Internet Detritus

Babies Kind of Hate Mitt(ens) Romney    


Kelly Osbourne Gets a $250,000 Black Diamond Manicure and Bitch Better Be Happy Some Poor Person Didn't Cut Off One of Her Sausage Fingers


10 Things We're So Over on Pinterest


Problems With the 2012 Emmy Awards in Five Pictures 

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Is that my leash?  I must be tripping, because that looks like a Cemophora coccinea.

Why Does the Shampoo Always Run Out Before the Condition?

I really, really, really hate it when the shampoo bottle runs out before the conditioner bottle, and I know this happens to you too.  It happens to every girl unless you're that annoying girl who follows all the women's magazines amount suggestions and only uses a quarter size amount for both shampooing and conditioning your hair.

One reason it irritates me so much that I hiss in the shower is because I hate to mix my shampoos and conditioners.  I'm just Type A like that.  I do not want to mix my shampoo with a non-matching brand and type of conditioner, but I also don't want to  buy a brand new bottle of conditioner to match the half empty shampoo bottle, because I like to use different brands, which means I have lots of half empty shampoo bottles in the shower since I have to have matching sets.

I use way too much conditioner in my hair, because I think it's going to nourish all those broken, split ends, but it's not.  It's not going to fuse them back together, and over-conditioning just weighs down my baby fine hair making it limp, but I want to believe split ends are fused back and the conditioner is going to make my hair soft, manageable, and bouncy like all those women in the shampoo and conditioner commercials who, we all know it, did not use the shampoo and conditioner being marketed to us. 

Because I use too much conditioner, I'm left with half a bottle of shampoo.  Near the end of the conditioner bottle's supply, I do try damn hard to make the conditioner last by taking the top off with my teeth, yes, in the shower, adding water, and shaking it up.  That maybe works for a few days, and then it's gone, and I'm left with half a bottle of shampoo, and I'm hissing in the shower once again.

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Tuck Schroeder in.  Nap time.

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Taken three summers ago at Antelope Island (45 minutes outside of Salt Lake City) when my family came to visit me.  Great trip! 

Is OPI or Essie The Better Nail Polish?

Versus

 

I rarely get manicures and pedicures with the exception of an occasional trip to the nail salon with a girlfriend or two, which happens maybe once or twice a year. That means I give myself a lot of manicures and pedicures at home.  If you're good at doing nails, then you really should reconsider all those expensive trips to the nail salon.  Just think about this, you could get maybe four or five bottles of a luxe nail polish brand for the cost of a salon manicure and pedicure, but which luxe nail polish should you buy?

 

There are several luxe nail polish brands-Essie, OPI, Orly, China Glaze, Zoya-that are stocked at the make-up meccas Ulta and Sephora.  I'm not going to waste my time product reviewing Orly, China Glaze, or Zoya, because they suck.  Essie and OPI, on the other hand, are fantastic!  With that said, they are very different from each other, but do share some similarities.

 

Both Essie and OPI have lasting power.  Whether you use Essie or OPI, your toenail polish is going to last for maybe one and half to two weeks, and that's not an exaggeration.  Your fingernail polish will look good for probably three days.  By the fourth day, you're going to have some chipping.  This is actually pretty good when you think about everything you do with your hands and nails during the day.  

 

OPI, unlike Essie, has a wide brush with a fat handle, which makes it faster and easier to paint your nails.  Swipe, swipe, you're done unless you go back and apply a second coat, which I always do.  Then it's swipe, swipe, blow nail, swipe, swipe.  Essie has a thinner brush with a skinny handle.  Because of its thinner brush, you do have to do about three swipes on the nail, and you have to be a little more careful to make sure you get an even paint coverage.

 

OPI nail polish may have a wider brush, but Essie doesn't get thick and goopy like OPI does after you've had it for a while.  The thick goopy sets in about a month after buying OPI, which is way too soon considering its price.  You can still use it, but the finished job isn't going to look as good as it did when you first used it.  That's why I prefer Essie to OPI, but I do have to admit OPI has more cutesy names for their colors, but what's in a name?

 

Take your pick.

 

 

 

 

 

 





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Brad pinning Schroeder on his back.  Eww, look at that pink, inner mouth tissue gone slack.

Honey Boo Boo's Season Finale Complete with a Pageant, Uncle Poodle, and an Eleven Fingered Baby

The hour long season finale of Here Comes Honey Boo Boo was weighed down with the crazy.  Baby Kaitlyn was born with two thumbs on her right hand; Uncle Poodle came to teach Alana a pageant routine; and Glitzy, my favorite cross-dressing teacup pig, was brought back.

The highly anticipated arrival of Baby Kaitlyn did not disappoint.  While new Baby Kaitlyn and new Mama Chickadee were bonding in the hospital bed, we saw the leftovers of Chickadee's hospital meal tray, and, don't be surprised, it was grits.  Honey Boo Boo announced to the world, "Baby Kaitlyn arrived on the biscuit express."  Forget the stork.  Everyone knows babies arrive on the biscuit express, duh. 

Baby Kaitlyn was brought into this world, by the biscuit express, with an extra thumb on her right hand, and that's just one more thumb for the sucking.  Honey Boo Boo was so excited to meet the new addition to their family that she said, "I'm so excited. I'm about to piss all over myself."  Piss wasn't the only thing she was worried about though.  Honey Boo Boo was also concerned that the "sunshine and happiness" smell of the baby would get overpowered by the baby's poop smell.

Kaitlyn's arrival coincided with one of Honey Boo Boo's pageants, so Honey Boo Boo couldn't compete, but she wasn't disappointed in the slightest.  One lesson that has been instilled in this feral Shirley Temple child is that family comes first, and she lives by that golden rule.  Luckily, for Honey Boo Boo,  Mama June was able to get her signed up for a later pageant titled "Miss Sparkle and Shine Pageant."  Honey Boo Boo's gay uncle, who Honey Boo Boo affectionately calls Uncle Poodle, came to visit the family and help Honey Boo Boo with her routine.  This child from a redneck, backwoods family has no problem with homosexuality, and that's why I love this family.  Their open-mindedness is an unexpected delight for me.  Honey Boo Boo yells into the camera, "Ain't nothing wrong with being a little gay."  Uncle Poodle helps Honey Boo Boo or tries to help Honey Boo Boo choreograph a pageant routine, but they end up having a grass fight.

Later, the whole family, complete with Baby Kaitlyn and Uncle Poodle, head to the "Miss Sparkle and Shine Pageant."  When Honey Boo Boo is being dressed for formal wear she tells her Mama June, "I think I'm a little chunky today."  Mama June tells Honey Boo Boo that she needs to stay away from the chicken nuggets, and little Honey Boo Boo pouts that she can't.  This exchange between the two is a little sad.  I'm not outraged by Mama June's response that Honey Boo Boo needs to stay away from chicken nuggets.  I'm more concerned that Honey Boo Boo will never learn to make healthy food choices or learn to just cut back a little on her food intake.  She's likely to become overweight during her teenage years.  Right now, this cute, spunky seven year old girl with some belly chub could become an unhealthy, overweight, sluggish, loud, obnoxious adolescent.  I don't want that to be her future.

Honey Boo Boo ended up winning "People's Choice" for the pageant, and she was very happy with herself, but she was even happier when Glitzy made an appearance at the end of the pageant crowning.  I'm not sure why TLC brought Glitzy back in for a cameo.  It was all a little strange, but who doesn't love a cross-dressing pig, so we'll let that go.  Oh well, another pageant went by with Honey Boo Boo not winning a Grand Supreme title, but here's to hoping and here's to hoping for a second season.  Cheers!

Lindsay Lohan Bastardizes Elizabeth Taylor and Her Legacy

 

Elizabeth Taylor whose life was a legacy of great cinema, beauty, jewels, love, good times, bad times, and, above all else, AIDS advocacy has been dead in her grave in Forest Lawn Memorial Park in Burbank, California since March 23rd of 2011, and we already have a biopic coming out on, all of channels, Lifetime-the quintessential "women are victims or sociopaths who'll burn a man in his bed if he cheats on her" channel.  The greatest honor of it all, however, is that Lindsay Lohan is playing (bastardizing) Elizabeth Taylor.

The Lifetime TV movie, Liz & Dick, will chronicle the tumultuous Hollywood love affair between the violet-eyed Elizabeth Taylor and the alpha male Richard Burton.  As most of us know, Lindsay Lohan has been in and out of court like it's a swinging door into her favorite coke party, has had numerous hit and run wrecks, ankle monitoring bracelets, and her rap sheet goes to infinity and beyond.  Maybe, just maybe, all of that could be overlooked if she could act, but she can't.  She probably couldn't even remember the lines to the Kit Kat commercial jingle were she given that gig.

On top of not being able to act, there is no resemblance between her and Elizabeth Taylor.  At this point in Lindsay Lohan's life, she looks like she has had so many collagen and botox injections that she's at 50 and holding, but how long can the 26 year old maintain that look is questionable.  The only clips that have shown a vague resemblance between Lohan and Taylor take place in the mid-life crisis period of Taylor's life, around the 1970s, when Taylor had some facial bloat.  Lohan has that sickish, alcohol bloat on the daily, so she had that going for her during make-up and costume prep.

On the set, there have been rumors and whisperings of her stealing expensive and priceless set pieces, and even trashing the original on-set trailer that Taylor stayed in during the filming of the epic Cleopatra, which, of course, she later denied.  While filming was underway, she stayed at the Chateau Marmont and drove up a bill somewhere in the neighborhood of $46,000, and she is now conveniently persona non grata. 

Lohan may have envisioned this role as her comeback or in the words of Norma Desmond, "I hate that word. It's a return, a return to the millions of people who have never forgiven me for deserting the screen."  Lohan may you not have the same, tragic fate of Desmond in Sunset Blvd, but I do hope you'll desert the screen just not on a deathbed.

Lady Gaga: What Does Her Face Look Like?

Ever since Lady Gaga came on the scene in 2008 with her clubby, electropop debut album Fame with its breakout tracks "Just Dance" and "Poker Face." I was a chained and tethered little monster fan.  Then she made additions to Fame with extended tracks and  titled the album The Fame Monster.  It included "Alejandro," "Bad Romance," and "Telephone."  I was running every day during that time and hitting the pavement hard, and I think those three songs helped me crank out an extra mile or two when I was huffing and puffing in the high altitude of Salt Lake City.

I watch period movies just for the costumes.  Two of my favorites are Marie Antoinette and Age of Innocence.  It's costume porn for me.  I ooh and ahh over the clothing, and Lady Gaga has given me oodles and oodles of costume porn.  I just swoon and drool over her costumes.  I say costumes, because we know those ensembles are not outfits or knock-about clothes.  She is like a runway and not a ready-to-wear runway.  Her clothes are like fluffy dreams and scary nightmares, and they are just sublime, but with the smoke and mirrors of her costumes, I feel as though I have no idea what her face looks like. 

She's worn facial prosthetics to give herself razor thin cheekbones that could slice slivers of roast beef at a deli, googly cartoonish eyes in her "Bad Romance" video, different skin tones or skin paints rather, contact lenses and then there are sunglasses, hats and wigs that camouflage the face.  All of these bells and whistles make it hard to see the face beneath and know what the real face is. 

I want a picture of Lady Gaga with a bare face with no accouterments.  I need to know what she really looks like in order for her to be a human and not some powerhouse performer that could, for all I know, be an android.  Even though I've seen some pictures that have hinted at what she looks like I'm unconvinced that's the true face, because there aren't other similar pictures to corroborate that she does look like that.  It's the great Gaga Face Conspiracy. 

I Did Five Unassisted Pull-Ups! Kiss it.

Just the other day, I reached my goal of being able to do five unassisted pull-ups. I've got the upper body strength of a weak kitten, so it's taken me a long time to be able to say I can do five pull-ups, which may seem like shit to you, but seems bad ass to me.

My motivation came from a place of fear all because of a horror movie I watched a year ago titled Frozen. Frozen is a nightmarish, horror movie, but there are no monsters, poltergeists, apparitions, demons, or super-human predators instead there is frostbite, wolves, sub-zero temperatures, a blizzard, and three people giving each other his or her last will and testament.

In the movie, two childhood best friends and one buttinsky girlfriend go skiing in New England. They're having an idyllic day on the slopes, but, near the end of their perfect day, a blizzard starts to roll in, and the ski resort begins closing down for precautionary measures. Wanting to get one last run down the mountain, the three convince the life operator to lift them up to the top of the mountain one last time before they have to leave. After coercion, the operator caves and allows them. Then he goes to take a leak, and, while he's away, his co-worker shuts down the lift not knowing that there are skiers riding up the lift. You know where this is headed, right?

They're stuck up there at about 75-100 feet off the ground thinking that there is a mechanical issue. They scream, but nobody comes, and, right about that time, all the lights shut down. That's when the panic starts to set in, and they realize they're going to have to survive a blizzard in a chair lift with no heat source, food, or water. The girlfriend is a stress smoker and immediately begins smoking. As she goes to pull out a another cigarette for the chain, her glove falls, and that ratchets up the intensity a few notches as her boyfriend chooses to drop down to get the glove knowing that she'll need it to protect her skin from frostbite, and he wants to make an attempt at getting help. Well, he falls wrong and breaks his leg. Later, wolves circle him and eat him. The other guy tries to monkey swing from chair lift to chair lift to get to the ground to get help, and this is why I want to be able to do a few pull-ups.

 I figure if I'm in a life or death situation, and I can do at least five pull-ups, prior to the life or deeath event, then I could muster the extra strength to do what I have to do to climb up a tree, swing from limb to limb, climb up a building, etc. to get away from my predator. No, I'm not worried about getting stuck in a chair lift. I'm worried about needing to be able to do a pull-up in a life or death situation.

My Mean Fifth Grade Teacher

Sometimes I want to tell my fifth math grade teacher, Mrs. Wise, I turned into a non-cheating, kind, thoughtful, considerate person. 

She had it out for me from day one, and, no, I'm not imagining this.  It could've been that I got into a physical fight with her son, Brad, who was the same age as me and in my homeroom class.  There was that, and I did beat the shit out of him.  He threw a book at me during Language Arts, it busted my lip, and when I noticed I was bleeding all hell broke loose, and I jumped out of my desk and starting slamming his head on his desktop.  I then took off his glasses and scratched the lenses on the gritty floor.  Everyone is yelling, "Fight, Fight, Fight!"  Talk about rage.  During my childhood, my dad spent a lot of time teaching me how to defend myself, so when I say I can scrap I mean it.  Brad and I got written up and had to go to counseling sessions together with the school counselor, Ms. Scott, who had braces and spit all over you. 

I happen to think Mrs. Wise hated me before I ever fought her son, and that fight only made a bad situation worse.  She loved to accuse me of cheating, and I still haven't gotten over that.  There was one particular time during a fractions test.  I was sitting behind Elizabeth Wright, and I was working hard on my fraction test.  Pencil chewing hard.  Next thing I know, Mrs. Wise calls me out and says something like, "Vicki Williams, are you looking over Elizabeth Wright's shoulder and cheating for test answers?"  She said it really loud, and gave me the shittiest look. The hag called me out in front of all my peers and shamed me.  I didn't know what to say.  I turned red, got hot, and probably meekly said something like, "No, ma'am."  I wasn't cheating, but Mrs. Wise just knew I was cheating, and she made me change seats and sit alone.  I was mortified.  There were two or three other times that she did that, and I haven't forgotten and I never will.

There may be good teachers out there, but there are also those that are just plain mean, and, for me, Mrs. Wise was the meanest teacher I ever had. 

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Riding in the backseat of Brad's car, and, yes, Brad did get his backseat upholstered in a plaid flannel.

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                                                                I am a fighter and
                                                                I ain't gonna stop
                                                           There is no turning back
                                                                 I've had enough

 

 

                                   I love you, Christina Aguilera, with your little 5 feet curvy self.

Riding a Train Wreck

                                                  (Taken from Amtrak Train Window)

Over a year ago, I rode Amtrak from DC to Florence, SC, my hometown, and I can't get all the strange events out of my head.  I'm an eavesdropper, and I'm a bad eavesdropper.  I'm the kind that doesn't just inch in to listen, but also stares, and, if some crazy shit is said, I might jot it down in one of my little notepads just so I don't forget some of the details.  I'm lucky I haven't had my ass beat.  Seems to me though that most people lack self-awareness, and the ones who lack self-awareness are usually the best ones to listen to.  They never know I'm there, so an ass beating doesn't have to be too big of a concern.

This train ride was like Shangrilah for an eavesdropper.

I settle into my seat, and I'm thinking wonder who I'll have to sit beside.  I'm already wanting it to be a quiet person, because my arrival time is something like 3 AM, and I want sleep.  I'm hoping for an old lady who knits and later pulls an afghan over herself to nap.  What I get is a lady wearing a Disney tee shirt with a Grumpy and a Dopey on it that reads "I'm grumpy, because you're dopey."  You can imagine my upset, but I quickly learned that I couldn't have gotten a better seatmate.  I came out the gate all blustery and possessive over my stuff and personal space as to make myself unlikeable. I got the armrest and engaged in more bitchery and stuff.  I was in no mood to be near a talker, and I knew she was one.  You can just tell, you know. 

Grumpy shirt wasted no time chatting it up a with a lady across the aisle. She asked her where she was headed and aisle lady told her she was going to visit her Mom.  Grumpy said she wished she was going to visit her mom, but her mom passed away not too long ago.  Then, she goes on and on, and I'm getting saucer size eyes the more she talks thinking am I really hearing this.  She said that when her mom died they decided to cremate her remains, and the family passes around the remains from house to house, so they can visit with Mama.  Then, she says Mama's favorite place is on top of the TV, because her favorite thing to do is watch TV.  She also shared that her grandkids like to put Mama on top of the TV, so Mama can hear since Mama always asked them to turn up the volume.

About that time, I'm getting thirsty, so I go to the snack car, but not until I pack up all my shit to carry with me.  If you've ever ridden the train, then you know you're likely to get jacked and cut or  robbed.  If you don't believe that shady people are on the train, ride it and find out for yourself, but don't ride it without mace. 

I get to the snack car and get a Snickers and Diet Coke.  The snack bar is a shitty tin can nothing like what you see in those movies from the 40s and 50s.  I sit down at a table, and there's this woman who looks like she's on crack.  She's wearing a belly shirt and skinny jeans; is probably bumping 40 something; has long, stringy jet black hair; blurred tattoos; is skeletor skinny and wobbling like a weeble, but that weeble was going to fall down.  Miss Cracky shouts send two beers to those two guys to her daugher.  The guys are twenty something and fresh, so they take the beers when Miss Cracky's tween daughter with pink hair walks over to them to serve them the beers.  Next thing you know the four are nestled in a booth, and the cutesy family nearby, who is probably riding the train because their little boy loves that Thomas the Tank train engine, snuggles in real close and makes a quick exit.  I leave, because, at that point, I'm just sad about Miss Cracky's daughter and I'm thinking about how life is a lottery.  I'm wanting Grumpy tee shirt to cheer me up, and when I get back to my seat she's there all right sharing more personal dish, and I'm ready with open ears.  I was not disappointed.

Internet Detritus

Suri's Burn Book


Hateful Body Snarking on Gaga From Some Assholes


Ten Shocking Secrets of Flight Attendants. Hint: They Hate Pouring Diet Coke


Everyone Looks Cooler in Sunglasses even Margaret Thatcher

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In keeping with these embarrassing pictures, I included one of my most awkward.  This was taken when I was twelve or thirteen at my best friend's house.  Those glasses. That anorak from Naturally Outdoors, however, was the height of fashion at Moore Middle School.

Minor League Couponer

Every Sunday, I flip through the local newspaper and clip coupons, and this last Sunday was rich in coupons for items that are my essentials.  I try not to use coupons for non-essentials, but it happens from time to time.  My approach to coupons is to try to be utilitarian about them, and not buy an item siimply because I have a coupon.

I had a buy one get one free for an Herbal Essences hair product, so I bought the shampoo and got the conditioner for free, and I was able do the same with a Pantene coupon.  The other coupon was $3.00 off a package of Gillette disposable razors.

I don't know how it happened, but all of this was only $4.84.  I'm starting to think the cashier had to have made a mistake, because I feel like I made out like a bandit.

When I have a good coupon day, it makes me consider becoming an extreme couponer, but I think it takes a lot of smarts to be one.  There's so much strategizing, scheduling, organizing, and mathematics that goes into being able to do it, and I don't have that in me.  You also have to not give a shit about the people who get behind you in the check-out line.  If I made people wait that long, I'd start to sweat and profusely apologize to everyone behind me being inconvenienced.  Then I'd have to pop an anxiety pill midway through the ringing up, and I'd get home and ask Brad over and over, "Do you think that was rude of me, you know, to make those people wait, so I could get 100 packs of orange tic tacs for 50 cents?"

Those of us who get behind extreme couponers get punished. You'd think they'd say something like, "I see you only have a few items.  Would you like to go ahead of me?" or even "Here have a free roll of toilet paper for having to wait."  They don't though.  Oh, and never make the mistake of going to Harris Teeter on double coupon night.  Not only are there women pushing two carts and flipping through binders of coupons, there's also their dickering with cashiers making certain that they don't get screwed on their coupons, and the constant beep, beep, beep, of the thousands of items getting scanned.  I can hear it in my head.  It starts to make me feel the same way the Grinch does about all the noisy toys in Whoville on Christmas Day.

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This is my 9th grade ID card.  Am I looking happy or what?  Not so much.  Found this when I found the 4th grade ID.

Honey Boo Boo Gets Purdy and Plays Bingo

This Wednesday's episode of Honey Boo Boo was a mixed bag, but a mixed bag of nothing but goodies.

To save some money, which is June's favorite pastime, June and the girls went to visit Honey Boo Boo's make-up artist in order for June to learn how to do Honey Boo Boo's pageant make-up, so she wouldn't have to fork over the money for make-up applications every pageant.  Well, June's eyes aren't too good and her sausage fingers couldn't hold the brushes and applicators, and she ended up, as Honey Boo Boo said, squishing what looked like a marshmallow into Honey Boo Boo's eyelid and drawing on a crooked eyebrow.  Honey Boo Boo looked like a melting Tammy Faye.  At the end of the make-up application, Honey Boo Boo hollered, "I look like I just got off the street from walking!"  I know a six year old shouldn't know about street walkers, but is that really all that bad considering she has three older sisters who I'm sure don't filter their mouths?

Next the family goes to Bingo at the local VFW with the hope of winning some mad cash to fund Honey Boo Boo's pageants.  They walk away without any winnings, but we do learn that Bingo is June's favorite sport and that she likes it so much because it's a "spur of the moment" sport.  Later, the asshole-ish, uppity cameramen ask Honey Boo Boo to spell Bingo.  Whew weee.  It went some like this. . . B-I-N-G (wait for it, wait for it, wait for it, some more silence) O.  I was sweating that one.  I needed her to spell it right so so so so bad.

Later Honey Boo Boo gets to meet Ms. Georgia 2011 for tips on how to make improvements to her stage presence and to get some advice on how to reach her goals.  Honey Boo Boo, June, and Miss Georgia go to a bakery for a dessert, and Honey Boo Boo eats two slices of cake, spits some cake on Miss Georgia, and farts at the table.  Miss Georgia, talk about boring, she didn't even laugh.  Come on!  Honey Boo Boo later said she didn't think Miss Georgia ever farted.  No, Honey Boo Boo, that's not it.  Some people just don't have a sense of humor, and act like they'd never do something so uncouth.  As a gift, Miss Georgia gave Honey Boo Boo a signed photograph, and Honey Boo Boo looks at the picture of Miss Georgia and goes, "Who's that pretty lady?"  She didn't even know that photoshopped person in the photograph was the one sitting across the table from her. I loved it!

My favorite moment of this past Wednesday's episode was when Honey Boo Boo was looking at herself in a hand mirror while rocking in a lazy chair and eating a Little Debbie cake.  She says to her mirror self, "I'm relaxing, eating, and having a great time."  Oh, I just loved that moment.  Those are my favorite moments too, Honey Boo Boo.

The Great Cash and Stairs Misadventure

 

My poor, sweet dog has developed a fear of stairs also know as Bathmophobia.  He bounds up the stairs not thinking about how he is going to have to go down or it could be that, in the moment, he's unconcerned with the getting down the stairs part. 

 

When Brad is away I don't stay in the garage apartment. I choose to stay in the house.  In the morning, Schroeder and Cash come upstairs to get me out of bed for a potty and a play.  Schroeder runs up and down with ease.  Cash, on the other hand, stalls when it's time to go downstairs for his morning constitution.  He looks at me with eyes screaming, "Mommy, ummm, get me down."  I can't pick him up.  He weighs 92 pounds.  I've tried treats even hot dog weenies, getting Schroeder to push him down the stairs, putting his leash and harness on him and giving him a mighty tug.  He doesn't budge, and he cries, mournful, I'm in pain cries.  Then it makes me anxious, upset, and I yank at my hair in frustration and exhaustion.  This went on for an hour yesterday until my dad came home to pick him up and get him down.

 

Today, the same the thing happened, and I was going on an hour of begging and coaxing my scared dog.  It's so much worse when a big dog is afraid.  I called my dad to see when he was getting home, but he didn't answer, so I took matters into my own hands, and started brainstorming about alternative ways to get him down.  I decided it could be a traction issue, so I draped a bath towel down the first six stairs, and he came.  At the sixth step, he had too much momentum going to turn back, and he came down.  Problem solved.  He was rewarded with a hard, tongue hanging out play.

 

Sheena, this was going on the whole time we were texting today. 

 

 

 

Looking at his leash saying, "What?  That's not going to work, lady."

 

 

 

 

 

Here's his despondent I'll just lean on the banister and watch you have a good time.

 

 

 

 

 

 The look that breaks my heart.

 

 

 

Me anxious, upset, and tired wondering how the hell I'm going to get this 92 pound, fluff dog downstairs.

My Love-Hate Relationship with Katy Perry, Zooey Deschanel, Hello Kitty, and Being a Woman Child

I grew up with Hello Kitty and her fellow characters-Keroppi, Kiki & Lala, Pochacoco, Chococat, and more-so I have a soft spot for Hello Kitty and her entourage.  There was my pencil box, a tiny little bubble gum machine, tin storage box, mirrored compact, wallet, hairbrush and other Hello Kitty items that were purchased with my allowance at the local toy shop.

Just the other day, I bought a Hello Kitty notebook from Target, and I'm writing all these adult notes in it, and I'm thinking about how 20 or more years ago I would've been playing MASH in this notebook and writing "I Love Whomever" with hearts around it.  Then, I'm thinking how I love this notebook, but maybe I shouldn't have bought it seeing as how I'm 32, and, of course, I'm thinking, well, I don't give a shit what others think.  Maybe I should though.  It's the whole Peter Pan conundrum all over again.

At that point, I start thinking about how Zooey Deschanel probably has a closet full of Hello Kitty notepads, and, if she has a Hello Kitty arsenal, it's okay that I do too, right?  But Zooey Deschanel wears those abominable baby doll dresses and looks like she should be stuffed in a toy box or doll house.  Then there's her doppelganger, Katy Perry.  Katy Perry wears my favorite candies and there's her cupcake bra, which you can buy a replica of at Etsy. Katy Perry is my favorite walking scratch and sniff sticker; however, I don't want to be a strawberry scented scratch and sniff sticker.  Or do I?  I have enough little girl stickers to cover my entire body. 

I know that my girlie kid likes are a cultural trend that's taking over the country.  I'm not alone.  There are girls like me all over the place (notice that I still refer to myself as a girl) buying Hello Kitty notebooks.  Look at all the headbands, bows, polka dots, and gathered baby doll skirts blowing up the fashion scene right now.  Then there are the outrageous nail polish colors out there that are less than sophisticated like glitter, crackled paint, Malibu Barbie pink, patterns, and neons.  Make-up is headed in this direction too with eyeshadow colors like neon orange, blue, and yellow.  There's also the fake eye lashes some even have crystals at the base.  Mac has always carried art cosmetics, but, come on, Loreal, not you. 

I read arguments saying this trend is a cultural response to the economic downturn and that it allows women to experience the comforts of their childhood in a time of uncertainty, but I don't think that's it at least not completely.  This was starting to happen before the economic downturn.  I have the childish tee shirts to prove it. I think it has a little something to do with botox, vanity visits to dermatologists, wrinkle creams, and the desire to turn back the clock.  We've started to turn the clock way back too all the way back to elementary school and before adolescence when we had dewier skin that hadn't been pimpled and then later crinkled at the eyes.  There's the turning the clock back and there's also the nostalgia factor too. 

I still haven't figured out how and why I became a woman child, and I'm still uncertain whether I'll change my ways.  I do know that when I'm around a woman my age who is dressed smartly in quality, expensive heels that make her calves go pop, a dress that makes her look feminine but tough, is wearing lipstick NOT lip gloss, and has polished hair, I feel a little silly in her commanding presence, but I don't seem to care enough to change. 

The other side of this that is comical too is that there's been the man child label around for years now with the man child going around playing Halo, never getting a real job, and not knowing how to make a meal that isn't Ramen noodles or cereal, change oil in a car, check tire pressure, and much less repair the broken toilet.  Seems that with the woman child around now there ought to be a lot of happy marriages between the woman child and the man child, but I read the other day that the number of people getting married is way down from where it once was not too long ago.  Again, a way to postpone adulthood and responsibility.  

What is certain is that this female cultural trend is perpetuated by corporate America capitalizing off of the woman child, and I don't think this phenomenon is going to change any time soon.

Proof:  Below are two coveted items from my childhood Hello Kitty collection.  For a while, I was putting headache medicine in the Pippo container, and, from time to time, I still carry around the Pochacco mirror compact.

 

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Schroeder on his back in the garage apartment looking like a crazy wombat. 

Product Review: Stila Fiesta Lip Glaze Trio

 

 

 

 

This is Stila's Fiesta Lip Glaze Trio, and it costs around $10 or $12.  Right now it's on sale at Sephora for $8.  I'm really loving this product right now for a few reasons. 

 

First, it's really cheap considering that it's Stila, and, despite these lip glosses being miniature size, there's a considerable amount in each tube. I've been using these about every day for a few months, and I still haven't emptied a tube.

 

Second, I love a brush lipgloss rather than a sponge lipgloss.  Stila has a clear nylon bristled brush, and it operates a lot like a mechanical pencil.  You twist the bottom to push the lip gloss onto the brush. 

 

Third, you know how there's always that one shade you don't like when you buy a set of something, well, that won't happen with this set.  The shades are fantastic.  There's a nude, a pale pink, and a  brighter pink.  All shades look natural.

 

The one drawback is that you're going to have to reapply this lipgloss after about two hours or you can do like me and just not care enough to reapply.

 

 





Sophisticate that Pony Tail. Jennifer Aniston Did.

(Ignore those two girls in bottom corner)

I was in a boutique here in Florence owned by the height of bitchiness.  That is a post unto itself that I'm going to get around to writing, because I'm still hot around the collar over her twattiness.  Per usual, I was at the register and made an impulse buy.  I really hate impulse buys, but there seems to be nothing I can do about it.  There was a bowl of these elastic ribbon ties and beside the bowl there was a picture of the bouncy Jennifer Aniston with her gorgeous hair bound in a messy pony tail with one of these ties.  Must Buy!  I'm in love with these things.  They aren't easy to come by either.

I searched over Target and at drugstores, and all I came up with were pastels and neons with polka dots.  I draw the line there.  I will not have the same hairstyle as the kid who lives across the street from me.  I already did that once with my Suri Cruise bob haircut.  I wanted solid, muted colors, because I wanted to sophisticate that pony.  I eventually came across these ties at Ulta.  The brand I purchased is called Tony Tie.  It was a card package of three in three different colors-black, off-white, and leopard.  It was a reasonable price somewhere hovering around $7, and you may think that is too much, and, if you do, good in fact great, because I don't want you flooding the scene with my new find.

One of the things about these ties is that they are not going to harm your hair in the way an elastic band does, so that's a major added bonus for me since my baby fine hair is prone to breakage the longer it gets, and elastic bands are infamous for breaking hair.

I give my new beauty find 5 out of 5 stars on all points-cost, quality, usefulness, and style.

I Don't Feel Sorry for Kate Middleton or Her Boobs

Kate Middleton (or the new Diana) was on vacation, like her life isn't a vacation everyday, in Provence laying out on the rooftop of her expansive, private villa, and she went topless.  IDIOT.  What a stupid, stupid, stupid person.  Now the Duchess of Cambridge and her princey husband have their undies wadded tighter up their arses than they already did before, and they're suing or threatening to sue the tabloids who've published these photos or those who are going to publish these photos. The topless photos have already been published in Ireland, France, and Italy, and are likely to make their way around the globe be it through print or the Internet.  As if her boobs are that great. 

So you think this is an invasion of your privacy, Her Highness?  You gave up your privacy the day you married a prince.  Duh!  I really do believe that she should just eat it, let it go, and not make the same mistake in the future. 

Why didn't she think about the sneaky paparazzi, and why didn't she think about Duchess Sarah Ferguson's scandalous poolside topless photos from 1992?  Maybe she could use this event to get the rest of us outside of Europe to go topless.  Bikinis would be cheaper.  There is that.  New York is headed in that direction with its Go Topless Day .  Maybe all we need is Kate Middleton to tell us yea, that's okay.

My advice to Kate is to only run around topless with the shades drawn.  Get your freak on behind closed doors.  It's a small sacrifice to make on the way to becoming queen of whatever one day.

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I came across this ID card in a photo album last night, and I just cracked up.  It was taken in the 4th grade.  Look at that cursive handwriting.  Nice!  Looks like I couldn't remember my birthday, because that's not my handwriting there. 

 

 

 

The Me in Melancholia (No Spoilers)

I watched Melancholia last week, and I saw too much of Justine in me.  It was almost uncanny.

The 2011 arthouse film, Melancholia, was written and directed by Lars Von Trier and stars Kirsten Dunst (Justine), Charlotte Gainsbourg (Claire), Keifer Sutherland (John), Alexander Skarsgard (Michael), and a cast of minor characters that are insignificant to the purpose of this post. 

The narrative revolves around two sisters, Justine and Claire, and the events during Justine's wedding party and the events shortly after the wedding party wherein Justine, Claire, John, and Leo, who is Claire and John's young son, wait to see whether a rogue planet, appropriately named Melancholia, will collide with Earth or just be a fly-by.

The wedding party is a beautiful disaster.  It's a lavish affair that is a display of sumptuous wealth and taste, and it takes place at the estate of Claire and John, and, it becomes evident that John is independently wealthy and that he footed the bill for this extravagant wedding party.  During the party, Justine, though appreciative of John's goodwill, can't help but be a little too much herself, which is little too much of a bad thing.

When the limo she is sharing with her new husband, Michael, arrives at the estate, she immediately runs out to see her horse, Abraham, in the stables.  She's already late, and has absolutely no compunction about making her guests wait while she goes to pet Abraham.  Her sense of time is no sense of time. Upon arriving and greeting guests, Justine flits in and out mentally and geographically as ignores a loving and thoughtful gift from Michael, and, during one scene, makes her way to take a bath before the cake-cutting.  At one moment she sits on a stack of chairs and dangles her legs while kicking her shoes off.  I got so frustrated with Justine, and I wanted to tell her to jump down off the chair and just get out there and behave for a little while, but it wouldn't do any good.  I, of all people, know that.  Being a good sister, Claire most certainly tries to ground Justine, but is unsuccessful.

At the conclusion of the party, Michael leaves Justine.  The marriage is dissolved.  There's no nasty fight or barbs.  Justine tells Michael, "What'd you expect?," and the first part of the movie ends.

The second part ushers in a severely depressed Justine who is borderline catatonic.  Justine calls Claire to see if she can seek sanctuary at her sister's estate, and, of course, Claire says yes.  In preparation for Justine's arrival, Claire makes a guest bed complete with a chocolate on the pillow for the "out of body and mind" Justine.  Claire, being a good sister, gets Justine in the bed, bathes her, and gets food in Justine's stomach even if all Justine will do is stick her fingers in a jar of blueberry jelly and lick her fingers clean.  Justine is eventually rehabilitated to the point she can feed and wash herself.

As Justine becomes functional, Claire starts to unravel worried that Melancholia is going to collide with the Earth.  Despite John's excitement over Melancholia and his obsessive trekking of its path and confidence in the scientists' statements it will be a fly-by, Claire remains skeptical.

It's at this point that the tables flip.  Justine, through her sedated state induced by depression, is able to take control of a chaotic, frenzied situation and calm and steady Claire.  As to not give away any of the plot, I'll stop here.   Watch it to see if Earth and Melancholia collide.

Melancholia is available through Netflix instant streaming.

Product Review: Too Faced Primed & Poreless Powder

A while ago, I was in Ulta picking up some Loreal True Match Foundation of which I'm a loyal consumer.  I've used every department store big name foundation you can think of, and I still return to this drugstore diamond.  I grabbed my foundation, W5 (sand beige), and I started to wander about Ulta, and that's never a good thing, because it means I'm going to spend more money and, once again, live above my means.  If the 2008 financial crisis taught us anything, it taught us that living above our means is a no no. 

I made my way over to the Benefit and Too Faced collections, and I started to look at the powder.  That's when I found Too Faced Primed & Poreless Powder.  I was first drawn to it, because it's a loose, translucent powder.  I'm a huge fan of a translucent powder, because there's no skin tone matching.  Good translucent powders are hard to come by.  I used to use Clarins translucent pressed powder, but I quit using it, because I became dissatisfied with the appearance of a pressed powder.  At that point, I switched to a cult favorite, Coty loose powder.  I prefer a loose powder, because a loose powder gives you more of a finishing touch whereas a pressed powder is, in my opinion, more make-up layering.

Of course, I bought the Too Faced Powder, so how'd it stack up?

It's weightless, and it's like fairy dust or the dust you'd find in a fairy's home or unicorn breath or whatever.  It's just that magical.  It's a very finely milled, quality powder.  You can tell a good loose powder by how milled it is.  The finer the better.  I use it last to set my make-up, and it does fight shine.  I have major grease slick, and this product does wonders for that.  As for fine lines and wrinkles, it doesn't settle rather it smooths, and it does help with the appearance of pores.  I have reddish discoloration, and I think it works well for that flaw too.  It really does brighten, freshen, and liven up the face.  I couldn't believe the results. 

One thing I want to caution about is that the name is somewhat misleading.  I wouldn't use it as a primer.  A primer is intended to prepare the skin for make-up application, but this powder isn't going to do that. Buy a separate product for that.  Make no mistake, this is only a powder.  I don't think it can be double-timed, but it does a ridiculously good job as a powder.  It's the queen powder of all powders.

The package appearance is bananas, and I die for it!  Get the Rachel Zoe shout out?  Okay, so, it is this baby pink color with gold detailing.  It's totally vintage and looks like it should be sitting on Marilyn Monroe's vanity.  While the appearance is fabulous, the container just pisses me off.  When you screw off the cutesy lid, inside there is this cheap, flimsy, plastic screen to keep the powder from falling out, and there are holes punched into said cheap, flimsy, plastic screen.  It is so hard to tap out enough powder on your brush, so what you end up doing is tapping it out into the lid, and you still waste.  At 28 dollars, wasting is the last thing you want to do with this product. 

I'd give the powder four out of five stars.  The only reason why I don't give it five is because of my complaints about the container.  Other than that, well worth every penny!

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I went to stay with Bianca in Charleston, and we rode downtown to visit the French Huguenot Church located on Church Street.  I snapped this while touring around the outside of the church. 

Around this area of downtown in the mid-1600s to the mid-1800s, there was a high concentration of wealthy French merchants and the story goes that our paternal great, great, great, great and probably more greats grandmother, Madame Marie Ferree, left France to settle in this area after her husband, a silk merchant, died.  

This is one of my favorite architectural structures for many reasons.  It's Gothic Revival meets island white wash stucco, and together these two aesthetics make a nice contrast to each other.

Book Review: Seed by Ania Ahlborn (No Spoilers)

I recently read Seed by Ania Ahlborn, and I was terrifically impressed with this horror novel, so impressed that I felt compelled to write this short book review.  Seed is a well paced story that incorporates elements of some of the most beloved horror movies-Poltergeist, The Omen, and The Exorcist. 

The main character, Jack, has been running from a dark, evil past since childhood, a past that is still spotty and fuzzy, but, by his mid-thirties, his life has been filled with sunlight.  The evil that was once nipping at his heels has stopped harassing him.  He has a beautiful, loving wife, Aimee, and two healthy, sweet daughters-Abby and Charlie.  But maybe Charlie isn't as healthy and sweet as she seems.

After a car wreck that totals their old, rustbucket Saturn, Charlie hasn't been the same.  She begins acting out in strange and bizarre ways that are unlike her six year old, cheery, bouncy, Sponge Bob loving ways.  A few days after the wreck, she vomits, ala Regan McNeil in The Exorcist, all over the room she shares with her sister, Abby.  After this episode, it becomes increasingly clear that Charlie understands the darkness behind her father's eyes a little too well.  It is this darkness that threatens to tear their happy family and home apart.

The characters are likable and real, and the dialogue between the characters is well-written and believable.  The descriptions do not beat you over the head since Ahlborn uses crisp, strong language to create a scene, and the scenes are always moody and atmospheric.  Because the book takes place in the Dirty South, there is a Southern Gothic element that certainly does lend itself to creating a shadowy, dark mood.

I have absolutely no criticisms of this book.

As for my own experiences and responses while reading the book, I can tell you it got so eerie at moments that I had to put it down so as to not scare myself, and there were those times when I did scare myself while reading it and scream at sudden movements.  If you're faint of heart like me, only read this book during the daytime.

The Kindle edition is only $2.99.  Buy it!

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This was snapped at Monument Valley on the cross country drive back to South Carolina last August.  Monument Valley borders the Arizona-Utah state border, and it was on our itinerary of stops along with the Grand Canyon and Graceland.  John Ford directed several Westerns here starring John Wayne, and there's even a John Wayne/John Ford vigil.

Flu Shots

Around this time of year, when the nights are cooling and the leaves are turning,  I think about getting a flu shot.  It's so terrifically easy to get a flu shot now than it was, maybe even, just five years ago.  All you have to do is walk into a big box store that sells everything from underwear to motor oil and has a pharmacy.  The pharmacy technician or pharmacist will give you a shot right then and there for around 25 dollars.  Me, though, I always think I don't need one.  I'm strong and healthy and rarely even get a cold, but, for the last few years, I keep thinking more and more of getting one.  Why not, right?  It's preventive medicine, and I do believe in that even if I don't believe I'll get the flu.

Today, though, I've pretty much made up my mind I'm getting a flu shot.  I'm watching Albert Nobbs, and I've got about 40 minutes left, and everyone is coming down with typhoid fever.  I'm thinking shit, I don't want to go like that.  Then I go cuckoo for about two or three minutes and see germs on me and think about a cackling Typhoid Mary in a kissing booth and I'm in line.  Next thing I know  I'm washing my hands.  I even scrub under my nails real good with too hot water like I'm going to deliver a baby or something.

Then I go Google search Typhoid Mary.  Idiot?  Yes, I am.  It's like when you know you shouldn't go to WebMD about that weird mole, but you just can't stop yourself, and you do and then you know you've got skin cancer. 

Returning back to Typhoid Mary, she was an asymptomatic carrier of typhoid fever.  From her outward appearance, no one knew she was infected.  She was like all those normal looking flu people who touched the grocery cart you're going to push today or tomorrow.  By the time she was tested for the disease by a physician, she had infected something like 50 people and killed some (nobody knows the exact number). Turns out she was cooking for folks and transmitting the disease through food preparation.  She was patient zero or whatever they call it, but a patient zero who didn't manifest the symptoms. 

After being identified, New York state isolates and quarantines her in a state hospital for three years (1907-1910), she's released when the New York State Commissioner of Health decides that disease carriers should no longer be kept in isolation, let's get real, imprisonment, because that's basically what happened to her.  Upon release, Mary was given employment as a laundress, and, at this point, you're feeling pretty bad for Mary, right?!  She gets this disease, through no fault of her own, and she's just an Irish immigrant trying to make good who lost three years of her life in a state hospital on an island for a disease that the state deemed criminal.  She loved cooking and now she's washing laundy.  Well, get this, the bitch left her laundress job and changed her name, so she could go back to cooking during which she infected some people and killed some too.

I'm getting a flu shot.  No shit, the flu isn't the typhoid fever, but I don't want it just the same, and now I have this irrational fear of communicable diseases.  Hand me the Purell.

Peter Pan Syndrome in the Junior's Section

I was shopping in Nordstrom about week ago, and, like a bee to honey, I went to the junior's section.  I haven't been a junior for about ten or eleven years, so that means I've been shopping in the junior's section ten years too long.  I can't stay away from it.  I did wean myself off juniors jeans about ten years ago, and that was no small accomplishment.  I've since become more of a Joe's Jeans girl, but, shit, half of the other jeans I own are Forever 21, so what does that say about my small accomplishment?  That it was no accomplishment at all.  However, if the name of the store suggests anything, it suggests that I am 21 forever, and that means I can buy my jeans from there foreverrrrrr, right?

I know I shouldn't shop in the junior's section anymore.  Period.  It's time for me to put my Snoopy screen printed tee shirt to the side even if it does bring back warm, fuzzy memories of that Garfield "I Live for Saturdays" tee shirt I wore when I was four. I need to face the fact that the Snoopy tee should go into the work-out and sleep tee shirt pile.  It's just so hard to give those things up.  I don't want to.  I want to wear what I feel like wearing not what is appropriate.  Appropriateness is way over-rated.  I may give up the Snoopy tee, but one thing I won't give up are my cut-off jean shorts.  I'm getting buried in those babies.  Anyone who says different is getting haunted.

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Ro, why'd you have to go and drool all over my couch?  Don't look so sheepish, because I know how that got there.  You drooled in your sleep.  Didn't you?  Go ahead, admit it.

SS Minnow and Mascara

If I was told I could only take one make-up product with me when I was boarding the SS Minnow, it'd be mascara.  If I was going to be stranded on an island, I wouldn't want to be without my mascara.  One, because I would need to bat my eyelashes at the natives to keep from getting BBQed, and, second, because I love what it does for eyelashes. 

I've been playing with make-up since the 6th grade back when I was all about some Wet n' Wild make-up products.  Those who know me know that I do go au naturale without a swipe of make-up, so I'm not the type of girl who can't go to the gym or grocery without make-up.  I just need to get that out there, so readers don't think I'm a pretty, pretty princess.  Something I learned along the way, from a crazy ass Pageant Queen roommate of mine who wore rhinestones, is that two types of mascara can really get the job done.  I'm mean really, really "ka-pow" things up.

I use a volumizing mascara and a lengthening mascara.  I've used a lot of mascaras, and, although I love using Too Faced Lash Injection along with a lengthening mascara, I can't justify spending that much on mascara.  I use two Loreal mascaras-Voluminous in black (carbon black clumps real bad.  Don't buy it.) and Lash Out in blackest black.  First, you have to curl your eyelashes. That's one of the most important things to be done before application. I curl at the eyelash root and then at mid eyelash. If you curl just at the eyelash root, you're going to get this /  shape. It's not natural looking, so it's worth it to take 3 more seconds to curl at mid eyelash too to get this ) shape.  Apply the lengthening first, and start at the base line and wiggle the brush from side to side slowly as you glide to the end of your eyelash.  Be quick, because you don't want it to dry before you apply the volumunizing mascara.  Then apply the voluminzing and do the same motions.  And, dang girl, you're looking faboosh!

          

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Wittle Cashee Washee, Cassius Clay, Johnny Cash, Puppy Wuppy, Boo Boo Kitty, Little Monster.  Who wants a w-a-l-k?  You do, you do!

There Were Communists in My Sleep

Alfred Hitchcock Presents was on the air from 1955 to around 1962 during the height of the Cold War, communism, and space exploration.  Being that television, movies, music, and books are a reflection of the social issues of the time, Alfred Hitchcock Presents had a smattering of episodes on those topics.

Not too long ago, I was watching a lot of Alfred Hitchcock Presents through Netflix, and I cherry-picked all the episodes about communism.  Being predisposed to obsessions, I wasted the better half of a day watching the communist episodes.  That night when I went to sleep I had communism on the brain.  One of the many joys of sharing a bed with me, as Brad will tell you, is that I talk in my sleep.  And I talk with lucidity, coherency, and conviction.

That night I began rambling that someone was after me.  Brad woke up, and, as usual, he encouraged me to keep on.  I repeated, in a frenzy, "They're after me, they're after me!"  He asked who, and I told him, "All the communists.  They're everywhere, everywhere.  Help me!"  He wanted to know how I knew for certain they were communists.  I got all pissed off and said, "It's not like they're wearing tee shirts that say I'm a communist."  A real smartass even in my sleep.  A proud moment.

Honey Boo Boo's Mama's Sketti Recipe

I'm low brow, and I make it a point not to miss an episode of Here Comes Honey Boo Boo.  Don't judge me.  I feel you judging me.  In last night's episode, we see Sugar Bear, Honey Boo Boo's daddy, taking her to The Fun Factory for some skee ball and skating. Sugar Bear wins Honey Boo Boo enough tickets for a pink and purple inflated gavel. Weird a gavel, I know, and like that young'in amped up on Red Bull and Mountain Dew needs a gavel.  Then to skating.  Sugar Bear ends up putting Honey Boo Boo's skates on the wrong feet reminding me of when my dad used to unsuccessfully try to put my hair in pony tail.  Sugar Bear gets her stable and up on her feet, and they take to the rink with their skating trainers-PVC pipes connected into a triange with wheels to steady yourself and lean.  It was basically a walker on wheels.

In keeping with the episode's theme of family time, we get to cook and eat dinner with the family.  Mama, June, is cooking up everyone's favorite, sketti.  While TLC cues in a swelling score of Italian opera, Mama is using an ice cream scoop to spoon out margarine from a Country Crock tub.  Then she fart squirts ketchup into the glass bowl holding the margarine.  At that point, I truly am feeling pretty queasy with a gag and dry heave imminent.  The mixture is melted in the microwave, and June browns hamburger meat and boils the pasta while she tells us that she can feed the family of six on $80 a week, and she tries to cook dinner at least once a day.  When the sketti is ready, each family member spoons out his or her helping in a mish mash of bowls, and heads to the living room to sit on their brown sectional sofa and flip through TV channels.

The family collectively brags on June's cooking and repeatedly talks about sketti being a favorite meal around the house. It's sweet, and it's apparent as I watch the show more that they do genuinely love and enjoy each other, and TLC has enabled them to do some things outside their home that they otherwise couldn't afford to do like a day at the water park, spa day, pageant training, an above ground pool, and good times at the Fun Factory.  Of course, I can't overlook that TLC has given them the funds to partake in these activities for good TV material.  Without it, the show would be little more than bodily functions and bad table manners shared amongst a loving, crazy, Southern family.

Coco (Ice T's Wife) and Her Butt

Ice T, former rapper and now actor on "Law and Order: Special Victims Unit," is married to this petite, delicate flower named Coco.  Coco and Ice T's romance rivals that of Romeo & Juliet, Tristan & Isolde, and Elizabeth Taylor & Richard Burton.  Ice T and Coco met on a video shoot.  She was a model on the set, and after supposedly seeing her teeth and then her butt, Ice T introduced himself to her and asked her what kind of guys she dated.  She said something along the lines of I only date nice guys to which he replied Ice is in nice.  Fast forward ten years, and they are still together, which mostly likely has a little something to do with her outrageous butt.

Look at her in all her lucite high heels glory doing a lift to enhance those glutes.  It reminds me of that episode of MTV Cribs when Mariah Carey worked out in 4 inch heels on a stairmaster.  At least Mariah was on pills and booze.  Coco has no excuse for working out in those shoes.  I can't decide if I'm more offended by her shoes or her scrunchie.  It's the srunchie.  Schrunchie'll win everytime.

Coco has gone on the show "The Doctors" to do an on-air ultrasound proving once and for all that her butt is real, because that's the burning question everyone has, right?  Turns out it's real jelly not silicone jelly.  She floods the Internet with pictures of her rear.  A few years back, Myspace banned a photo of her butt cleavage and removed it.  Now, I ask how bad was it for Myspace to take it down?  Go ahead google her seat and see what you get.  I have to tell you dat ass puts me in a trance.  It's inexplicable.  I've got to confess to you I've been musing about her butt for a while now.  For a while there, when I was glazed over looking at my phone, Brad would ask, "Are you looking at pictures of Coco's butt again?"