God damnit I love this holiday. Any holiday that combines mass quantities of alcohol, spooky decorations, slutty costuming and mini Kit-Kats is automatically my favorite. I’ll be celebrating this year atop Becca’s apartment for her rooftop ripper. I’m drunk just thinking about it. I’m not divulging my costume yet because there’s still time for you costume vultures to knock it off. I will say that it’s a two-man job (Talia’s my partner-in-crime) and I bought the costume components at CVS tonight: spray tan in a bottle, hairspray, fake eyelashes, liquid eyeliner and cigarettes. No I'm not Britney Spears. Give me a little more credit in the creativity department! I don't fuck around when it comes to Halloween! Of course when I was standing in line holding my white trash paraphernalia, someone I hated with a fiery, fiery passion in high school walked up and initiated conversation. You try facing your high school nemesis unemployed, living at home and holding two aerosol beauty products and a pack of Parliaments.)
At least I can drown my I-Still-Live-at-Home-Sorrows tonight with this week’s drinking game. Straighten your bunny ears, research the best bar crawl and put on your game face, it’s time for the Halloween Night Drinking Game!
Drink when you: - See a Sarah Palin and/or Miss Alaska and/or First Dude costume - See an Obama or McCain costume (or conversely Michelle or Cindy) - Fuck it, when you see a political costume in general - Have to explain your costume - Have to ask someone what their costume is - Regret not wearing a jacket out because it would cover up the sexy even though it’s 40 degrees out - Inevitably make-out with someone - Initiate conversation aimed towards making out with someone with a slurred “Iuffyourcoshtumeeee!!!” (70% of the time, it works every time) - See a group-themed costume - See a “sexy______” costume - puke - See a Maryland sex offender sign in someone’s yard (actually drink thrice—one for you, one for him and one for the kid) (too soon?)
Enjoy tonight’s debauchery and we’ll see you Monday morning!
Confession: One of my favorite things to do is read the adult gigs section of Craigslist. I’m fully aware of how sleazy that sounds, but honestly, nothing makes me laugh harder. I have the sense of humor of a 13-year-old, so I appreciate reading about people getting kicked in the balls and just generally enjoy when dollar signs are substituted for S’s. $ome people get their giggle$ from Family Circu$, I get mine from the adult gig listing$.
However, I don’t appreciate when people write confusing ads. How horny are you that you can’t run spell check or read over your ad a few times? For example…
IN SEARCH OF DMV'S FINEST LADIES AND GENTS
KABERET KING PRODUCTIONS IS CURENTLY SEEKING DMV'S MOST SEXIEST MALES AND FEMALES TO PARTICIPATE IN AN EROTIC EVENT!!!!! WE WILL BE SELECTING 6 INDIVIDUALS (3 LADIES) AND (3 MEN) TO PARTICIPATE IN DMV,S FIRST EROTIC CABERET. TO BE CONSIDERED FOR THIS EVENT, YOU MUST BE OPEN MINDED TO BOTH SEXES, 21 AND OVER, CONFIDENT, AND SEXY. THIS GIG WILL PAY 25.00 PER HOUR +. THERE WILL BE ABSOLUTELY (NO SEX INVOLVED)!! THIS EVENT IS BEING HELD FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY!! TO BE CONSIDERED YOU MUST SUBMIT A NUDE FULL BODY PHOTO, AND FACE SHOT, WITH A SHORT PROFILE ABOUT YOURSELF/ WITH CONTACT NUMBER. ITS ALSO OK TO INCLUDE THINGS THAT YOU MIGHT LIKE TO INCLUDE THAT WILL MAKE YOU MORE TIPS!! THIS EVENT WILL BE HELD ON NEW YEARS EVE, WE WILL SCHEDULING INTERVEIWS SOON, PLEASE APPLY NOW!!! THOSE PHOTO'S THAT ARE SELECTED WILL BE CONTACTED IMMEDIATLEY.
When I read this, I was perplexed why anyone would want to have a sex party hosted by the DMV’s finest ladies and gents. That’s actually the least sexy situation I can think of. You might as well have a sex party in a bucket of ice. All I can picture is overweight white guys with sock garters and women with a whole lotta girdle and Hanes Herway action going on. DMV employees are real assholes, so the only way I could justify this posting is that it’s really a sick and twisted S&M party. Later it dawned on me that this is for DC/MD/VA’s finest ladies and gents. The letters “C,” “D,” and A” have never been more crucial in the history of the English language.
Handsome young thick hung football CEO love @ eat pu$$y $$$$$$$$$$$$ (look @ me now girls only !) I am a young certified bachelor hung that loves football from Jamaica
currently looking for (1) Chick on da come up ..
We can work things on a 1 on 1 basis more like
(Partners,promoters,marketing,booking gigs,etc).
I have $500 to invest & very fast computer & a spot !!!
(I can be your body-guard & your mentor private shit plus travel)...
Holla @ me baby !!!
There isn’t one single part of this ad that makes sense. 1.) Is this man a handsome, young, thick, hung football CEO, or is he just shouting out random adjectives and nouns (Handsome! Young! Thick! Hung! Football! CEO! Toaster! Fiji! Antiques! Delighted! Femur! Limber!)? 2.) If the absence of a comma was on purpose, what exactly is a “football CEO?” 3.) Please tell me his email address is CEOlove@eatpu$$y.com 4.) I spent far too long trying to figure out how football from Jamaica differs from the US or UK version. I’m going to buy this man a gift set of commas for Christmas. 5.) What the fuck does “looking for one chick on da come up” mean? Say it out loud. It sounds like when you play someone talking backwards and you think the devil is telling you to burn your house down and kill your parents. 6.) New life goal: have a man tell me that he has $500, a very fast computer and a spot. 7.) Frankly, I think I might be interested in a job where you’re guaranteed a private shit and travel opportunities.
FREE CHINESE FOOD WITH CHICKEN WINGS ::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: (WWW.PUSHERGIRLS.COM)
NO PAY !
JUST FOOD !
At first I thought this ad was geared towards people who find a buy-one-get-one-free bargain erotic. Later I realized the ad is trying to get models for “pushergirls.com” and the pay is in free Chinese food and chicken wings. I find this especially funny because this was their old ad from a few days before:
WE LIKE HOEZ WITH THINGS IN DE AZZ @$$$$$%%%$%$%$%#$%#$%$#%#$%#$%#%#$ (WWW.PUSHERGIRLS.COM)
YEAH BABY APPLY ON OUR SITE NOW
WWW.PUSHERGIRLS.COM
Here’s how I imagine that marketing meeting went down: Advertising Guy 1: Well Fred, we may like hoez with things in de azz, but I don’t think hoez with things in de azz like us. We haven’t gotten a single reply to our ad! Advertising Guy 2: Hmm…what would Don Draper do?… I’ve got it Charlie! Throw some free chicken and lo mein at ‘em and they'll be dropping down to show us their great wall in no time!
I need to ask something before I get into ripping today’s victim a new asshole. You guys…is “guido” a derogatory term? I have yet to get a straight answer from anyone about this issue. I never thought it was a racially insensitive term, but it’s quite possible that I’m horribly, horribly wrong. Like how I used to throw around the term “mulatto” like confetti until my mom pointed out what a jackass I looked like.
You know how in college you give random people around campus nicknames like “Big Ass Dancer Girl” and “Cowboy Boots Swimmer”? Helena and I strictly referred to our biology lab partner as “The Guido.” I walked around for a year telling comical stories about The Guido to people and was very confused when 50% of those people found my story uncomfortable and slowly backed away while shaking their heads.
Urban Dictionary defines a guido as the following: “A sad pathetic excuse for a male; not necessarily of Italian descent, but most likely; usually native to the New York/New Jersey Tri-State area.
WARDROBE: tight zipper shirts, tracksuits, designer jeans, fuzzy kangol hats, tiny hoop earrings, fake gold chains, and related Euro-trash garb and tacky cheese-wear.
NATURAL HABITAT: Known to frequent Tri-State area malls looking for club gear to waste their week’s pay on) most likely spotted shopping at “Bang Bang” in Staten Island). During the day when not at their food delivery, telemarketing or constructing job, can be located at their local gym tanning or lifting weights. Can be found nightly at mainstream danceclubs they read about online (SF, Webster Hall, Etc.). Most notable for cruising the Jersey shore in an old car (Honda, Mustang, etc.) which has been tinted, painted and sports $1,000-$3,000 in rims in a feeble attempt to look like new. Gudio cars usually have a boomin’ systems through which cheesy music like freestyle, commercial club/trance and hip-hop (anything KTU plays) is loudly blasted.
PASTIMES/RECREATIONAL ACTIVITIES: Guidos enjoy beating up a non-white homosexual while assisted by a group of 5-10 guido friends backing them up; engaging in date rape; and displaying their lack of rhythm by dancing poorly in the middle of a club’s dance floor while non-guidos look on in disbelief.
If you know a Mike, Joe, Rob or Tony, he’s probably a guido."
I feel like that’s a pretty accurate description of a guido and I appreciate that they point out he doesn’t necessarily have to be Italian-American. The fact that they usually are is completely irrelevant. Kind of like how you don’t necessarily have to be Jewish to be called “Jappy”…unless calling someone a JAP is insensitive. And I’m not referring to Japanese people when I say that by the way. Jews, you guys, Jews. I mean Jewish people. Jewish-Americans. The moral of the story is for once I’m not trying to be offensive. If you are offended, email me at meg@2birds1blog.com and I’ll totally read it and cry. Let's get to today's victim already.
Where: Starbucks on Walnut Ave. in College City, Philadelphia.
When I saw this guy, my eyes lit up like it was Christmas morning. The lights in the Starbucks went dim and it was like me and this extreme guido (exuido, if you will) were the only people in the room…nay, the world. I walked towards him slowly and our eyes locked. He lifted his sunglasses onto his perfectly spiked head revealing the most girlishly well-groomed eyebrows I’ve seen since looking in the mirror earlier that morning. Without even a “fuhgedda bout it” or “try my mother’s spaghetti sauce!” he gently grabbed my hands and we sang a duet of “Only You” from West Side Story while twirling.
Part of me thinks this Exuido is so perfect, I must have dreamt him up. Surely someone this ridiculous looking must be a figment of my imagination. However, my fantasy was confirmed as reality when Eddie read my mind: Eddie: Uhhhh…do you see that— Me: Oooohhhhhh yea, couldn’t miss him. Eddie: Wow. I mean…wow. Do you think he’s still on Ecstasy from last night? Me: He’s on something, that’s all I know for sure.
I’m not even sure where to start because my head is still spinning from seeing this specimen in person. First of all, I know most guidos can appear to be gay because they take such pride in their appearance, but we can all agree this guy is a big 'ole homo, right? The designer sunglasses, slender frame, slight stance and Armani Exchange outfit all point to yes. However, what batch of crystal meth was he smoking when he decided to put those monstrosities on his feet? I mean, rubber athletic sandals? Really Exuido? Unless you plan on being ankle deep in a creek all afternoon, you have no excuse for committing this fashion faux pas. Especially when it’s a brisk 60 degrees outside.
I’m gonna go ahead and ask the question I know we’re all pondering: what in the sweet name of Christ is going on with this man’s hair? His head is like an annoying brainteaser you can’t solve and drive yourself crazy trying to figure out. No matter how I try to justify or theorize, I can’t figure out why he would take the time to craft his hair into terrier fur or one of those spiky hats/stress relievers, on purpose.
Another perplexing aspect of this exuido is who he was at Starbucks with. I was expecting him to bring his latte over to a table with a Jappy looking chick in Uggs or a table with a well coiffed gay man sitting down, but he was there with a woman who I can only compare to the lunch lady in Billy Madison:
I would have taken a picture of her, but she seemed slightly unstable. Oh, and how much do you want to bet The Exuido is listening to the Vengaboys’ “The Venga Bus” on repeat? Because with that outfit, you can tell that he likes to party. He likes to, He likes to party.
I don’t think I can write any more about this character because I’m getting all heated and worked up again asking questions I know will never be answered. I’m so sorry I passed this burden on to you.
You know that feeling when you're in your cubicle and think, if I play one more round of online Family Feud, I'm going to physically turn into Louis Anderson and kill myself? Have you developed Carpal Tunnel Syndrome from playing hour after hour of spider solitaire? Ever reached the awkward "some weather we're having..." point in a gchat conversation with your best friend because you've already discussed everything else on the face of the planet earlier that morning? These are frightening moments. The War on Office Boredom is no joke, and as (self-appointed) Secretary of Defense, it's my job to make sure our arsenal is always fully stocked.
Suit up soldier, I have a new weapon for you to play with today: www.inspotla.org
InSpot is a website where you can send comical ecards with a personal message to partners warning them that they miiiight have caught a little somin' somin' from you the last time you two got rowdy. You know, specifically HIV, but you can customize the STD to your case. (FYI: I first heard about this through the podcast Keith and the Girl. It's offensive and hilarious and therefore I'm addicted. You should be too. www.keithandthegirl.com)
I've never been in this situation, but I would imagine that having to tell the random Bro you effed last weekend that you have a scorching case of herpes might be somewhat mortifying. However, spreading diseases around like you're handing out lollipops in a doctor's office is no fun either. Therefore, I'm supportive of any way to anonymously let someone know they better get themselves checked out before having sex again. However, these ecards are a wee bit too lighthearted for the subject matter, and not in an ironic someecards.com kind of way. Take a look: I like this one because you can actually hear the "eeeeeshhh..." and loosening of the tie when you read it.
That's a witty little catchphrase. But do we really need a zinger (in pink, no less) to say "I gave you AIDS"??? Why don't we just do this exchange: Infected Guy: Did you hear the one about the chick who unknowingly had sex with a random guy without a condom and contracted HIV? Fucked Girl: No, I don't think so. Infected Guy: Oh, really? That's weird...CUZ IT'S ABOUT YOU! (BADUMP, CHHH!)
I think if I ever were to get an STD, I'm going to have a party and invite everyone I've had sex with. This is what the invitation will say: Who: You and Me What: Had sloppy unprotected sex When: Oh man...three weeks ago? Four weeks?...to be honest it's all kind of a blur, that was a really busy month for me. Where: My apartment. And speaking of my apartment, come over Friday night at 9. Why: Yea...just come
Hmm...what says "I care about you, but not that much" more than breaking tragic news in an ecard? Oh I know! Breaking tragic news in a post-it-note! Ooo, you know what would burn more than the gonorrhea I just gave you? An ecard of a post-it-note!
Again, while I promote getting tested and having others get tested and educating yourself about safe sex, and blah blah blah, I also promote pranking and extreme tomfoolery. Thus, it is HILARIOUS to send these to your friends and scare the hell out of them.
Check out this one I sent to Eddie:
I think the most ironic part of this whole situation is that these emails usually get flagged as spam and never get read. And best of all, when you move it out of spam to your inbox, some email providers ask you to confirm that you really want to do that to avoid getting a virus. Hah! WHERE WERE YOU LAST SATURDAY NIGHT WHEN I HAD SIX LONG ISLAND ICED-TEAS AND WENT HOME WITH A GUY NAMED "RICKY," HOTMAIL?!?!?!
TGIDGF! Before we get to this week’s drinking game, I’d like to make a public plea to the socialites, starlets, pop stars and general glitterati who’s train wreck lives I’ve grown so dependent on for my daily gossip fix. Ahem…can somebody please fuck up already?! Honestly! The whole world’s gone to hell and I need to watch celebriwhores mess up their lives so I feel better about my own. I mean, I can’t even pay someone to give me a job and I spent the better part of yesterday flirting with Jose, the AT&T salesman at White Flint Mall. Meanwhile, Britney Spears is back in the studio, gets to visit her kids and has never looked better. COME ONNNNN!!!!11
I feel like I’ve come back from a semester abroad to find that the group dynamic within my friends has changed and everyone is awkward around each other. Now I’m left wondering where, even if, I fit into their new lives.
Britney Spears: Thanks to her dad’s good parenting, I won’t get to see the “tragic accidental overdose” we all knew was coming for so long. GOOD ONE MR. SPEARS…good one. Maybe you should take a page from Lynn Spears’ parenting handbook, sir.
Paris Hilton: Remember when she was a public threat and went to jail? Or when someone broke into her storage unit and found herpes medication in bulk? Man, those were the days. Now she’s just in love with a Christian boy from Maryland. From personal experience I can say LA-AAAAME.
Nicole Richie: See above plus a baby AND an episode of "Chuck." Ugh...even Bob Saget is more PG-13 than this crap these days. I'm going to send Nicole Richie some heroin and a taco in the mail and see what happens...
Mischa Barton: Huh? Who's that? (OH SHIT!OH SHIT!OHHHH SHIT!) Jessica Simpson: What Ken Paves wig shop has she been hiding out in?? Come on Jugs! Your inability to keep a boyfriend for more than a week made me feel like I wasn’t alone! Amy Winehouse: How do you go from wandering the streets of London, fresh from a recent domestic dispute involving a kitchen knife all cracked out of your daisy dukes to falling under the radar in a matter of months? Lindsay Lohan: …You disappointed me the most, Lohan. I mean, she went to rehab not once, not twice, but thrice! Now she makes “headlines” for recess-style handholding. I miss the days when she would pound a few 40s, punch an Olsen in the face and play bumper cars on the freeway…sigh…Twas a simpler time back then.
What am I supposed to get inappropriately excited about now? Madonna’s divorce? I find psoriasis of the liver more interesting. Miley Cirus dating a 20-year-old underwear model? Frankly, I’m jealous and good for her. I’m glad somebody’s gettin’ some, and if not me it might as well be Hannah Montana.
So please, if Sharon Stone could contract VD from John Mayer or if a socialite could go to jail for tiger poaching or something equally glamorous, that would be great. I’d even settle for a B-list sex tape at this point. Thanks. XOXO, Meg.
In other news that has nothing to do with what I was just talking about, IT FINALLY FEELS LIKE FALL YOU GUYS! I haven’t been this excited since David Duchovny went public with his sex addiction. My official “OMG FALL IS HERE, LET’S RAKE LEAVES AND DRINK CIDER AND CUDDLE!” movie was the inspiration for this week’s drinking game…so light a fire, carve a pumpkin and watch your head, it’s time for the Sleepy Hallow Drinking Game!
Take One Sip When: - Someone’s head gets chopped off - Christopher Walken makes a “GAHHHHHHH!!!!” noise - Someone faints - You see a burning pumpkin - Katrina’s bosom heaves - Bram acts like a jackass (I understand this is subjective…just drink when Casper van Dien is on screen) - Someone goes in or out of the Tree of the Dead - Ichabod thinks out loud - Ichabod uses of dat dem der fancy big city detective methods/tools - Ichabod has a flashback to his childhood featuring his mother’s inappropriate cleavage pouring out everywhere and anywhere
Have a great weekend and we’ll see you back in the office Monday morning.
This past weekend I did something that I am not sure I would ever recommend to other people: I went to two weddings, back to back. Saturday night and Sunday afternoon, and these weddings couldn’t have been more different: Long Island and Dover, DE; Jewish and Christian; black tie and casual; 3-course, full bar, with an over-the-top hors d’oeuvres hour and buffet dinner, beer & wine, with a few cheese and crackers; big band and DJ; one did the most raucous version of the hora I have ever seen (the extended version, the Timbaland remix) and one showed the ‘Skins game, then the Sox-Rays game. It was a study in religion, culture, and formal wear. Why do Jews love sparkles so damn much? Why did one of the guests at the Dover wedding have pink hair and no bra? I ate a lot, I drank even more, and I felt like all I did was blow dry my hair, put on make-up, and dance to old Black Eyed Peas songs, up and down the I95 corridor. Notice I didn’t mention “give wedding presents” – who’s got two thumbs and doesn’t get people wedding gifts? This guy.
People my age are experiencing what we call the “second wave” of marriages. The first wave happened right after college, when high school sweethearts, people who went to school to get their MRS. and people who didn’t feel the need to mature as individuals before deciding to partner with someone else for the rest of their lives tied the knot in ceremonies paid for by their parents, and attended by their slightly weirded out school friends. The most often overheard line at these weddings is “I can’t believe we/she/he/they are old enough to get married” (psst – you’re not) and “Well she’s not showing …”
Wave two starts at about 27-ish and I’ve got friends who already have nine weddings to attend in 2009. NINE! That is so much wedding - I don’t know about you, but my capacity to be tearfully overjoyed for other people is not infinite and I am pretty sure after wedding six I’d be crying sawdust and bribing bartenders to pour me large glasses of white zin before the ceremony starts.
As my back-to-back wedding experience showed me, there are many different types of weddings. However there is one element that remains the same whether you are at an Indian wedding for 600 or a white trash wedding in a church basement. This element is alternately heartwarming, excruciating, boring, hilarious, and – if you’re lucky – highly inappropriate. I am talking, of course, about the wedding toast.
Wikipedia defines “toast” as having three definitions: “someone or something in honor of which people usually have a drink; the drink or honor itself; the act (pledge) of indicating that honor.” It says that toats originated in ancient Greece and served the purpose of ensuring guests that the wine had not been poisoned, the logic being that, to put guests at ease, “the host would pour the guests' wine from a common decanter, take the first drink to demonstrate its safety, then raise his cup to the guests and invite them to drink in good health.” It then says that there are “multiple issues” with this entry since no references have been cited but what can you do – I like that definition and I am too lazy to think of my own.
In the course of two weddings and one rehearsal dinner I heard eight toasts. Holy balls. As I am now an expert I feel I can firmly say that toasts can be divided into several categories:
The Father of the Bride/Groom toast – Usually this toast is first and functions as a kind of welcome to the event. These are the wild cards of the toast world; Dad can be a funny cool guy who gives some ironic piece of wedding advice (“If she’s right, she’s right, if you’re right, she’s right - HE-YO!”) OR he can be an accountant with no flair for ineracting with people who stutters awkwardly, makes an off-color comment about how expensive the event was, and sits down quickily to scattered applause. Its like icing on the cake when Dad gives a cool speech because then you know the chances of him doing some wacky ‘60s dance are high and that when you run into him at the bar later on you can definitely get him to do a shot with you. Of course, awkward Dad toasts just make you see your friends father as weird and creepy and you sort of never look at him the same way again.
The Crying Female Relative of the Bride toast – God don’t you haaaate these???? You’re barely three words into what seems to be like a really sweet toast when all of a sudden the high-pitched goat voice starts to happen: “A-a-and, she taught me how to p-put on m-m-mascar-ara and …. EEEEEE!” Damn girl! Practice that shit. Its just embarassing to all of us to watch you sniffle and whimper, and into a microphone no less. You perhaps more than anyone else have the ability to actually give a meaninful toast – you’re related so you know her better than her sorority sister but you also probably really resented her at one point in your life (especially if you’re younger) so we know we’ll get an un-baised view. Your speech can be informative and topical and include some gentle ribbing but also astute observations as to our lovely bride’s character – so quit your crying, sack up, and talk, dammit!
The Drunken Groomsmen toast – This toast is by far the most entertaining equally because of the chance you may find out something really embarassing about the groom and because the bride and/or every guest over 45 will be totally shock and horrified. I can only hope this guy put his tie around his head and his shirt around his neck like a cape before he started talking. What I like best about the Drunken Groomsmen toast is that its totally heartfelt. Sure its poorly worded, slightly slurred, doesn’t really follow the whole build-up, climax, conclusion trajectory (that’s what she said, hehe) but he really means it. Plus everyone is worried he’ll say something really innappropriate so it keeps you on your toes. These toasts always end with a really hearty dude hug between groomsman and groom and one of those awkard “don’t touch my torso” hugs between the groomsman and the bride. She’s probably concerned that he’ll spill something on her dress and, judging by his own shirt, she’s probably correct.
The Rhyming toast – I can’t explain it, but the more Jewish someone is, the stronger the desire to rhyme is. I think it starts with rhyming bat mitzvah speeches and it just sort of progresses to graduation party invitations, bridal shower invitations, wedding speeches - pretty much anything that is mailed to, or said in front of, your friends and family. This is presumably because they would never make fun of your rhyming couplets. But they will make fun of what you say, because its lame and kind of gay, your are not twelve and you don’t dot your “I”s with hearts, so you should write something that requires a little more smarts. And while rhyming “as close as can be” with “a best friend to me” is snappy, the overall product is pretty crappy. So as you stand in your gown talking at such a fancy event, say something just as fancy so her parents money’s well spent.
The Completely Inside Joke toast – Like OMG! Stephs and I have been BFF since bid day freshman year. Remember the first time Stephs and Smithies hooked up? It was at a sweet Around the World Party at Blue Stucco and Smithies’ big brother accidentally spilled a pitcher of jaeger bombs on Stephs North Face. Remember that time we took the Blackura to King of Prussia and J-Dawg tried on that heiny silver dress at Fashion Bug? We made her wear it to Senior Night at Skips and that stripper totally complimented her on it? Remember the time Smithies pinned Stephs and we were all in the ballroom of Hunt and it was so special and I totally knew they’d make it forever. So Steph, even though you’re married, you’ll always be the Hubbs to my Boo – snaps!
The Total Cop-Out toast – How bored do these people look? No seriously, the groom looks mildly amused but the bride is like “this toast sucks almost as much as my hair.” You just know that there is someone standing in front of them mumbling something about them both being really nice people, and how he hopes they have a good marriage, and how he wishes them all the best. BO-RING. In my most recent experience, the cop-out toast was given by a very shy best man. Sure he was a sweet guy but his speech lasted conservatively about one minute long. I could have said something more meaningful and I had met the groom once and the bride never. Here’s a hint – if you don’t have something even remotely interesting to say make something up. But telling us that you hope for the best for the friend you met in kindergarten and you’re happy he met a nice girl so lets raise our glasses blah blah blah – BAM! REMEMBER THAT TIME HE RAPED A GOAT? There, now I’m listening …..
This morning I sat down, coffee in hand, and flipped through a Harriet Carter catalogue forwarded from my grandma’s old house. Harriet Carter is like an “as seen on TV” company geared towards the elderly. They sell cell phones with giant buttons; loofahs on comically extended rods; sentimental afghans etc.
I was pretty psyched to look through the catalogue because I’m incredibly lazy and appreciate unnecessary and slightly embarrassing tools to make my life easier (who can forget the Hanukkah I got the Gopher Grabber and used it so much it broke within the first two weeks and it felt unnatural to pick things up with my hands again?)
I feel like that catalogue just gave me a horribly misguided education on the needs and interests of the elderly. Basically the catalogue offers many variations of the following crucial senior citizen products:
Memorial Ornaments Now maybe it’s just because my way to deal with death is to stick my fingers in my ears and say “LALALA-nbody-died-everything-is-fine-just-bury-it-deep-down-LALALALA!” but the last thing I want to see dangling on my tree Christmas morning is a picture of my dead family member and/or pet reminding me they’re celebrating Christmas with Jesus that year. But again, that’s just me.
Left-Handed Paraphernalia Maybe I don’t get this because I’m a “rightie” (KILL RIGHTIE!…bwahaha…I’m so sorry) but I don’t understand left-handed pride, or why the elderly specifically have a lot of it. I mean, being a leftie isn’t really an accomplishment or a skill; it’s just the way you are and it doesn’t really say anything about you. It confuses me for the same reason I don’t understand people who are really proud of being a PC or Mac user. It’s like, OK. Would you like to know an arbitrary fact about myself that I’m oddly proud of? I wear a size 7 1/2 shoe and prefer to write in black ink. Where’s my t-shirt?
Dickeys A dickey will never not be funny to me. Ever. When I was living with Blair, he bought a jacket with a removable hooded dickey and sometimes would walk around the apartment just wearing the dickey with the hood up. It was so LOLZ I laugh about it now in retrospect. However, isn’t it slightly condescending to think the elderly can’t handle layers?
Personal Sound Amplifiers I actually do understand the purpose and importance of these, I just wanted an excuse to link one of my all time favorite infomercials (specifically note how the old man comically turns his head 1 minute and 12 seconds into the video. Blair and I could re-enact it for days):
Novelty T-Shirts/Mugs/Caps These will always boggle my mind. You know the girls who wear those “Hold my beer while I steal your BoYfRiEnD!” or “Someone take my credit card before I SHOP AGAIN!” t-shirts? These are what they replace their wardrobe with when they become senior citizens. It’s like Spencer’s Gifts comes in and takes over your closet when you reach a certain age. Audrey Hepburn would have never worn a "I can fix it!...Where's the duct tape?!" t-shirt.
Fart Jokes Now don’t get me wrong, I’m don’t mean to seem holier than thou or pretentious with this post. I love a good fart joke as much as the next girl (and maybe more). However, I want to say publicly here and now, if anyone (and I do mean anyone) refers to me as an “old fart” after the age of 35, I will rip off my dickey, turn down your personal sound amplifier and kill your leftie ass. Kill it dead. Put that in an ornament and stick it on your tree.
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