a shitty ass country song its been. ('shitty ass country song' is that redundant?)<br /><br />I apologize for not blogging but moving to Missouri was, unfortunately, quite an ordeal I'm STILL trying to settle from. I'm going to try and make the story as short as possible. Basically we moved here thinking we had a house, turns out it was a shack, we ended up living with my in-laws for about a week while we stored our stuff in storage. In the middle of all this mess, my first born, my baby, my doggy for 12 years, got really sick and passed away.<br /><br />The good news is we found a nice three bedroom house fairly quickly but the first night I slept in my bed felt like so odd without my best friend steaming up my feet. I cried the whole night. I'm crying right now. The wound is still very fresh.<br /><br />Seems like every time I start to write. Every time I think I'm okay because hey, it was just a dog right? The tears start coming again and I think no, he wasn't just a dog, he was so much a part of my life. I find myself looking for him frantically when I realized I haven't heard him, thinking he got out or something. I went to throw a piece of food I had left over from dinner to him and realized I just threw it to the ground. Coming home from the grocery store is just that, coming home from the grocery store. No dog jumping on us and putting his head in the bags to see what treats we got him. <br /><br />I'm feeling completely uninspired and I apologize. I'll get my groove back soon. Right now, I just miss home and I miss my dog.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjXKLV3Zcbd8yPGHl7bEciB40VPxhjmt-z01c3aXLzR9SLOrOxkbkLEck6-fPFUW3XcuSH8TWr_fAHUwiuI463E6w5uANeLgyYU4_pRxh5Q-Zoq1FXB0gI9LlYGCHw1M628kspfg/s1600/guntersmile.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjXKLV3Zcbd8yPGHl7bEciB40VPxhjmt-z01c3aXLzR9SLOrOxkbkLEck6-fPFUW3XcuSH8TWr_fAHUwiuI463E6w5uANeLgyYU4_pRxh5Q-Zoq1FXB0gI9LlYGCHw1M628kspfg/s400/guntersmile.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630529215836554338" /></a>LadyHAHAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05091191050470228928noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19427946.post-39853720301997020622011-06-21T00:29:00.001-07:002011-06-21T06:28:18.801-07:00This is what I do in between bikini contests.......because I'm more than just a hot bod people. Shocking I know. It gets boring when I win all the time.<div><br /></div><div>Recently I did an article about <a href="http://www.thesmokingjacket.com/humor/best-summer-fair-foods">fried foods for The Smoking Jacket. </a> The grease and fat must have gotten to my brain because I missed a week of blogging. I'm probably going to also miss posting one for next week since I'm in moving and I won't have internet access right away. So to hold you over until I'm officially the Duchess of Windsor (Missouri)....here's a quick video of my fried food FUN...err.... I mean, RESEARCH that I did for my Smoking Jacket article. ENJOY!<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/CZGzRJrpVe8?hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/CZGzRJrpVe8?hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />Yes. I know. I'm sad.</div>LadyHAHAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05091191050470228928noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19427946.post-30514524571812611082011-06-07T22:50:00.000-07:002011-06-08T19:22:28.606-07:00Dear Megan Fox's Face: STOP IT RIGHT NOW!<span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="http://twoscoopz.com/focus-52/">Focus 52 </a>prompt word was BLUE which I thought was a good opportunity to vent about how blue/sad I am about moving to Missouri. About how leaving the rat race of California kind of somewhat makes me feel like I failed and how I'm having an anxiety attack about living so near the Amish. If you see a news report on CNN about a witch trial, )Brown Filpiner girl introduces Amish girl to razors! 'Burn her at the stake!' locals demand.) Come and get me!!</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">But unless that really happens, who wants to hear that noise? I think I already whined about leaving California a couple years back (false alarm. apologies all around). Am I really sad about having extra cash in the bank every month that in turn will actually allow us to vacation as a family (which we haven't done), go on a honeymoon (yeah, almost 13 years of marriage and still NO honeymoon) or visit my moms/dads in the Philippines, or our rent that's less than half of what we're paying here? No, there's nothing to be sad about at all. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">So there. I saved you the trouble of telling me to shut the fuck up because as you can see I've already done it for you.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">You know what I'm REALLY sad about?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Megan Fox and the tough relationship she's currently having with her face. She is, what <a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.dlisted.com">Michael K from Dlisted</a> would describe as, 'fighting the hot.'</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">When I first saw Megan Fox. I gasped as my heart suddenly went into palpitations at this younger Great Value Brand Angelina Jolie. She was truly a vision.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; "><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6aKl4a5QHwSgfvzSbrWX-aNMgJxgDCU1qem9oFAt9RR6zF-rLjbZafxga3SPMtLetii47RDA6Cr4M2FyR6I9ae-1Og3u_zwgzfZlEjtQCK6zbOCPLVoh3WoUr0y9fub_f5jmsSw/s1600/meganhot.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6aKl4a5QHwSgfvzSbrWX-aNMgJxgDCU1qem9oFAt9RR6zF-rLjbZafxga3SPMtLetii47RDA6Cr4M2FyR6I9ae-1Og3u_zwgzfZlEjtQCK6zbOCPLVoh3WoUr0y9fub_f5jmsSw/s400/meganhot.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615708644794722562" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 263px; height: 352px; " /></a></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Then slowly, almost unnoticeably, the vision that was Megan Fox didn’t seem to be quite at a perfect 20/20 vision anymore. </span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; ">It’s hard to point out what it is exactly, like a puzzle that’s missing a piece but jammed into completion anyway. There’s something a little… off. I don't know what's going on but here are five theories I totally made up at first but now secretly believe.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; "><br /></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; ">1. SHE'S ALLERGIC TO EX-BEVERLY HILLS 90210 CAST MEMBER SPERM</span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; "><br /></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; "><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifeoebz5aR0hBtO8ItmOiKibTt3AA7Lll58rRcW4g7A2o12McZNCBdvTjMWaeRZojwyTv4dIL2_FrW_8auxmX7jxhoNpnaiCcXTfRR51ROeeYTwqh2qr6ZCj7GhUcX7FBUKwwo2Q/s1600/brianaustingreen.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 292px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifeoebz5aR0hBtO8ItmOiKibTt3AA7Lll58rRcW4g7A2o12McZNCBdvTjMWaeRZojwyTv4dIL2_FrW_8auxmX7jxhoNpnaiCcXTfRR51ROeeYTwqh2qr6ZCj7GhUcX7FBUKwwo2Q/s400/brianaustingreen.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615835164835684242" /></a> If this is the case, then as bad luck would have it, she happens to be married to an ex-90210 cast member, Brian Green AKA, David Silver. Semen allergy is rare but it does happen. Even though the symptoms of a sperm allergy are mainly confined to a burning, itching sensation in the genital area, medical studies did not research what would happen to one's face if one got a creamer from a guy who was a centerfold for Bop Magazine in 1992. We're positive that if this study was conducted, Megan's severely swollen five head would be the end result.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; "><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1HVt5ONd40fiBIm8S4GS7fNVXu1SOppEsgyyECMfFCAFS017o7DEj00RI0Smu1ZDrEO0cajssKuhnSADyiYGqbIKywsVwnpQvOWKNPS3Nx70tvZYJQLKhXfxlYLo7WkPozot-BA/s1600/foxforehead.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 132px; " src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1HVt5ONd40fiBIm8S4GS7fNVXu1SOppEsgyyECMfFCAFS017o7DEj00RI0Smu1ZDrEO0cajssKuhnSADyiYGqbIKywsVwnpQvOWKNPS3Nx70tvZYJQLKhXfxlYLo7WkPozot-BA/s200/foxforehead.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615835494696946498" /></a> </span></span></span></span></span><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; ">2. SHE'S ADDICTED TO BOTOX</span></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; "><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1MMKXwsM8rpZlN60kYPkMFJeF-NITb5Lo1ID5yR5LP1n0a5SSgdMQf177ymmpqH8fysWKjJ6-om_yh9gaNT8h74ujbPVpt0VT1K8RUMLSrSLE4HXIjenmhl_r6w7OcZrS5zKDbg/s1600/botoxface.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px; " src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1MMKXwsM8rpZlN60kYPkMFJeF-NITb5Lo1ID5yR5LP1n0a5SSgdMQf177ymmpqH8fysWKjJ6-om_yh9gaNT8h74ujbPVpt0VT1K8RUMLSrSLE4HXIjenmhl_r6w7OcZrS5zKDbg/s400/botoxface.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615835785272861058" /></a></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; ">While Botox is fine in small doses, using Botox to try and achieve the smoothness of your granite kitchen counter tops is not okay. Botox addiction is not a pretty sight, especially when you're up close to an addict, because now you have to pretend you don't notice the one eyebrow that's frozen into a horrifying vertical angle. Botox abuse is common in the movie star world and could be the guilty party we need to blame on why she's looking less and less like a girl and more like an X-rated muppet that Jim Henson made for his own um...'personal' entertainment.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; "><br /></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; ">3: MEGAN FOX IS ALREADY DEAD AND HER BODY IS NOW BEING PROPPED UP BY HER AGENTS ALA WEEKEND AT BERNIE'S.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; "><br /></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; "><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCjy2CDSQzJd24878TNe-PCyvlm1VZd6Rgs88TWsPobTxJTyLacjQhEeGcT2lW_H2VrSsk4BfW4pZoAXGFaHFdOTDDB4UAoxPZZrbjheSBOawxkVqeCRdKV_sGHLVl9LFEHXbMSg/s1600/wkndbernies.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 237px; " src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCjy2CDSQzJd24878TNe-PCyvlm1VZd6Rgs88TWsPobTxJTyLacjQhEeGcT2lW_H2VrSsk4BfW4pZoAXGFaHFdOTDDB4UAoxPZZrbjheSBOawxkVqeCRdKV_sGHLVl9LFEHXbMSg/s400/wkndbernies.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615836061449583410" /></a></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; ">It's a stretch but I wouldn't put it past sleazy talent agents to handle an accidental death of their cash cow as if it never happened. There are enough make-up and special effects artists in Hollywood to make her corpse look fresh and lifelike. Pump a little saline here, tighten up a puppet string there, prop those eyelids open with some double sided scotch tape and wala! Megan is alive and ready to act in mediocore movies while throwing in a couple nip slips and girl on girl kisses to ensure continued celebrity success. Hey, if they can do it to Britney Spears corpse, we see no reason why they wouldn't do it with Megan.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; "><br /></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; ">4. SHE ISN'T ONE OF US AND IS IN FACT PART OF THE NEW RACE OF ADVANCED SPECIES.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; "><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkX1uA9jaP23S8fbqyK60iKGJrUPGj3jyqalW-MHsB66Gu34CgNCwcKXsboRusYKvEctWqzcBT0CvR1cy02zMEuJ3Su4asYbfgQOsHJW3c7FB0A9haUtqdqBd6mRBs0SJtuTv3sA/s1600/alien.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 264px; height: 330px; " src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkX1uA9jaP23S8fbqyK60iKGJrUPGj3jyqalW-MHsB66Gu34CgNCwcKXsboRusYKvEctWqzcBT0CvR1cy02zMEuJ3Su4asYbfgQOsHJW3c7FB0A9haUtqdqBd6mRBs0SJtuTv3sA/s400/alien.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615836496460445762" /></a></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; ">Maybe a muppet isn't the best word to describe what Megan's evolving into. Maybe she's one of the many extraterrestrials that may have been planning to infiltrate the earth for millions of years. Megan could possibly be on a little Louis and Clark expedition for the little gray men, casing out the joint and helping the aliens slowly kill uss off by making the mens jerk their swimmers on a sticky picture of Megan rather than pointing it towards their women's baby box. Out of all the possibilities, I want to believe this the most; however there's one giant hole in this theory I just can't ignore. No mentally advanced species (or anyone with eyeballs and some taste) would have gotten that inane quote about butterflies laughing at hang gliders or whatever the hell it says on their body.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; "><br /></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; ">5. MEGAN GOT A BUDGET SURGERY BACKSTAGE AT A DONKEY SHOW IN TIJUANA</span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; "><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZEhlprVQc3lpqZRyFlwbVlXovqlB8NkNdq-7sr4hK6wP4_JF0Q1G1A4HwMSViMw60TZ_fEYFolUJ6XmxmUoVd2t33SFY5qtrPaBuJQzV73gQTkdR0dc8P-PxEqy-mSkx7g4CNtA/s1600/donkey.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 226px; " src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZEhlprVQc3lpqZRyFlwbVlXovqlB8NkNdq-7sr4hK6wP4_JF0Q1G1A4HwMSViMw60TZ_fEYFolUJ6XmxmUoVd2t33SFY5qtrPaBuJQzV73gQTkdR0dc8P-PxEqy-mSkx7g4CNtA/s400/donkey.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615836759655920402" /></a><br />Even if you've never been to Tijuana, everyone's had a "Tijuana experience." They even made a movie about it called "The Hangover" except it took place in Las Vegas which is basically our very own Tijuana (minus the 'pharmacies' that dole out Vicodin from a 25 cent candy machine.) The experience of drinking so much that you completely forget what you did the night before and you discover brand new piercing in orifices that you never knew existed. Megan's appearance could have also been a result of a botched plastic surgery that she unknowingly requested after drinking shots of tequila that the bartender also used as gas for his lawn mower. I'm guessing a back alley medical procedure would consists of simple tools. Her lips being pounded back into place with a wooden mallet by Doctor Frijoles Bueno is the perfect explanation as to why they look like a dog's raw shit winker after it's taken a big dump.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; "><br /></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; ">Whatever the situation is with Megan Fox's face, it's clearly up to no good an it needs to be stopped. File this right under "Save Katie Holmes" on our to-do list. </span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; "><br /></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; ">However, with all that being said, I'd totally still tap it....if I had the equipment to do said tapping that is.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; "><br /></span></span></span></span></span></div>LadyHAHAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05091191050470228928noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19427946.post-33743284867144269782011-05-30T20:47:00.000-07:002011-06-07T21:32:20.205-07:00Taking our relationship to a whole new level....<span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="http://twoscoopz.com/focus-52/">Focus52 prompt</a> for this post is "Line it Up" so I'm doing you a favor and 'lining up' some essential questions and doing a meme. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">I realize my 4'8 stature is intimidating to most people therefore making it hard to ask all those questions they've been dying to know the answer to. </span><span class="Apple-style-span">Am I totally reading your mind or what?! It's okay. Don't be embarrassed. I'm a terribly interesting person so I understand the curiosity. Breathe a sigh of relief, because today is your lucky day.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Should I have passed out sick bags before making you read all that? My apologies. I had to hype up the post so you guys wouldn't notice that I'm totally copping out of the Focus52 challenge this week.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">(shout out to <a href="http://bugsbutt.blogspot.com/">LBB</a> for the meme questions)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px; ">1. What </span><b><u><span class="Apple-style-span">must</span></u></b><span class="Apple-style-span"> you do before you go to bed at night?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; ">I MUST take my phone with me so I can read or watch something before going to bed. If you must know, I do my phone HARD. I honestly don't know how it's still working. I'm waiting for it to give up on this bitch. I do my grocery lists on it.I Facebook on it. I tweet on it.I take pictures and video with it. It's my alarm clock, my assistant, my friend, my therapist, my lover. If there was a penis app, I would give it a blow job but for now, I just fondle it relentlessly.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /><span class="Apple-style-span">2. What is one thing you </span><b><u><span class="Apple-style-span">must </span></u></b></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; ">snack on at the theater?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; "></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; ">I LOVE popcorn with Reeses pieces in it. I have to physically restrain myself from putting the bucket on like a feedbag and only stopping to come up for air....and even then, I'd still debate on whether I want to breath air or continue inhaling the salty, sweet and peanut butter heaven up my face.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; "><span class="Apple-style-span">3. Before going on vacation what </span><b><u><span class="Apple-style-span">must</span></u></b><span class="Apple-style-span"> you do?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; ">Well BEFORE I had little people coming out of me, all I needed was a book and a snack. NOWADAYS, I will take anything I need to take to keep the little people quiet and amused during the flight. If I want to pack lightly, I give them both a Benadryl cocktail....now, now, don't call CPS just yet, I'm just kidding. Although, I've thought about giving the cocktail to the Viking hubby who turns into a nervous, pearl clutchin' Grandma when he's on a plane. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; "><br /><span class="Apple-style-span">4. What is one thing you </span><b><u><span class="Apple-style-span">must</span></u></b><span class="Apple-style-span"> do every day?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; ">I MUST make all the beds. I am far from being a neat freak. In fact, 80 percent chaos is the norm for my house but the beds are always, ALWAYS made. When a bed is unmade in my house, I have tunnel vision all day and the only vision in that tunnel is the unmade bed taunting me and insulting my bed making skills....which isn't even that good. For all the stress that I put on myself for making the beds, I could at least be excellent at it, which I'm not. I fluff out the pillows, throw covers over it and don't even entertain the thought of tucking a corner or smoothing a sheet. What am I? Martha Stewart? So maybe I should rephrase my first sentence; I MUST have the ILLUSION that all the beds are made.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; "> </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; "><span class="Apple-style-span">5. Is there something you do that </span><b><u><span class="Apple-style-span">must</span></u></b><span class="Apple-style-span"> be done in a particular order?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; ">Put on my bra immediately as my massive mammers are not allowed to EVER roam free.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; "> Drink coffee. Drop a deuce. Check Facebook. After those four things have been done in that order, I go about and proceed life with my pinky up like the lady that I am</span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; ">.</span></span></div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; ">Now see? Aren't you glad we did that? I feel so close to you now. So close that if you were here, I would spoon you while we watched badly made movies together on Lifetime. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); line-height: 18px; "><br /></span></div> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuB8niJ4nQ30nrDpbF0nRwGa1amryBaPtDTmAGq4ZcCT0V1k1YbA2-gG16zvbclOxj1IDtBmLhzJbWiixrLPe5_y6HXNs2ZGRZwz3tYR6gZoTKXg559lqsXGxVu9Nw9sSmW08j1Q/s1600/spooning.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 367px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuB8niJ4nQ30nrDpbF0nRwGa1amryBaPtDTmAGq4ZcCT0V1k1YbA2-gG16zvbclOxj1IDtBmLhzJbWiixrLPe5_y6HXNs2ZGRZwz3tYR6gZoTKXg559lqsXGxVu9Nw9sSmW08j1Q/s400/spooning.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5613472840546739906" /></a>LadyHAHAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05091191050470228928noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19427946.post-23916695227241538572011-05-21T21:17:00.001-07:002011-05-24T06:24:19.679-07:00Witness a pair of stripper poles go flaccid!This blog is strictly being written tonight so I can post this video up:<div><br /></div><div><iframe width="560" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/aPsBjKkRlkA" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe><br /><br /></div><div>Let me be the first to apologize for the 4:24 some minutes that you'll never get back unless you're into watching overly medicated pop stars stumbling around trying to find what used to make them sexy. I don't know what happened to Rihanna but apparently she thought rehearsing for seven minutes would do the job. And is it really considered a collaboration if Britney came in on the last three lines of the song with a magic mic? I'm guessing they woke her up from a nap, lured her out with a bucket of fried chicken then threw her onstage mid-burp. I was unsure if she was dancing or trying to walk out a fart. There was also no sadder pair of strip poles I have ever seen than the ones they attempted to dry hump during the song. The one Britney rubbed on probably has a bacon greasy film on it and smells like gym socks. The standing ovation afterwards can only mean that clearly, the audience was given some sort of hallucinogenics to regard this performance worthy of a stand or even regard it as an actual performance. They would've probably gave a standing ovation to a monkey rubbing feces on himself, but at least a monkey would put some feeling into his work. </div><div><br /></div><div>I nodded off early and the last thing I saw/heard was The Black Eyed Peas. Is it me or have they been singing the same three songs for like 10 years now? If I hear "I Got A Feeling" one more time, I'm going to lose feeling in my ears because I will rip my ear drums right out.</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div>The other performances were tolerable, one of my favorites was <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iYMCAknHvx0&feature=related">Nicki Minaj</a> unfortunately, the fried chicken Queen made another zombieriffic appearance at the end of THAT performance as well. She left her grease everywhere!! Ugh.</div><div><br /></div><div>But really, who even remembered ANY of it or cared after Beyonce showed up, tassles a'swingin??? Her performance made Rihanna's and Britney's look like a 3rd grade talent show act performed by two students that have VIP seating on the short bus. Beyonce took her song and fucked the entire stage with it. She spanked it, tore it up and owned it. The stage had to go take a hot shower afterwards and the entire audience needed therapy because this bitch violated all of us while Jay-Z watched. </div><div><br /></div><div>After her performance, the need to march around and celebrate my nation building twat was immeasurable.</div><div><br /></div><div>Who Run The World? I think men still do, but Beyonce's lofty delusions and proclamations about females are so very endearing....and makes a great ring tone!</div><div><br /></div><div> </div> <iframe width="560" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/bdUT3unVRCw" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe>LadyHAHAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05091191050470228928noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19427946.post-20692316711593403202011-05-14T18:47:00.000-07:002011-05-15T21:35:04.308-07:00The New Face Of Feminine....gives me the sads. :-(I'm behind on my blog posts by a week but instead of playing catch up, let's just fast forward this bitch to this week's <a href="http://twoscoopz.com/2011/05/08/focus52-may-8-to-may-14/">focus 52 word: </a>FEMININE.<div><br /></div><div>Damn. I thought I had covered all that is feminine by doing an <a href="http://crazylainetrain.blogspot.com/2011/05/hot-royal-piece-of-hot-piping-pippa.html">entire post on Pippa's derrière,</a> but now that enough time has passed for my body to expel all the liquid sappy sap that my cup runneth over with due to the Royal Wedding (except I'm still buying 'collectible' magazines like they're actually collectible, so there's some film left at the bottom of the cup. If you see me sporting a real replica of Diana's blue engagement ring please shove it far up my ass. Don't worry. I have sanitizing wipes.)<br /><br />Anyways, its come to my attention that Pippa isn't that hot - FACE wise.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDvwpdC7q0QKh6HjTTS7Ifbolw4Rve4_VhVfnLUZ2c8Rf2rX2gph422vJP4cTwnRy7GD4WNiaU8TaA_xMjdQkvxREY52yX6hGbvdMUDdD0AyWWgPeIfkpcm_uH2Xs9aCbFBymWMg/s1600/pippaface.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 264px; height: 294px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDvwpdC7q0QKh6HjTTS7Ifbolw4Rve4_VhVfnLUZ2c8Rf2rX2gph422vJP4cTwnRy7GD4WNiaU8TaA_xMjdQkvxREY52yX6hGbvdMUDdD0AyWWgPeIfkpcm_uH2Xs9aCbFBymWMg/s400/pippaface.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607161185668852562" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Bummer.</span><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />Then I see Chaz Bono on Oprah basically chopping off both her feminines and throwing them in the garbage. I cringed but secretly envied him for being able to walk around with his shirt off. And really, Oprah could have cut that interview short. I believe him when he says he feels like a man inside because only a man would have thought it appropriate to wear that Men's Warehouse abortion to the Oprah Show:<br /></div></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjACYHtcio_uTHXNhqZ4CmVCS_1JnGUr6Rv01F8sVdvzsgjlMPbp1dPZ-k-3W0DZy76aQUDSSAeOdl2gtMTkMtN6w8zCWb-HghFuGon0ZGA859pLGmIT7hvOXyMnC9wHIy2OG-d_w/s1600/chaz.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 341px; height: 226px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjACYHtcio_uTHXNhqZ4CmVCS_1JnGUr6Rv01F8sVdvzsgjlMPbp1dPZ-k-3W0DZy76aQUDSSAeOdl2gtMTkMtN6w8zCWb-HghFuGon0ZGA859pLGmIT7hvOXyMnC9wHIy2OG-d_w/s400/chaz.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607156550084986418" border="0" /></a>Tough week to get inspired by anything feminine. Well at least that's what I thought until I saw this vision of femininity:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW72ohf8vZtEC7OxFA9tEfBkwlEkBPjHgqSxj0DWBTnb7jMNoRZnCbxJBZlR1dPLRK2q_21LroeRafUuxC-F_ceodq9aUdQmscnHmb-KQULLwJ5RVDxOD2fWVv_op06pSCzwOdhA/s1600/janicedickenson.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 251px; height: 366px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW72ohf8vZtEC7OxFA9tEfBkwlEkBPjHgqSxj0DWBTnb7jMNoRZnCbxJBZlR1dPLRK2q_21LroeRafUuxC-F_ceodq9aUdQmscnHmb-KQULLwJ5RVDxOD2fWVv_op06pSCzwOdhA/s400/janicedickenson.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607156393945395906" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7IEA9E-pp8pa0vKxtE3pHj3HxqP6HyqazIPItRLp-mv-A3KAhKZacAtkhTXkrNE8zvOA5sok9no5cLRDD1Po3SvAGEDusCjw65CtayheYQMQbmSjLzDiiJx9SckenzzDdeRzb0A/s1600/janicedickenson2.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 264px; height: 382px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7IEA9E-pp8pa0vKxtE3pHj3HxqP6HyqazIPItRLp-mv-A3KAhKZacAtkhTXkrNE8zvOA5sok9no5cLRDD1Po3SvAGEDusCjw65CtayheYQMQbmSjLzDiiJx9SckenzzDdeRzb0A/s400/janicedickenson2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607156695838926514" border="0" /></a> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNXt_WPr0l0ZGEGv0BSW94ES5Xavuf26of-cQ4qAppM_COcadLVHL6Pspns4go8tPb_qmvAmq_2pZV6vxLbYc_UqR_N7mtGqiOLitgbV6gau10CnX0w_rxLrEhYonaVvNLAGrEdg/s1600/janicedickensonboob.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 268px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNXt_WPr0l0ZGEGv0BSW94ES5Xavuf26of-cQ4qAppM_COcadLVHL6Pspns4go8tPb_qmvAmq_2pZV6vxLbYc_UqR_N7mtGqiOLitgbV6gau10CnX0w_rxLrEhYonaVvNLAGrEdg/s400/janicedickensonboob.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607156979568258338" border="0" /></a>You heard it here first, tendons and ripple-y tittie balls (seriously. WHAT is going on with those things, are they morphing into accordions??) is the new feminine and Janice is leading the way to this new vision of female. </div><div><br /></div><div>I realize we can't all live up to Janice's in-your-face, I'm so feminine I have a vagina where my mouth used to be image, but there's a lot of girls out there that could be in her enviable spot a couple years from now. Thank goodness we live in a time where we can alter what God has given us because clearly his vision of femininity is old fashioned and outdated. Why He chose not to give stick thin 85 pound girls breasts the size of her head is clearly a flaw in his design. Why can't we all have giant lips God hmm? Playing favorites are we? Skin that wrinkles over time?? Unacceptable! People might think that we're ....(gasp) ...getting OLD! It's wonderful that we can now inject just enough poison into our skin to get rid of that nuisance and freeze our faces into a time much younger than the actual years we've lived. </div><div><br /></div><div>I initially wanted this post to be like a PSA on how plastic surgery is KILLING all things feminine BEYOND our lovely pert and smooth twenties - so not my style to stand on my soapbox and preach. When I stand on my soapbox, I'm just happy to be up where the normal people are - and truth be told, any box, wedgie heel, or dead body I can stand on will do just fine. And anyways, those Janice pictures pretty much tell the story. Fighting Mother Nature/God is not only a losing battle but it's a battle fought uphill. And that hill is lined with shards of glass and sharp rocks that you're climbing face down. When one has reached the top of the plastic surgery hill, its clear who the winner is (hint: not you) :<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixw90Wy80Q1lyKxqkPD5JX4rKRi681_eIHQB_aAr32K5Zc5uy-R_l5IQ9v0rEOPlLo6z0mbzY7DNYNN2-YFDoKxh4ylBsCrDBRFzE-P7OYon293e-fKOdi0CjoxrrcPRi8qEjppQ/s1600/bad-plastic-surgery-results-2.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixw90Wy80Q1lyKxqkPD5JX4rKRi681_eIHQB_aAr32K5Zc5uy-R_l5IQ9v0rEOPlLo6z0mbzY7DNYNN2-YFDoKxh4ylBsCrDBRFzE-P7OYon293e-fKOdi0CjoxrrcPRi8qEjppQ/s400/bad-plastic-surgery-results-2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607157336333554498" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">First bitch to plant a flag on top of the mountain.</span><br /></div><br />Again, I'm not talking about maintenance (moisturizers, scrubs, hair coloring,). Maintenance is necessary and good. I'm straight talking about sticking needles dripping full of botulism in your face, saltwater bags in your chest, and whatever the hell they put into lips (your ass fat?) to make them look like you dug a baboon's ass out of a dumpster and stuck them to your face. (why would a baboon's would ass be in a dumpster is something we'll have to just discuss later..). Even a little bit of plastic surgery seems to be more than its worth - it just gets you going on the road to 'way too much' plastic surgery land. You'll know the place when you get there because Kenny Rogers will be greeting you at the gate:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaHT_SAr3b6EP_vIiiZAVpgT50gi2sCT1hoow179cphH8H8NRH5dVj2P5fw0m5eKiJgkQLUCf3xApivQox4AfxGn0fWitAD9IruaAB8oKA5BAChkl0yb3EaUlTZRbNiLrngul_qw/s1600/kenny-rogers-today.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 218px; height: 218px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaHT_SAr3b6EP_vIiiZAVpgT50gi2sCT1hoow179cphH8H8NRH5dVj2P5fw0m5eKiJgkQLUCf3xApivQox4AfxGn0fWitAD9IruaAB8oKA5BAChkl0yb3EaUlTZRbNiLrngul_qw/s400/kenny-rogers-today.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607157164682336594" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Fact: Kenny Rogers hasn't blinked in years.</span><br /><br /></div>When you look at all that work, time and effort, is aging really that bad?<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5Eo64EEsjjCrPxMYHwIruBw4cPmHRnB3loxUxNRqsLelAVd3Hh1sozOBpS2yVErI9ImSFq4gYXCatDWwl_ZPcFV28ktp4ytH279b1vL_6HZTc57W51NhpZLNQrYWd70GQ2diVYQ/s1600/diane_keaton2.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 306px; height: 188px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5Eo64EEsjjCrPxMYHwIruBw4cPmHRnB3loxUxNRqsLelAVd3Hh1sozOBpS2yVErI9ImSFq4gYXCatDWwl_ZPcFV28ktp4ytH279b1vL_6HZTc57W51NhpZLNQrYWd70GQ2diVYQ/s400/diane_keaton2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607157923585418930" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Diane Keaton doesn't give a fuuuuck...something worth looking up to</span>. </div><br />The moral of the post is being feminine does not include 1 or 2 days of recovery from being sliced on, nor does it include a misplaced labia just kickin' it on your face inexplicably, all huge, red and disturbing the other patrons. So please, ladies, gents, and that twat that gave her 8 year old daughter botox, STOP the MADNESS before the whole world turns into a freak show.<br /><br />Eww. This kind of did turn into a PSA didn't it? And it kind of veered way from the whole 'feminine' thing. I'll be back to my ol' hairy sacks and drippy dick joke self on my next post.<br /></div>LadyHAHAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05091191050470228928noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19427946.post-19152609537876874482011-05-04T20:39:00.000-07:002011-05-05T11:13:03.391-07:00A Hot Royal Piping Piece of Pippa!! Pippa Strong All Day Long. Pippa is my Nigg....okay I'll stop..Who would have thought that at a Royal Wedding, - where you expect to fall in love with the Prince, the Princess, and the majesty of it all - who would of thought that the only thing I wanted to celebrate was the bridesmaid's rockin hot bod??? Ladies and Gentleman, the winner of The Royal Wedding and hands down the only thing that kept that borefest boat that was the ceremony from sinking deep into the royal blue ocean, is PIPPA.<div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif2cEv4I23NUdesv2fHdKH7ghg1oyB_ZHMDuP2q2Nq28Ne_3YZJoqiEFPuP9VlDkxAKbcM4jq6h_81Slewv0BBH6T_YuryBckRpa5ykqiV637-xnmfEn07qO_d6BR8ei0qtpU95Q/s1600/Pippa.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 280px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif2cEv4I23NUdesv2fHdKH7ghg1oyB_ZHMDuP2q2Nq28Ne_3YZJoqiEFPuP9VlDkxAKbcM4jq6h_81Slewv0BBH6T_YuryBckRpa5ykqiV637-xnmfEn07qO_d6BR8ei0qtpU95Q/s400/Pippa.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603094908844946866" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"> <i>As Craig and Smokey would say: "daaaammmnn!!"</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>When I hear the name Pippa, I'm reminded of someone English for sure, probably a happy lass with a dry sense of humor, big buggy eyes, dull blond hair and bad teeth...who hates Americans. Did I manage to cover the stereotypical description of every European? Let me know what I missed...if you're European don't get mad. I'm kiddng! What I"m trying to say is that I was totally expecting THIS ...</div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV3tD4bcxhvu2uJSvOjU4ShiuS3y1HEgDqTXHvsMRkG0Fi6VWdmdZhweLD-f7nV7i2ReGo_AYuxszspAENuHhCaZkZJdB_wHjqbjJzc2C_W28zzT2ZVt9Vj-6DH27flkS-pbIEJg/s1600/hat8-princess-beatrice-hat.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 277px; height: 343px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV3tD4bcxhvu2uJSvOjU4ShiuS3y1HEgDqTXHvsMRkG0Fi6VWdmdZhweLD-f7nV7i2ReGo_AYuxszspAENuHhCaZkZJdB_wHjqbjJzc2C_W28zzT2ZVt9Vj-6DH27flkS-pbIEJg/s400/hat8-princess-beatrice-hat.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603296192032953266" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>It doubles as a hat and a I.U.D!</i></div><div><br /></div><div>Never in my wildest dreams would I have ever imagined that someone named Pippa would be a curvy hot piece with an ass that wouldn't quit....</div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm_8lrfDOIk1kuIipeZtUX-s1CXkp4U8b-3NRwRxyk12uuTg_fS_4qBh0vUimGv6mvOvlly4ushuVLFv9K3DIxG7pVI15J0pr-GTM_Peu36GU0541PREb6S3ufYAP89cR_lmA-WQ/s1600/pippass.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 398px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm_8lrfDOIk1kuIipeZtUX-s1CXkp4U8b-3NRwRxyk12uuTg_fS_4qBh0vUimGv6mvOvlly4ushuVLFv9K3DIxG7pVI15J0pr-GTM_Peu36GU0541PREb6S3ufYAP89cR_lmA-WQ/s400/pippass.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603095293720445186" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Baggage in the Royal Carriage. Holla.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div>It's hard enough to believe that the bridesmaid dress didn't make me want to run over it with a car just to put it out of its misery, but then to also have a gorgeous bridesmaid inside the gorgeous dress? The Royal Wedding suddenly became the most magical of afternoons.</div><div><br /></div><div>A goddess Pippa is, smiling ever so sweetly as she led the flower girls and little nutcracker boys (is it Christmas?) inside the church. I'm sure prior to Pippa, the children were as cute as fresh baked cupcakes, but unfortunately, the glare from Pippa's fire of fine completely washed them out and we saw them for the true, blue blood inbred spawn that they really are:</div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg96YT8IZf0kvKddeiXz6NNDpbX4vcEj1J_f0nR70K3tuiyd-eWT2bV02q3OtrNhp91KlsruEEossM-kjD-Nj2ULxwcylmuuStLd8Ha4pNUx3x6PDxh5XYSZyG2LjYZdaQ37yNAmA/s1600/flowergirl.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 250px; height: 276px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg96YT8IZf0kvKddeiXz6NNDpbX4vcEj1J_f0nR70K3tuiyd-eWT2bV02q3OtrNhp91KlsruEEossM-kjD-Nj2ULxwcylmuuStLd8Ha4pNUx3x6PDxh5XYSZyG2LjYZdaQ37yNAmA/s400/flowergirl.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603095559600245026" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>quiet peasants!</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div>Smitten, I could barely focus on the actual wedding because who cares about Prince William and his ever appearing bald spot and Gary Busey chompers (seriously, did those grow in the last couple years? Wasn't Prince William all kinds of hot just two years ago? I don't remember his teeth looking like a row of luggage.) and while Kate looked elegant and every inch the Princess, I just wasn't the same after seeing the magic of Pippa.</div><div><br /></div><div>And thanks to the ridiculousness of Facebook, I can now fuel my newfound stalksession with Pippa by joining fan sites such as "<a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Pippa-Middleton-Rear-Of-The-Year-2011/182224848495285">Pippa Middleton: Rear Of The Yea</a>r," <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Pippa-Middleton-is-single-Prince-Harry-likes-this/104411532979749">Pippa Middleton is Single.. Prince Harry Likes This." </a>and<a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Pippas-arse-is-like-a-JK-Rowling-book-You-know-Harrys-going-to-be-in-it/200899929949289"> "Pippa's arse is like a J.K. Rowling Book, you know Harry's going to be in it."</a> It seems I can't get enough of the sweet delicate trifle that is Pippa Middleton. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBl-3Jx49WZi2SjygVrH7pYg7ZqLtaNicrJne3GM_h6Os90Ybz8NbxafdhAaJfm66SUJ5woHoWsyZHP-8xnAYBDxwYF3aM-BRuDPBU29C2581vF7cPh9bfbEkbzhYVzc3D8bP2zw/s1600/pippawow.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 249px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBl-3Jx49WZi2SjygVrH7pYg7ZqLtaNicrJne3GM_h6Os90Ybz8NbxafdhAaJfm66SUJ5woHoWsyZHP-8xnAYBDxwYF3aM-BRuDPBU29C2581vF7cPh9bfbEkbzhYVzc3D8bP2zw/s400/pippawow.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603098678634873458" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Lady in Waiting? Try Lady who's Got Everyone Salivatin.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div>Years from now, when people ask me about The Royal Wedding, I shall rudely interrupt them mid sentence and call the day for what it actually was, The Day of The Pippa. Then I would let a poop toot go and pretend I had a mud pie in my Depends because I would be old by then and too cranky to listen to their mindless banter about flying cars. Then I'd tell them to fetch the nurse on their way out and let her know I need baby wipes and my tattered but much loved picture of Pippa Middleton.</div><div><br /></div><div>Pippa 4 Eva....</div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDeP_1XXKxbIi2W42HdAEqNsckLDtuvUzy6DiT-agx-apZ8bR6bZ0K53H6nMehua7HbBQZCtiDOee5zQQjM0gApSVrVcjXzth0K8e8jRQ7Vd9t_-rBpeZncFJrFlB7zM2XP53JPA/s1600/mark-wahlberg-chest-carving.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 265px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDeP_1XXKxbIi2W42HdAEqNsckLDtuvUzy6DiT-agx-apZ8bR6bZ0K53H6nMehua7HbBQZCtiDOee5zQQjM0gApSVrVcjXzth0K8e8jRQ7Vd9t_-rBpeZncFJrFlB7zM2XP53JPA/s400/mark-wahlberg-chest-carving.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603097210052642098" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>LadyHAHAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05091191050470228928noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19427946.post-88752359257120897352011-04-22T20:24:00.000-07:002011-04-25T10:59:04.373-07:00Happy Easter, Now Don't Be A Twat.....When you meet me, there are a couple things that you can count on.....<br /><br />A. I'm almost never taking you seriously.<br />B. I can be bribed into anything with the promise of ice cream.<br />C. I NEVER talk about religion, specifically MY religion.<br /><br />Easter is one of those holidays that I barely celebrate. I celebrate it in the form of getting my daughter a basketful of novelty toys and a sugar rush shaped like a bunny and wrapped in foil. However, we don't celebrate in the religious sense. The one thing I don't like about the holiday is that, oddly enough, it's the time of year that my religion (or lack thereof) gets questioned and brought to the forefront, more so than Christmas. (Even if I'm there, shoulder to shoulder with them at Wal-Greens, getting edible grass to fill my Easter basket.)<br /><br />So when I tell someone religious that I believe in God but I don't believe in religion, it requires more explanation and more talk of religion. Ugh.<br /><br />The best way I can explain my thoughts is to picture God as a giant, beautiful painting. Religion would be like looking at this beautiful painting so closely, that all you can see is the harsh colors, straight lines and hard edges, nothing is very clear and you're blind to what the painting actually is. I personally believe that all religions are just looking at different pieces of the same painting a little too closely.<br /><br />And if my explanation isn't enough; here it is visually, with the help of Paint.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6q522eAs9DjdLGQG7OGcGPUWaRfcw0fQpCN0BsRXkyaIG8K_i377NXIHvNiNsWo26SepFw2ak_jhLmfk9xjDCFbqszl16l90hQcxPuMqQEFsrHE_JP8O1KvGTntLW1gqbVzx2OQ/s1600/god-loves-you.gif"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 357px; height: 437px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6q522eAs9DjdLGQG7OGcGPUWaRfcw0fQpCN0BsRXkyaIG8K_i377NXIHvNiNsWo26SepFw2ak_jhLmfk9xjDCFbqszl16l90hQcxPuMqQEFsrHE_JP8O1KvGTntLW1gqbVzx2OQ/s400/god-loves-you.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599375687735682962" border="0" /></a><br />As you can see, each lifelike stick figure (thank you) represents a religion looking way too closely at things and arguing about what they see - when really all they see is the same damn thing. They just need to back it up a notch. I guess if I did have to pick a religion, you can probably tell from that picture I'm more of a Buddhist than anything else.<br /><br />So can we stop talking about it now and move on to more important things like WTF MCDONALDS!? Can you believe the citizens in the good ol' U.S. of A. have gone without knowing the sweet delight of a Cadbury McFlurry as Canada (yes Canada, I forgot they were up there too..except for<a href="http://twoscoopz.com/"> J, </a>who was the one that made me aware of the existence of the Cadbury McFlurry. Show off.) Canada, of all places, lives it up, Cadbury ice cream style, at every local McDonalds??? That has to be some kind of sin or at least a misdemeanor of some sort. I don't know what it is exactly but it's something not good and it needs to be stopped. That I know for sure.LadyHAHAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05091191050470228928noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19427946.post-43269802316184225882011-04-15T20:49:00.000-07:002011-04-16T06:34:48.135-07:00HOPE on a rope. HOPE on a stick. HOPE with gravy. The more I talk the more things lead back to the subject of food.<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtOadtiRnHrat8_fCFpwIBpt0slth5gJNv5hWYSUoMUGEiMaOKBxIaR-XtiN62Vr8pabQ673SpGF5hwEjEmmkd02nk_Pu9I5l3rfHrk_n8yQoapnLEbLzl9AvMikLDBxDc8WbxXw/s1600/hope.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 243px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtOadtiRnHrat8_fCFpwIBpt0slth5gJNv5hWYSUoMUGEiMaOKBxIaR-XtiN62Vr8pabQ673SpGF5hwEjEmmkd02nk_Pu9I5l3rfHrk_n8yQoapnLEbLzl9AvMikLDBxDc8WbxXw/s400/hope.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5596041195756209394" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-style: italic;">WARNING. The following post will make this much sense</span>.<br /><br /></div>I'll be honest, this week's word (HOPE) had me groaning. (sorry Jan) That's a pretty hard word to squeeze a decent penis joke out of, even for me. The word hope conjures up images of cherub like children gazing at sun rays and butterflies. Hope IS NOT a college party with guys tea bagging each other. And if you know me but at all, if I had to pick which situation to blow up into a picture and wallpaper my bathroom wall with, it's team teabag all day long. (a tea bag theme bathroom. Oh the possibilities! Tea bagging toilet paper! Tea bagging air freshner, tea bagging toilet seat cover...).<br /><br />So hope, let's see hope......um, hope is a middle name not a first name. Hope sounds like a happy balloon... but whenever I think of balloon, I think of people who get caught at the Mexican border with balloons of cocaine stuck up their colon hole. Seriously. If you say balloon, a thought bubble pops up in my head that says, "....up your ass, full of cocaine" in comic sans font. That's just the type of person I am to the very core.<br /><br />I know, my children are blessed.<br /><br />This Focus52 weekly challenge is a lot more difficult than I had HOPED it would be. I HOPE that I can write up a decent post but I can see right now that it's a losing battle. You know who's a famous HOPE? Bob Hope. Can you believe he's partly made most his living telling you to cut off your pet's baby makin' junk? (Did I just squeeze a genitals joke out of HOPE?? Oh I hope I did!!) And yet behind the scenes, Bob Hope humped the Barker Beauties.... shit. You know what I did? I just confused Bob Hope with Bob Barker... ...oooh awkward! Which one's dead? Like it matters.. anyways, let's jump off this thought train shall we? Hold my hand ..1...2...3... GO!<br /><br />Phew. I HOPE you're okay.<br /><br />Hmm, isn't it funny how a word starts to look all weird and misspelled the more you say/see it? That happened to me 10 years ago with the word DIARY. I don't know why the fuck I was looking at the word dairy for so long but it warped on me and it's never been the same since. It still looks weird to me now. It's almost like I shared a unintentional drunken grope with diary and now I don't see her as 'just my friend.' I don't know why diary would be a 'she' but if it was a 'he', he most certainly would have flat ironed hair, black fingernails and describes his outlook on life as 'brooding.'<br /><br />A baby reaching into their own diaper, grabbing handfuls of poo and painting the walls with it is sort of like what I'm doing with the word Hope right now. I HOPE you know that the baby shit smearing story is a true story and is a worthy chapter in my husband's life.<br /><br />If you've reached the end of this post and you're still not completely annoyed by me, I will reward you at the finish line with a random, money saving DIY TIP:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">HOMEMADE BABY WIPES: </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">(because even if you don't have a baby, baby wipes is a cool and refreshing shower for your leather cheerio. Sometimes, when one gets too busy for hygiene, baby wipes is a cool and refreshing shower, period. )</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">1 roll of soft, absorbent paper towels</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">1 tall container with tight-fitting lid</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">2 tbsp. of baby oil</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">2 tbsp. of liquid baby bath soap</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">2 cups of water.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Cut the roll of paper towels in a half with a serrated knife, and remove the cardboard tube. Place half the roll, on end, in the plastic container. Mix the liquid ingredients, pour the mix into the container, and close the lid. The towels will absorb the liquid. Pull the wipes up from the center of the roll as needed.</span><br /><br />THERE! Now you can't say you didn't get anything from this shit smear of a post!<br /><br />So until we meet again, I really HOPE (the cherub children kind, not the teabagging kind) that you have a wonderful day.LadyHAHAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05091191050470228928noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19427946.post-48292968529537459912011-04-10T20:41:00.000-07:002011-04-11T14:38:17.595-07:00I Eat My Peeps Head First.I'm going to go ahead and do the obvious for this week's Focus52 word: YELLOW which, to me, equals SPRING, which then equals, of course, the reemergence of Peeps into our lives!<br /><br />Seasonal candy is awesome in every which way. Not only does it remind you of the upcoming celebration to be had but rewards you with sweets that you haven't seen in a year. It's like meeting up with an old friend, giving them a hug and biting their chewy, sugary yellow head right off. Well, at least that's what it feels like when I see my old friend, Peeps.<br /><br />The simplest of candies; a marshmallow shaped like a chick (or a bunny), covered in colored sugar (yellow is best) is irresistible as it stares at you lovingly from the candy aisle, begging you to pick up a pack or two and eat them. They satisfy a rare feeling that no one really acts on (hopefully), the feeling of seeing something 'so cute you wanna eat em.' It's a feeling you get for babies and puppies that can't be expressed literally unless you want to go to the jail or the psych ward.<br /><br />However, with a Peep, quite possibly one of the cutest candies that was ever made (second only the comically shaped, alarmingly orange, Circus Peanut) - no one would look twice if one minute you were smiling sweetly at a Peep, overwhelmed by its adorableness, and the next minute you've decapitated said Peep, munching on its delicious head. They would do it themselves if they were lucky enough to have a pack. Because what else can you do with a Peep but eat it right up?<br /><br />Well, thanks to the magic of the internet, I found that you can do a lot with a Peep!<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGGh64vAVzpHMjH4L7L_uEt-qWS_E7JwGIVqcpPihSDSr8qK5t0vVddwjq_T8Xqns2-E-Byw59rpie13cYNezJjV4gBTbnRZOLNafhY6Bza4D1W3CFFuhiwmbW0swj_uK_K2vuzQ/s1600/peeps3.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGGh64vAVzpHMjH4L7L_uEt-qWS_E7JwGIVqcpPihSDSr8qK5t0vVddwjq_T8Xqns2-E-Byw59rpie13cYNezJjV4gBTbnRZOLNafhY6Bza4D1W3CFFuhiwmbW0swj_uK_K2vuzQ/s320/peeps3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5594172405497925554" border="0" /></a>PEEP PIE!<br /><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYISSN9MmI12SGVFqNddp59Jzgz4NX2pEMmxC4cMDaR8lvEcxpABZ2icJ6NI2u-ETtbM2FUwPS75b4NV8ICCvaG3Ei5FFXgW1POrBzjaF7NC7D8Dabcl7faUlJAEWH8_S8-bEePw/s1600/peepshi.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYISSN9MmI12SGVFqNddp59Jzgz4NX2pEMmxC4cMDaR8lvEcxpABZ2icJ6NI2u-ETtbM2FUwPS75b4NV8ICCvaG3Ei5FFXgW1POrBzjaF7NC7D8Dabcl7faUlJAEWH8_S8-bEePw/s320/peepshi.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5594172548509619474" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">SUSHI PEEPS (wrapped in rice krispie treat and fruit roll-ups. Brilliant!)<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOfVF6u_fAkU3PemYOfVcDyngtnWmx9d43s3pmXG7i8hNIto6OvKQMkQIw_lL9EVlG2X7YsWuVAvO5qBuwu0BdQzUfcv_cn73Spdst7N8yVio9yqn2xTgEWDU9gve8rXODrcuZTQ/s1600/Sunflower+peeps+cake.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOfVF6u_fAkU3PemYOfVcDyngtnWmx9d43s3pmXG7i8hNIto6OvKQMkQIw_lL9EVlG2X7YsWuVAvO5qBuwu0BdQzUfcv_cn73Spdst7N8yVio9yqn2xTgEWDU9gve8rXODrcuZTQ/s320/Sunflower+peeps+cake.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5594172690154379234" border="0" /></a>PEEP SUNFLOWER CAKE!<br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDK15YXdkQBdKEAye2gYWX6Ns53_qpsK8C4-p25mJ_JoD_65MJ8hypT6Cuo7sXwRDVrKr6d9c-B1s5wG_0jTW5zKV5e68yy7UfDqx5iOYmmt-AlljmTzkHN0q8aHVc39OUK0MT1w/s1600/peepkabob.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDK15YXdkQBdKEAye2gYWX6Ns53_qpsK8C4-p25mJ_JoD_65MJ8hypT6Cuo7sXwRDVrKr6d9c-B1s5wG_0jTW5zKV5e68yy7UfDqx5iOYmmt-AlljmTzkHN0q8aHVc39OUK0MT1w/s320/peepkabob.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5594437561645643474" border="0" /></a>PEEP KABOBS!<br /><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWlGBSzcafv9IPi_hlFOvOL1ujNb1s_XJuUB50hHcJgHk5VVFjWnnaXL94VBCzh4vJHVJC5tiU5T-kINIwNq9qSHpARfGmphZfS7QYtJMR-pkYZ3ByPGt0SMecAiehDLIzdiEufQ/s1600/peepfondue.PNG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 280px; height: 211px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWlGBSzcafv9IPi_hlFOvOL1ujNb1s_XJuUB50hHcJgHk5VVFjWnnaXL94VBCzh4vJHVJC5tiU5T-kINIwNq9qSHpARfGmphZfS7QYtJMR-pkYZ3ByPGt0SMecAiehDLIzdiEufQ/s320/peepfondue.PNG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5594437736966547154" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">PEEP FONDUE!<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Unfortunately, this year, I will have to limit myself to just two Peeps. Yes, I know the other three Peeps in the package will be left feeling abandoned but unfortunately, I have to turn my back on them. I've eaten too many of their family members for the last few years and I can probably credit half of my wobbly ass cheek to the over consumption of Peeps. But please, I beg of you, please eat extra Peeps for me this year. After all, a Peep's goal in life is to be eaten and enjoyed, not to be left stranded in a half empty box. I hate to think what becomes of left over Peeps after Easter......<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisRAjiitUJ48G9Ipws7qPnnVa0ujMWtn9N-C-XPrCmX9kmrngp9Vgml71EADLxYmx7iwPLQcn8ekeeg_TXgsseGE3ffgvNB5jt6MsQBIXDd3pOEGeKbpNZ4e1O6YwM5ix4zTNgsQ/s1600/sadpeeps.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 238px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisRAjiitUJ48G9Ipws7qPnnVa0ujMWtn9N-C-XPrCmX9kmrngp9Vgml71EADLxYmx7iwPLQcn8ekeeg_TXgsseGE3ffgvNB5jt6MsQBIXDd3pOEGeKbpNZ4e1O6YwM5ix4zTNgsQ/s320/sadpeeps.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5594441855487739986" border="0" /></a><br /></div></div>LadyHAHAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05091191050470228928noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19427946.post-22299669462224589342011-04-04T10:21:00.001-07:002011-04-05T21:25:41.490-07:00Silly is How I Forgot I Had To Write A Post About Silly.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj07oQJZJABGqllZe9q3rx-YA7-OSwZIR_AO2ZG3ZiS7Mj4v0PEWq0Kn7rqxoWw9rQuJQFUBnj3Mlof6iiagwbza4Z1eet1AhxyWRel80HY8Vn_-cxIT-Ty5HgJsEPJkpbKoy3LEw/s1600/silly_hans.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 237px; height: 360px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj07oQJZJABGqllZe9q3rx-YA7-OSwZIR_AO2ZG3ZiS7Mj4v0PEWq0Kn7rqxoWw9rQuJQFUBnj3Mlof6iiagwbza4Z1eet1AhxyWRel80HY8Vn_-cxIT-Ty5HgJsEPJkpbKoy3LEw/s400/silly_hans.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592320527858412514" border="0" /></a><br />SILLY IS ..... this article that gave a list of foods that would suppress your appetite. Eating stuff like apples, nuts, leafy greens, pickles .... I realize these are all things to fill up my stomach so I don't feel hungry. But being 'hungry' is not really the problem. The problem is that even when I'm full, there's ALWAYS room at the inn for a Teriyaki burger and a kit kat. That's the real problem and the only solution is to magically make a bowl of salad taste like a bowl of rocky road ice cream. So please, take that sad little apple you're telling me to eat, slice it up, put some caramelized sugar and cinnamon on top of it, tuck it all in a warm bed of crust and watch me eat it in three bites. Oink.<br /><br />SILLY IS... diet tips from someone whose ass is as big as mine. I always make sure to take copious notes so I can look back on it later and remind myself what NOT to do.<br /><br />SILLY IS... Britney Spears. I know. I can't help it. I'm totally amazed by her popularity. I mean REALLY? Are we really getting excited about an album that she has not ONE song writing credit? And it's not like she was busy brushing up on her dancing skills as was clearly demonstrated by her <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IkAI6MHtJCc">'performance' </a>on Good Morning America. I have a theory that a real life 'Weekend at Bernie's' is happening here. Crazy bald headed Britney slipped on her own puddle of Vicodin induced sweat years ago and broke her neck on the sidewalk. Since then, old voice audio has been auto tuned and spliced together to create new songs then her body is propped and prodded onstage to thousands of delusional fans. Those record producers are clever folk.<br /><br />SILLY IS... the loss of my balls. I used to love watching horror movies and scaring myself but nowadays, I can barely watch a trailer for a scary movie without looking away or putting my hands over my eyes like an ass wad. I really want to watch Paranormal Activity but like I said, I'm waiting for my balls to drop.<br /><br />SILLY IS... what my daughter calls her vagina. She calls it her 'Pinkers' and I die laughing EVERY. TIME.<br /><br />SILLY IS... how I'm completely and totally obsessed with my phone. I'm constantly fingering it. I'm always taking off and adding on apps, I read books on it, watch t.v., use it as a flashlight, use it as a GPS, communicate with it, use the internet, play games, listen to music, Skype on it, if it came with an attachment, I'm pretty sure it'd be my vibrator too.<br /><br />SILLY IS...how old my wardrobe is. When you find a shirt with no holes and call it a 'going out' shirt, I think it's time to schedule a trip to the mall don't you?<br /><br />SILLY IS ... <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kcQ9F11Q4rU">The Regular Show. </a>I can't get enough of it.<br /><br />SILLY IS... how L and L this post is. (Late and Lame.) Sorry folks, I am fresh out of clever patties this week. Let's try again next week shall we?LadyHAHAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05091191050470228928noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19427946.post-7584239059237820992011-03-26T20:49:00.000-07:002011-03-28T09:40:30.822-07:00The View From UP Here.... makes me feel like I'm 5 FEET TALL!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9XqnTW1zPX5vhDRgvH_AyqmicYesNTfaCLvfwSOssWTCVQw8B8z3gtG-VwOE4nTFCL4FEZpQqqamnXLQc4eSJqaFtiXn1tbeShFLAlPyePrQfHoV9wsmR1SU6qJigBGKHuRDmoQ/s1600/cart.jpg"><br /></a>Have I told you I'm 4'8? I'm sure I have, but just in case you didn't know. I'm 4'8. I have small Filipino parents who then made extra small me. I'm the winner of the short girl Olympics or at least I'm definitely on the podium stand during the awards ceremony. Even if you've never seen me dear reader, you would know better than to let me drive something like this:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrPMccyBOz14Tb4pFeeJsyB7fCISNskDwn4P849nOmeGLSbDDLwnlttHtTBdUkoZ7O91AWTx1AAaxiLnw_N74mR1C8l84AwHr4lZhPNKIcUNVIkHNfjhLdWupZ2wSr5ffszTD71w/s1600/0_IMAGE_024.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrPMccyBOz14Tb4pFeeJsyB7fCISNskDwn4P849nOmeGLSbDDLwnlttHtTBdUkoZ7O91AWTx1AAaxiLnw_N74mR1C8l84AwHr4lZhPNKIcUNVIkHNfjhLdWupZ2wSr5ffszTD71w/s400/0_IMAGE_024.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588607737535814994" border="0" /></a><br />Really, you would only need to see my stats on paper and a picture of this truck and be like 'oh no, that fourth grader is NOT driving that vehicle.' But clearly someone has to tell my husband because he is under the delusion that I'm a statuesque supermodel. (well let's just tell him I'm short, we don't want to ruin the supermodel glasses he has on.)<br /><br />A couple months ago, I turned into a restaurant and curbed our truck, which I do often because what the hey, that's the joy of having a lifted truck right? Jumping the curb and running over cats! Good times! It wouldn't have been a big deal had there not been a short metal pole sticking out of the curb that rammed right into the tire, denting the wheel and causing me to get a flat. If you asked me how I could have made such an error I would have blamed my two stereotypes (Asian. Woman driver) before I blame the fact that I'm the size of a tall toddler and the blind sides on this truck is massive to me. In fact, when you're disturbingly petite such as I, there's even blind sides when driving a grocery cart:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9XqnTW1zPX5vhDRgvH_AyqmicYesNTfaCLvfwSOssWTCVQw8B8z3gtG-VwOE4nTFCL4FEZpQqqamnXLQc4eSJqaFtiXn1tbeShFLAlPyePrQfHoV9wsmR1SU6qJigBGKHuRDmoQ/s1600/cart.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9XqnTW1zPX5vhDRgvH_AyqmicYesNTfaCLvfwSOssWTCVQw8B8z3gtG-VwOE4nTFCL4FEZpQqqamnXLQc4eSJqaFtiXn1tbeShFLAlPyePrQfHoV9wsmR1SU6qJigBGKHuRDmoQ/s400/cart.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588766705778460146" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">My view from the grocery cart when the car seat is on it. "Dear<br />shoppers, please watch out for the midget pushing a cart blindly on aisle 6."<br /></span></div><br />Quite frankly, as large as our truck is, I'm surprised I haven't ran into more short stumpy poles.<br /><br />But enough about my ex-boyfriend's junk..... (ba dum dum).<br /><br />The tire was jacked and since the rest of the tires were worn out anyways, we decided to go ahead and replace all four. And replace them my husband did.... ..with even BIGGER tires and wheels! ("They were on sale honey!") Sigh. The step sides have been raised almost to my chest so that I have to basically do the lateral splits to even get into damn thing. There are absolutely no skirts in my future if I'm riding in that truck unless I want to advertise the kitty kat to the neighbors or have my husband physically lift me into the car, which is an idea I'm mulling around in my head at this very moment. He owes me a couple of favors after his giant (bargain!) wheels.<br /><br />I don't even want to tell you how I get my daughter's car seat in there because one day, someone will videotape me at a random Target parking lot doing a squat, pull and military press to get the baby seat inside. Then you can see it for yourself on Youtube because it's definitely not something to be written about as much as it is something to behold.<br /><br />The practical side of me is making list after list at all the problems the bigger tires are going to throw at me; HOWEVER, the Napoleon complex side had about five mini orgasms just climbing into the front seat. When my view of the world is usually at armpit level, the view of sedan tops from the driver's seat of this truck is pretty awesome (that is if I ignore the fear stricken faces of the people INSIDE the sedans.) And really, after I get in, the adjustable pedals (they move UP to meet my tiny feet) and the very adjustable seat (which moves up, down, front, back, tilts and tap dances) makes it easier to drive than you would think.<br /><br />The good news is I'm getting another car in the near future that will not require me to don mountain climbing equipment just to get in it. Meanwhile, if you happen to see a black lifted truck appearing to be driven by no one, look closer and you'll probably see me drunk with monster truck power behind the wheel.<br /><br />Just make sure you step away from the curb and hide your cats.LadyHAHAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05091191050470228928noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19427946.post-44045075862699518992011-03-19T20:52:00.001-07:002011-03-20T08:42:43.586-07:00The Secret World of Good Green and Bad Green<b>Green</b> is a color, the perception of which is evoked by light having a spectrum dominated by energy with a wavelength of roughly 520–570 nanometres (I'm going to assume that in the color world, Green is really well hung!) The word green can be used to describe the color of plants or can be used as an expression or slang. But little is known or can be found about the battle of the good and bad greens.<br /><br />The quiet war between good greens and bad greens has gone on since Adam picked his first booger. When greens are little babies, they are forced to choose between being a good green or a bad green. The ongoing green war between being fresh and clean or rotted and vile still goes on in front of us everyday. Let me introduce you to the main players of both armies.<br /><br />GOOD GREEN: Corporal Key Lime Pie.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Ub56XTUM9DyvTtX0xWfvA4b-lfit2hoFPLqHKzG3ZrhaAAlG6OozZ9z1-HAukij7Zh9AppCcpaxAHz82rR1s_kxLWerGLOUO6J6Oe13hqKlKBhZuBYDFbR5Km5EvbmxRFzJKzg/s1600/keylime.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 249px; height: 197px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Ub56XTUM9DyvTtX0xWfvA4b-lfit2hoFPLqHKzG3ZrhaAAlG6OozZ9z1-HAukij7Zh9AppCcpaxAHz82rR1s_kxLWerGLOUO6J6Oe13hqKlKBhZuBYDFbR5Km5EvbmxRFzJKzg/s320/keylime.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586024605696833474" border="0" /></a><br />Made from the most honorable of greens (a lime), this good green has been known to satisfy millions of tastes buds. The impressive combination of sweet and sour with the light and airy texture is enough to make you sit back with each bite to savor the flavor harmony humping your mouth. Key Lime is a green of high stature and quality that can turn your tongue into its groupie.<br /><br />BAD GREEN: Head Commander Green Meat.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY2uCsQRacl67W8ihACmeZoltv_kQOWxsNx1miuIqMT1jZGJaBaZRFBZ4qBkkZvSiQijyH9UC5toMFmYIM3V4_NLrmWXKjQ8KDNCXuC9jTOcl85DQkV5AEXC_Ss3pOGKRzJJ-YVA/s1600/greenmeat.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 208px; height: 155px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY2uCsQRacl67W8ihACmeZoltv_kQOWxsNx1miuIqMT1jZGJaBaZRFBZ4qBkkZvSiQijyH9UC5toMFmYIM3V4_NLrmWXKjQ8KDNCXuC9jTOcl85DQkV5AEXC_Ss3pOGKRzJJ-YVA/s320/greenmeat.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586024888740756658" border="0" /></a><br />A truly disgusting specimen that not only attacks you visually, but in most cases, it also attacks right up through your smellin' holes. It zips by your nose hair as though they weren't there and kicks your gag reflexes right in the balls. Stay classy green meat.<br /><br />GOOD GREEN: Super Warlock Cannabis.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8fClsZVY50J3AnucZgvi5iYcqCH0y16zfmBB1nWlBH3s4AzVF2ZaF-kDcKqK2hr-bBZgClFHzGKQtEf6XdezipnDjQEc6ofXjBN6FL91y7rCVn4be_5Z1SWTEsDtG2rZtG_eyTw/s1600/marijuana11.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 232px; height: 201px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8fClsZVY50J3AnucZgvi5iYcqCH0y16zfmBB1nWlBH3s4AzVF2ZaF-kDcKqK2hr-bBZgClFHzGKQtEf6XdezipnDjQEc6ofXjBN6FL91y7rCVn4be_5Z1SWTEsDtG2rZtG_eyTw/s320/marijuana11.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586025173915375810" border="0" /></a><br />Misjudged by many and secretly loved by almost everyone (AFTER they meet him.) This green is stoic, calm, peace loving and has been known to bestow its joy to everyone he encounters. Cannabis loves up everyone's Autonomic Nervous System, making it feel special and pretty. That in turn, expands the individual's breath, relaxes their body and oxygenates their blood, leaving them to feel cleansed, happy and peaceful. Unfortunately, there has been an old rumor following the Cannabis family for years that they are a green of the bad variety. This vile untruth has limited Super Warlock Cannabis to doing their magic with only a handful of people. (And by the way, Super Warlock Cannabis and Corporal Key Lime Pie totally hooked up.Oooh! Gossip!! We're bad!)<br /><br />BAD GREEN: High Wizard Bile.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDsHrK7iaS5-oc1fxPoULJcksqKTyPk5rITa8gOTYH5M5_M_0eH9toSKcVGMwx00NETPLMjC4oYSjMdAHVVzrRYLPaaPbagogv9UvUuhBENEnPHnXEnpaQRI6rapll9PrOlFyGQQ/s1600/greenbile.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 194px; height: 254px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDsHrK7iaS5-oc1fxPoULJcksqKTyPk5rITa8gOTYH5M5_M_0eH9toSKcVGMwx00NETPLMjC4oYSjMdAHVVzrRYLPaaPbagogv9UvUuhBENEnPHnXEnpaQRI6rapll9PrOlFyGQQ/s320/greenbile.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586025456521530674" border="0" /></a><br />Ill mannered and bad tempered, this seemingly harmless liquid can pack quite a disgusting punch. A lazy son of a bitch that's usually quiet and does its job, it takes great pleasure having a night out right when you feel like it's time to turn in. After you've puked the entire contents of a liquor store out your mouth and all you want is a cold glass of water to wash the alcohol, rotting food flavor it left, bile comes in at the very end to kick you while you're down. It comes alone, with no other flavors to mask it's bitterness. Bile is a strong, bad green force that can take down the strongest of men just by showing up.<br /><br />GOOD GREEN: Master General Green Hills of Ireland.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcwcQeQENdf65IhU4mUiZnLJlIoP1MawKaqXUHN1i9Uk6_hbPQkksauaYCXZXsu4FX0a3cnSXWEVIbrVqaj7fJPyE43H5Grqrerokf5aZ3CasEmwzvewcTY9APw1mttTOVzxxjAA/s1600/greenireland.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 254px; height: 190px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcwcQeQENdf65IhU4mUiZnLJlIoP1MawKaqXUHN1i9Uk6_hbPQkksauaYCXZXsu4FX0a3cnSXWEVIbrVqaj7fJPyE43H5Grqrerokf5aZ3CasEmwzvewcTY9APw1mttTOVzxxjAA/s320/greenireland.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586025681410867890" border="0" /></a><br />Majestic and impressive, the Green Hills of Ireland are so exquisite that a whole country mainly represents itself to the color green because of it's grandeur. Simply put, these hills are alive with the sounds and feelings of awesome. A beauty so powerful, you clutch your pearls in disbelief.<br /><br />BAD GREEN: Ninja Sensei Money.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrBRij0l-WgXYAgNxYl4a4LXxopLgesewDYq7ONKSRfws5dlbTERAM8OIQimYtVFuGn9OmXzk6aXSFEXHag6bIAfLMmiv-L4IrbZipZ1iIlJ7TuPQFOeGuZmxFLZ75gRnhoOl4NA/s1600/money-evil.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 137px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrBRij0l-WgXYAgNxYl4a4LXxopLgesewDYq7ONKSRfws5dlbTERAM8OIQimYtVFuGn9OmXzk6aXSFEXHag6bIAfLMmiv-L4IrbZipZ1iIlJ7TuPQFOeGuZmxFLZ75gRnhoOl4NA/s320/money-evil.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586026364604145650" border="0" /></a><br />The most suave of all the bad greens, a master of disguise. Everyone has met him and everyone knows that, despite how many doors he can open and how many things he can purchase, he has the power to ruin lives, cause wars, envy and hate among people who aren't aware or choose not to be aware of his skills. He is used for both good and bad, but in the end, this is the kindling of choice to feed the fire of evil.<br /><br />So there you have it, the green front lines. Imaginary non-informational nonsense brought on by fatigue, hunger and being slightly constipated. Reading this post was a lot like being front row to a <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tbKayY6eD9k">Gallagher </a>show isn't it? It seems like it should be enjoyable and hey, everyone's laughing so something's funny right? However, in the end, you walk away with sticky hair, a couple of watermelon seeds up your nose and the feeling of being slightly ripped off.LadyHAHAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05091191050470228928noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19427946.post-37269519380899564142011-03-12T21:09:00.001-08:002011-03-14T05:31:00.057-07:00And The Next Contestant For America's Biggest Loser Is.....I don't know if you know this. But I love food. How I'm not a 500 pound ball with arms and legs is really beyond me because I love love, if it was a person I'd give it oral, LOVE FOOD. Specifically, JUNK FOOD. If there is something fried, glazed, chocolate covered, made of ice and cream, OR all of the above thrown into a big bowl, I am DOWN for that party.<br /><br />Someone asked me the other day what junk food I would choose if it was the only junk food I could eat for the rest of my life.<br /><br />I jumped back as if a gooey snot had just been spat my way, disgusted at thought of actually having to CHOOSE just one because what is the beauty of junk food if not for its <span style="font-style: italic;">VARIETY </span>(DING! thas' the <a href="http://twoscoopz.com/">Focus52</a> prompt. Say hello.) I can't imagine eating birthday cake ice cream for all of my days and never making out with a Reeses' peanut butter cup. And how can I make out with a Reeses' peanut butter cup if I can't shove a chili burger the size of my face into ...my face?!?! There's no answer that's a win/win - eating one delicious treat and not partaking in another is a creative kind of hell that I don't ever want to realize. <br /><br />HOWEVER, if I could have a different junk food flown into the island every other week (why I wouldn't hop on that plane and just get off the island is a flaw in the plot that we're not going to focus on right now.) Here's my Top Five MUST.GET junk food list list (in no particular order because it was hard enough narrowing it down to five, picking a favorite over the other would be like Sophie's Choice!) <br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPc7LN_wvYa_2GKdtsW8DBaAmL-c0S00CJ2dB6VkF6VrzLjrPjDEM70eepUdB78lWK-VLiw8Nc4-Sr6oFMg_gkNwA3zed7hS3pk5Qbcx8ITu4cjExnz_IWV2aBK-QHJFU6MRqQTg/s1600/chocomalted.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 264px; height: 198px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPc7LN_wvYa_2GKdtsW8DBaAmL-c0S00CJ2dB6VkF6VrzLjrPjDEM70eepUdB78lWK-VLiw8Nc4-Sr6oFMg_gkNwA3zed7hS3pk5Qbcx8ITu4cjExnz_IWV2aBK-QHJFU6MRqQTg/s320/chocomalted.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583781673963223794" border="0" /></a>1. Chocolate Malted Crunch Ice Cream.<br />The first time my love affair began with chocolate malted ice cream was when I was nine years old. My mom bought me a cone from Thrifty's (which was like Wal-Green's grandpa). I believe chocolate malted crunch ice cream was one of my last choices because I had tasted everything else and the color was an unimpressive beige-ish, which was probably why I chose it last. But I became chocolate malted crunch's bitch after the first lick and pretty soon, that was the only flavor I ever ordered. The chocolate malt is sweet foreplay and the vanilla crunch balls are the final thrust taking you to ice cream ecstasy. Simply put, it is sex on a cone.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCaMHlwP5Q4TirI8Opm_rr4gKY_yq10jCGor9gUF4dawdzI-Sg7mAuCkq5XRuztxQTnqwfqlFzBEjPhDz4hpPZ5hHBWkzYlgVn4V2SxlbPIeGOcmRPbJDsWCSrelpzu2ekqg8HXA/s1600/reeses.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 255px; height: 170px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCaMHlwP5Q4TirI8Opm_rr4gKY_yq10jCGor9gUF4dawdzI-Sg7mAuCkq5XRuztxQTnqwfqlFzBEjPhDz4hpPZ5hHBWkzYlgVn4V2SxlbPIeGOcmRPbJDsWCSrelpzu2ekqg8HXA/s320/reeses.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583782282919980242" border="0" /></a>2.Reeses Peanut Butter cups.<br />The person that invented this has been given the key to every city right? Tell me they won a Nobel Prize or at least got Knighted and made the emperor of some island. Because whoever invented these deserves all that and a few hand jobs from Gisele Bunchamunch AND Tom Brady. Peanut butter, chocolate shaped into a cup = Genius.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinAebY9ZyBK4rb1zGXKvCyXd_7mFJiwSWYifJlLqXwjhmbKWMOsHXvE4UEAp3Q4ikrbEpGtGdQz90PJ8gyRpBeGa1GZtT0glJE3HzfVMPMYrAZqupWjiXocHPi6Nj9hlRaNg8OQA/s1600/slimjim.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 248px; height: 187px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinAebY9ZyBK4rb1zGXKvCyXd_7mFJiwSWYifJlLqXwjhmbKWMOsHXvE4UEAp3Q4ikrbEpGtGdQz90PJ8gyRpBeGa1GZtT0glJE3HzfVMPMYrAZqupWjiXocHPi6Nj9hlRaNg8OQA/s320/slimjim.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583782428253304002" border="0" /></a>3. Slim Jims.<br />On paper, random meat products swept from the floor of the slaughter house, spices and a injection of fat rolled into a stick most definitely doesn't sound like a great snack but alas, it is. Whenever I chew on a Slim Jim I am as disgusted with myself as I am at that weird greasy film that squeezes out whenever you take a bite out of it. But I can't help it. It's a salty, spicy, fake meaty goodness that's just perfection, attacking every one of your taste buds with awesomeness. It's convenient and the most delicious questionable food item I've ever tasted.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvc-E9YwmpG0revSn39kHl4W3VYYgLEcPcB10YMAyJYJQsp6gH0VwG75QcC1KNNCutv0Bc1-XNvyshLWBBpaDrxWrFmZaG4igPo7JfCo6ZpKMn2YjxcIiia5rz8Cmbhlh36zFK1Q/s1600/fried.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 262px; height: 209px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvc-E9YwmpG0revSn39kHl4W3VYYgLEcPcB10YMAyJYJQsp6gH0VwG75QcC1KNNCutv0Bc1-XNvyshLWBBpaDrxWrFmZaG4igPo7JfCo6ZpKMn2YjxcIiia5rz8Cmbhlh36zFK1Q/s320/fried.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583782647679801026" border="0" /></a>4. Fried ANYTHING.<br />If you batter it and fry it, chances are, it's going in my face. I'm not a big fan of vegetables but if someone figured out a way to fry spinach, I'd be the first in line to dip that bad boy into some blue cheese. Fish, chicken, meat, squid, shrimp, ice cream, potatoes, carrots, or your mom; if it's fried and greasy, I'll probably be the first one there with a plate and a bib.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5iHR-hKdda7hnM-LxPabBXhVMxn1YMugunEmf9-ulufJiL13-ThEkZkniKJ7AOsljiug9sCZQIL69K-JdN0xSSGPd_FUYS1YlUb441Rfhpy3sZYk8cXCQli9uoznH0UT4TOePig/s1600/saltvineger.gif"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 169px; height: 235px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5iHR-hKdda7hnM-LxPabBXhVMxn1YMugunEmf9-ulufJiL13-ThEkZkniKJ7AOsljiug9sCZQIL69K-JdN0xSSGPd_FUYS1YlUb441Rfhpy3sZYk8cXCQli9uoznH0UT4TOePig/s320/saltvineger.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583782801343969234" border="0" /></a>5. Salt and Vinegar potato chips.<br />Its crispy, it's salty and it smells and tastes like fermented feet. GIMME! GIMME!!!!<br /><br /><br />CONFESSION: I'm on a diet right now and I miss my friends up there. No matter what the Focus52 prompt was - this was going to be a post about junk food. It could have been 'rainbows' and I would've immediately thought SKITTLES! .... SPRINKLED ON RAINBOW SHERBET ICE CREAM! .....FRIED AND DRIZZLED IN RASPBERRY SAUCE!!!!!<br /><br />Help.<br /><br />Send ice cream cake. Stat.LadyHAHAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05091191050470228928noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19427946.post-1225891577187624702011-03-05T20:25:00.000-08:002011-03-06T07:42:44.859-08:00I Don't Think We'll Ever Be Ready For His Jelly.The Charlie Sheen dam broke this week and he drowned the public in his tiger blood and magic. He was tired of pretending like his life isn't bitchin' and really, who are we to muffle this man and his zeal for coke induced rants? I'm sure we've all seen/heard our fair share of Sheenisms and Sheeniuses on t.v., internet and magazines. In fact for days now, I've been drunk off the Sheen wine and if you're a Facebook friend or Twitter follower, you've witnessed my Sheenebriation.<br /><br />But now that the dumb fuck doesn't have anything new to say and is only repeating his Busey-like quotes, I think I'm sobering up. I've had my fill of #WINNING! for now and through clearer, non-Sheened eyes, I couldn't help but notice how the mountains of coke he's hoovered up his nose has AGED him.<br /><br />We all know drugs can pretty much take a steaming pile of shit on your life and everyone else around you, but you forget how that pile of shit mainly falls on your face.<br /><br />The very first time I ever saw Charlie Sheen, it was in that movie, Lucas.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu_b41t95r7UNhtF_8OAmV-sknhjvJnB9NEb1PMPXw7GvN9kNoaUzf_uestS8MlHcBrtSBTU7Iqlh2AZVaHtnXDAhVjlmYNHeq8nG3He7g0l2z3DNkI6I0SPAfJhJ62MGf-uMdfg/s1600/Picture+22.png"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 177px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu_b41t95r7UNhtF_8OAmV-sknhjvJnB9NEb1PMPXw7GvN9kNoaUzf_uestS8MlHcBrtSBTU7Iqlh2AZVaHtnXDAhVjlmYNHeq8nG3He7g0l2z3DNkI6I0SPAfJhJ62MGf-uMdfg/s320/Picture+22.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5580827057508530930" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuZMnJKqNFUfkVnp1FEbhj4XBeSUDdy_raDTt-3pBIi2C9-uP2RF-XgMGepJg4HIqvVhv1bu-cth0pdN6Qjw1FEYhTSaoQYeOdjG4X5fvvygmLFqCY3WkklJXGULeXTbaHQdCsJA/s1600/Picture+22.png"><br /></a>And yeah, I thought he was cute. And every other time I saw him, I thought oh yeah, Charlie Sheen is cute. I never really got into him because oddly enough, a guy that does drugs and goes snorkling into porn stars' and hookers' crotches lose a little of their appeal with me.Call me picky, what can I say. But you can't deny that, for a good many years, Charlie Sheen was awesome eye candy that many people enjoyed.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJsFBDZYOQJyNoF2gQ1OEw33PWvCF_bmh7HQ5ilmyfIMj9l36orI_JLuMiXu4FYoA4dQdDd8JLCwpZ5831spB_p5H8tn12T-yZ0czaTGCsM2RwhBD4Zb8rHfp30FyG6FxfMDqBgw/s1600/charlie_sheen_30007.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJsFBDZYOQJyNoF2gQ1OEw33PWvCF_bmh7HQ5ilmyfIMj9l36orI_JLuMiXu4FYoA4dQdDd8JLCwpZ5831spB_p5H8tn12T-yZ0czaTGCsM2RwhBD4Zb8rHfp30FyG6FxfMDqBgw/s320/charlie_sheen_30007.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5580827250003575842" border="0" /></a><br />I never really noticed how much he had aged until these last few days when the Vatican assassin warlock was winning! on every channel of my t.v. looking like this:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOZl1EZ9NA7kijC5GUsT6tZq9BfDdt5LShoQ-ZmInYwfuxR53-z66ONgh0bsDVlghXlZW1XZhJhol9SWn6w9PGlf7LD1Po8b_kZIR0AWy4q1tea8-__r8o7AlHa6TAeeo5HEKkdg/s1600/charliesheenwack.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 256px; height: 193px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOZl1EZ9NA7kijC5GUsT6tZq9BfDdt5LShoQ-ZmInYwfuxR53-z66ONgh0bsDVlghXlZW1XZhJhol9SWn6w9PGlf7LD1Po8b_kZIR0AWy4q1tea8-__r8o7AlHa6TAeeo5HEKkdg/s320/charliesheenwack.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5580830455923656850" border="0" /></a><br />Honestly, if that's the face of winning, I am terrified to see what losing looks like. He may be winning in his head but clearly his coke face is losing. Big time. And I'm sure this is more than just typical aging. I think if Charlie Sheen was just aging, he would still be as handsome as he was in his 20s, only with that distinguished older man sexy vibe. (<-- that description can easily summed up by two words: George. Clooney.) No, that wear and tear on his face is clearly more than just age. It's as if his life, drugs and porn stars all got together, ate giant bean and cheese burritos, hot wings, and fried cheese before washing it down with tequila shots and shitting it out all over his face. This, chirren, this is why we say NO to using coke as your primary source of nutrition.<br /><br />It's a shame really. A once talented and handsome guy with an impressive career, a highly successful sitcom and FOUR kids he's responsible for, has deteriorated to this flimsy shell of a person built on delusions, ego and believing his hype so much that he wants to make it everyone's religion. Charlie Sheen is what happens when humility is smeared on toast and eaten by conceit. Charlie Sheen's FACE is what happens when age is marinated in cocaine broth and broiled in hooker sweat. (Sorry. I get hungry when I blog, hence all the cooking and food references but after that last sentence, surprisingly, I'm not so hungry anymore.) <br /><br />But, according to Charlie, the only drug he's on is "Charlie Sheen!" He says this drug will make your face melt off and will cause children to weep over your exploded body. His body didn't explode (yet) but that face melting sure looks like it might have been a true statement. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVKUhyTQVabn8HVghZi8vmYn6ykPawjCQ4AmVWYiaB7-0t4I42Psx4rX5tHFUkwGxGDhoMCrp9zAaAri9JBmzCr5H9nhR2kgGqvpZAbcNdlcM-XjsKvVVlpu4iU-cgD7ev28DAnw/s1600/Charlie-Sheen-ABC-20-20.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 253px; height: 277px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVKUhyTQVabn8HVghZi8vmYn6ykPawjCQ4AmVWYiaB7-0t4I42Psx4rX5tHFUkwGxGDhoMCrp9zAaAri9JBmzCr5H9nhR2kgGqvpZAbcNdlcM-XjsKvVVlpu4iU-cgD7ev28DAnw/s320/Charlie-Sheen-ABC-20-20.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5580852594894734418" border="0" /></a>Yes children, let's all gather 'round and weep at what Charlie Sheen has done to Charlie Sheen.<br /><br />OR .... maybe I'm just a contaminated little maggot who can't handle his power, the magic in his fingertips and his Adonis D.N.A. Drugs? What drugs? He cured it with his brain bro! He's not recovering like some pussy! Can't is the cancer of happen! Bam! Done! Move forward! Fingerless lesbians are the eunuchs of the gay world!<br /><br />Okay, okay, so that last one was my little gem. <br /><br />Sorry Charlie, you can't take credit for all the crazy. I was here first.LadyHAHAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05091191050470228928noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19427946.post-73196420013005141212011-02-26T20:14:00.001-08:002011-02-28T19:09:36.333-08:00My One True Love. An Autobiography .<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy9HUPY_DVTgXmNGWDEXskNvTBtVqt8UFoeKBByTniIRdfbr1851-5IgSecu-_fROIGM0pompNOkTF85UvobTXoHp_9DQEpmmJ_bXJKVJL4R6XzHqzLHtpf8v9d7sdP5QpI9WyXg/s1600/piehole.gif"><br /></a>This week's <a href="http://twoscoopz.com/">Focus52</a> prompt was to CELEBRATE ME!!! Oh my, what a scary request to present to a short Leo gal such as myself (ie: insecure ego maniac who looks forward to job interviews because she sees it as another opportunity to talk about herself.)<br /><br />So I wondered, if there was a party.. a party celebrating all things ME! Wait...wait...the thought of it is giving me a mild orgasm...uhhhh ...phew.... what would it consist of?<br /><br />Well first, let's start with decorations, what kind of decor would celebrate me? My first thought is <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiKVpMShKyQyAv3-ar6CiYIGT42shc3PdXkD0CSV4tvJwkcYsRTAo7Ytuk_5OCo9wX-w6Px-_ZSWEMVIHFDFUBR2BxgNcGZp_fC9tWqY5wbXKcbYo4MUfKTqAkuZXaUuQS1kL9iQ/s1600/marshpeanuts-lge.jpg">Circus Peanut</a> streamers, hats, napkins, tablecloths and plates because holy stanky sandals of Jesus, I love me some of those toxic orange sugar bombs! They're unnaturally orange colored like Tang, shaped like a cartoon peanut, feels like dried out Play-Doh and has a banana-ish aftertaste. Did I just describe God to you? Yes. Yes I did.<br /><br />Next up would be music and if you were ever a friend to begin with, you'll know that this is a no brainer. Madonna bitch and lots of it. And if you were ever a good friend that I've accidentally come on to after a exceptionally tall glass of Long Island Ice Tea (ie: all my friends), you'd know that you do not play the usual Madonna songs or just 80's Madonna songs (there's a real danger of a person getting choked when I hear the term, "I only like her old stuff." How can you only like her tired, overrated, one dimensional 80s songs when she has sang genius songs <a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mYJSx6n8VoA">about cunnilingus</a> , motherfuckers who are <a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5BZpnIxqkoQ">so two-faced </a>that even the devil's impressed or <a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2g6oYcXY0fg">having some fun with mental illness</a>? HOW? You can't, that's how! You just never took the time to actually BE a FAN and listen to her brilliance past the True Blue album! <---- That was our friend pointless fucking rant ladies and gentlemen, give her a hand!) <br /><br />After music would be food. What type of food would celebrate me? There would be several entrees to choose from actually because I refuse to encapsulate my fabulousness in just one meal. I love cheap fast food type Chinese food, so there would be bowls of orange chicken from Panda Express or Pick-Up-Stix with shrimp lo mein. I also like teriyaki beef from Lelani's, a Hawaiian restaurant here in San Diego, with their special teriyaki sauce which is thick, sweet, tangy and salty. The beef is served with hot steam rice. For dessert, I would have <a href="http://icecreamjournal.turkeyhill.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2009/04/ube-ice-cream.jpg">Ube ice</a> cream. Essentially it's a yam ice cream. Please don't give me no gross face if you haven't tasted it because you just don't KNOW homie. It's an orgy with multi-orgasms in your mouth! (that probably wouldn't taste as good, like if you literally licked an orgy with a....oh never mind.) Notice how this paragraph was practically joke free? It's because the food is so delicious to the point of being deities that my usual nonsensical monologue would've been unholy.<br /><br />Guests would mill around and talk about the wonky dimple under my eye that's different in a cute way and not in a sideshow bearded lady way, or how great it is that despite my short stature I <s>have a giant</s> don't have a Napolean complex but at all. They would partake in games such as Pin The Flat Nose On My Face, Am I Taller Than a Fifth Grader? and Creative Penis Euphemisms I Made Up Scrabble.<br /><br />Oh what fun! YAY ME indeed!!<br /><br />Finally, the goodie bags because dammit who thought it was a good idea to stop giving out goodie bags after a certain age? Anyways, my goodie bags would be a small thank you for celebrating me by inviting you to celebrate yourselves.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKzGs8Z0qRj7JTTa4agNjFCY8XEBdZZMf6ud9YCfW8UylBD6SUQJVeyjOc-0Dv4Dh4mmrbYnEbOsuKyrZIkMpHGIpIzpUzN19DzSCoOsrAUWOOIynI8nQS-MYnVNx3gJqTIhQfZA/s1600/DM1656The-Busy-Bunny-Posters.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 227px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKzGs8Z0qRj7JTTa4agNjFCY8XEBdZZMf6ud9YCfW8UylBD6SUQJVeyjOc-0Dv4Dh4mmrbYnEbOsuKyrZIkMpHGIpIzpUzN19DzSCoOsrAUWOOIynI8nQS-MYnVNx3gJqTIhQfZA/s320/DM1656The-Busy-Bunny-Posters.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578241599791105682" border="0" /></a><br />Tee.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMy3z_NTHIMPn1-zd48x336wz5JNoQe5L4Zzj6jCgmgCdAsLtCd9zpvCNElxZFlVMl_84PNdLJgBYbEo8ucUJslswsawjjiyzIh5ffvyrbNrDw8y0pyy_8rYszUnctyLA10kth0A/s1600/vibrator.gif"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 262px; height: 233px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMy3z_NTHIMPn1-zd48x336wz5JNoQe5L4Zzj6jCgmgCdAsLtCd9zpvCNElxZFlVMl_84PNdLJgBYbEo8ucUJslswsawjjiyzIh5ffvyrbNrDw8y0pyy_8rYszUnctyLA10kth0A/s320/vibrator.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578240551725141026" border="0" /></a><br />Hee.<br /><br /><br /><br />*This blog post was cut short because the author got hungry and went to go rape her face with massive amounts of food. We apologize for the inconvenience this may have caused you.LadyHAHAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05091191050470228928noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19427946.post-60322841118738325082011-02-19T20:31:00.000-08:002011-02-20T05:50:36.963-08:00CLOSE UP ... I'd poke you with my unicorn horn, which I later discover to be a really huge boil and my dreams of being magic is dashed.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTbdzUYTt4QTQmRAwTeO336Qlbwv9e0RcGk7OyUCDyw6_XceTIpRnRq_8TPgngiHO1468f-HvWd-R1HLAdw8xZC3LjTw_OIn38Fw0DH1pmqiS1DwJ4jtXK6UAAGOyqI06e5hLcPg/s1600/unicornMAGIC.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 263px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTbdzUYTt4QTQmRAwTeO336Qlbwv9e0RcGk7OyUCDyw6_XceTIpRnRq_8TPgngiHO1468f-HvWd-R1HLAdw8xZC3LjTw_OIn38Fw0DH1pmqiS1DwJ4jtXK6UAAGOyqI06e5hLcPg/s320/unicornMAGIC.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5575647026452292434" border="0" /></a><br />CLOSE UP.... you'll see that my skin is the stuff of legends and myths. Seriously. You would find it hard NOT to lick me because I look like I'm made of smooth hard candy. But then you'd back up because I'd be all whispering, "come on, lick me, you know you want to!" which would freak you the fuck out. Then later, whenever we would hang, there would be this weird awkwardness in the air that no amount of small talk can get rid of and eventually we stop talking.<br /><br />So yeah, I have really good skin.<br /><br />CLOSE UP.... I'm more than unreasonably scared about 2012. You can blame the History Channel's uplifting documentaries like "Nostradamus 2012," "Decoding The Past:Doomsday 2012." Rays of sunshine those guys at the History Channel. I've been waiting for God to return my calls so we can discuss this whole thing, but it's been kind of awkward between us as of late..(he got to looking close at my magical skin too and well... you've read what I do when that happens.)<br /><br />CLOSE UP... you'll see my lips moving because I talk to the voices constantly. They don't like awkward silences like...ever.<br /><br />CLOSE UP.... I'm almost positive that you would be able to smell the bullshit and day old pomade emanating from Shia Labeouf. I don't understand how this guy is successful in Hollywood. He's ALMOST good looking, he's ALMOST a good actor, he's ALMOST got a good body...so CLOSE and yet so far away that it's in another galaxy. Either he is really talented and I'm just crazy OR he has some kind of godlike talent agent that shits Spielberg scripts.<br /><br />CLOSE UP.... my nose would probably hit your armpit. Remind me never to get too close to Shaquille O'Neal because I think we all know where my nose could hit. "Hmmm smells like boiled mushrooms... Damn Shaquille back up! I want to see where that smell is coming from!"<br /><br />CLOSE UP.... you'd see that if it wasn't for the awesomeness of tweezers, my eyebrows would look like two small cats sleeping on my brow.<br /><br />CLOSE UP.... isn't good when you've got halitosis. Do people KNOW when they have halitosis? From my experience, that doesn't seem to be the case. In fact, they're the FIRST motherfuckers to come up to you and start having a conversation in your mouth. And if you happen to have a drink nearby you can bet their toxic blowhole has already taken it upon themselves to have a complimentary sip.<br /><br />CLOSE UP... you'll see that Jessica Alba is made of wood that's been varnished with boring.<br /><br />CLOSE UP... you would discover that everything you've ever seen in an infomercial has taken up residence in my closet or garage.<br /><br />CLOSE UP... the innards of the atom looks a lot like space which begs the question...what if our space is actually part of an atom which is part of some guy's mustache pores? I think you might need some funny brownies to appreciate this question I'm pondering.<br /><br />CLOSE UP... you'd probably see condoms and spare change inside Mario Lopez's dimples.<br /><br />CLOSE UP... is the only way I can see words and signs. Please don't let that and the fact that I'm your stereotypical Asian female driver make you in any way nervous to be my passenger, just in the off chance that one horribly unlucky day, having broken both your legs, you need a ride from me because I'm the only one left on earth. (take a breath. phew. what a run-on) Anyways, that's really probably the only time you should ever get into a vehicle with me... when there's no other options.<br /><br />CLOSE UP... Jessica and Ashley Simpson smell like Joe Simpson. Obviously.LadyHAHAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05091191050470228928noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19427946.post-74899025406369664362011-02-12T20:49:00.000-08:002011-02-13T06:31:29.323-08:00Love is in the air and it smells of bronzer and dill pickles...It has been a while since I've given a love confession that was sure to confuse the masses. In fact, the last time I confessed a love that was as strong and strange as the love that I'm about to confess today, I believe it was about this man. The man who screeched love out of his giant Xenu blowhole and stomped his petite size 5s on Oprah's couch with abandon. (I wish I could say I tried to look for the post link I'm referring to but I can't, because I didn't because I'm too lazy. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Sanity-Interrupted-Elaine-Chaney/dp/0557463815/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1297578052&sr=8-1">Buy my book instead,</a> it's in there.)<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5nB8mpq2bXI7IBzIVkk45VHb1KJpqCbBJ2AapBSsd5oY8-vOANPvrETuKMgltBtL3dzlq7PmwEAc0aoiM4IO6TZF_B1We1bGCAKnrHzwP9qYXIM8uQfdKwDHcVOp5O0sEfnq1FQ/s1600/crazytom.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5nB8mpq2bXI7IBzIVkk45VHb1KJpqCbBJ2AapBSsd5oY8-vOANPvrETuKMgltBtL3dzlq7PmwEAc0aoiM4IO6TZF_B1We1bGCAKnrHzwP9qYXIM8uQfdKwDHcVOp5O0sEfnq1FQ/s320/crazytom.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5573053670393982962" border="0" /></a><br />And yes, before you ask, I would still hit that small, sweaty sack of crazy if given the chance. My glow in the dark strap-on is shined and lubed, ready for such an event. You can never be too prepared as TOM IS MAGIC and will show up under your bed at a moment's notice, demanding your servitude and serve him you shall! (Dressed up like David Beckham and singing sweet songs by Will Smith in his delicate ears. I hope you're taking notes).<br /><br />What could possibly match the love badge I hold for Tom?<br /><br />A delicate petunia that goes by the name of Snooki.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjryMTAK_tUWu40c6qGVPQi_wwkJMVX6X9PinMLWRtYaf7Z0NKseN0L-aUeKF4tL-dgCK2pPfiax-BAsrZAdrzYQq5TsAZblJMq8TpIKoIuEPX3LKK98fmXwT9ZtOWU2sOkDHhknw/s1600/snookiepicle.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 160px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjryMTAK_tUWu40c6qGVPQi_wwkJMVX6X9PinMLWRtYaf7Z0NKseN0L-aUeKF4tL-dgCK2pPfiax-BAsrZAdrzYQq5TsAZblJMq8TpIKoIuEPX3LKK98fmXwT9ZtOWU2sOkDHhknw/s320/snookiepicle.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5573053881659549938" border="0" /></a><br />Who knew that a petite, pickle sucking orange ball of dough would sweep me off my feet? At first glance, she seems to exude orange grease out her pores and looks as if she may have a strange yeasty smell to her. Quite frankly, at first glance, Snooki was quite unappetizing. But as the show went on, wisdom began to spew forth from her mouth like a popped champagne and it wasn't long before I realized that Snooks was a messiah .....in drag.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwW69avwqGVnskRlVWVV_GS3p9X82FvNKqFUF_aheV1w9CnGs0nNx7qYgDovKjJ2RENBwPJY6-plLsE5npZ6Vej07MJjl9WYYrSVI-jVeu33zQOklW9nB84vVno0sq4ojQSBHFhw/s1600/snooki-so-short_532x752.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 226px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwW69avwqGVnskRlVWVV_GS3p9X82FvNKqFUF_aheV1w9CnGs0nNx7qYgDovKjJ2RENBwPJY6-plLsE5npZ6Vej07MJjl9WYYrSVI-jVeu33zQOklW9nB84vVno0sq4ojQSBHFhw/s320/snooki-so-short_532x752.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5573056405786714402" border="0" /></a><br />Snooki not only addressed the problem of divorce but she also solved it by uttering one simple sentence...<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">"Old people, they lose their sex life and that's not a fun time... that's why people always get divorced."</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />She reminded us that in order for humankind to live in harmony, we must shed our false pretenses, communicate clearly and say exactly what you mean!<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">"Stop caring and fuck me!"</span></span><br /><br />Her pure and complete honesty is so bright, that us mere mortals have to stand back and squint at its beauty.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">"My vagina's out."</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">"Honestly, like who hides in a bush? Only me. I will pee in a bush, I will poop in a bush, I will hide in a bush. I do fucked up shit, I don't even know what's wrong with me.</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">"</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">"Every time I get really excited, like if we go to a club, I have to poop my pants. If we go to a party, I have to poop my pants, if I go on a date, like this, with a hot guy, I have to poop my pants.</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">"</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br /></span>"A crow comes and it starts quacking at us ... or not quacking, what does a crow do?</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">"</span><br /><br />But the Messiah is not perfect, there are some cracks in what is an otherwise beautiful bronze vase and yes, at times, her despair does indeed leak out of those cracks.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivs7LMyx2kSdUzIw7ojPBN1m2eytDq8xU9ZaKVnYi72xeYqco_cGSDDH_2y4IreqzufLjWgvmZh_WQHw7pIzvdWNbZ-ND_Z7kL_KKrYwwIfXqLphQywkZYIT_XdQxNLzwXrjrycw/s1600/sad+snooks+%25281%2529.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 182px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivs7LMyx2kSdUzIw7ojPBN1m2eytDq8xU9ZaKVnYi72xeYqco_cGSDDH_2y4IreqzufLjWgvmZh_WQHw7pIzvdWNbZ-ND_Z7kL_KKrYwwIfXqLphQywkZYIT_XdQxNLzwXrjrycw/s320/sad+snooks+%25281%2529.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5573181296434623506" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">"I hate the ocean, it's all whale sperm. Everybody Google it, because that's why the water is salty, from the fuckin' whale sperm.</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">"</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">"I feel like a pilgrim from the fucking '20s washing this shit in the sink.</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">"</span><br /><br />Despite those cracks, I think it's clear to see why I have fallen in love (or in desperate worship) with the Snooks. She is knowledge, honesty, grace, and elegance wrapped in sausage casing. A warm soup of sympathy with a sprinkle of class, served in a urinal. I dare you not to bow in humility to our new messiah when she pours her love to you every Thursday (Jersday!) like a giant can of Prego.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">"I remember I masturbated all day once and the next day I couldn't even move."</span><br /><br />Yes. I am in love Snooki. A fellow pint sized oompa loompa who happens to be the most inspirational thing to mankind since Spam.<br /><br />And yes, like Snooki, that last sentence barely made any sense.LadyHAHAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05091191050470228928noreply@blogger.com2