I am sorry to say that I do not possess the common "obsession" with the round balls of blubber you most often find disguised behind a pair of overalls. I'm talkin' babies here, people. Babies. Now, most girls my age tend to talk about these little morsels of lard not only every minute, but also as if they are the solution to happiness. Are you depressed? HAVE A BABY! Are you a closet homosexual? HAVE A BABY! Are you shooting up Monday through Sunday? HAVE A BABY!
"Oh, I can't wait till I have a baby!"
14-year-old Samantha
"Oh, I wish I could have a baby right now!"
15-year-old Kelly
"I do have a baby!"
16-year-old Penelope
"Well I have TWO babies so suck it!"
17-year-old Bonnie
"Your BABY will suck it!"
Penelope
"That's BABIES you bitch!"
Bonnie, again
"Well your son's a BASTARD!"
Penelope, makin it personal
"Fuck you, scabby nips!"
Bonnie, being a hypocrite
The whole baby-infatuation baffles me. I get women who grow up, get married, and want to have a baby. I mean what the hell else is there to do? A baby isn't like a pet, man. I mean yeah, it drools and shits and you punish it by securing it to one single location in the entire house, such as a corner, (in my household we call it "the naughty corner") (it's not for me) (I've never been to "the naughty corner") (or any corner for that matter), but a baby is for LIFE. There's no redo's with a baby. No returns, either. You also can't trade your baby with other mom's babies in the hospital, though I think that would solve many problems.
"Look, honey, she has my mother's eyes."
"Ha...you mean MY mother's eyes."
"No, your mother is an evil, conniving bitch and my baby is none of those things."
"Let's not argue over who's mother is a bigger bitch; this is about our new daughter."
"Oh, so you think my mother's a bitch, do you?"
"That's it, NURSE!"
"Yes?"
"We're arguing a lot over our baby's features."
"Oh, well let me take care of that."
DING DING DING!
"TRADE-OFF!"
"Now just give me that one and I'll give you this one."
"Oh, look, honey! See that man over there in the waiting room? Our new daughter has his same uni brow!"
"Oh, honey, you're exactly right!"
I think the reason the whole "babies are god, god is babies" or however you wanna phrase that, ordeal bothers me so much is because I know I would be a terrible mother. But I wouldn't think that. I would do things thinking I was doing what a mother should do when really every other mother on the planet and Planet X (whatever happened to that?) would look down on me for doing. Because just like every baby looks like a old man's wrinkly ass, every mother has to raise her child in the same way. That's why there are BOOKS on "raising you kid," you know, since it shouldn't come naturally or anything, since it's not nature taking its course, since some old broad sat down and decided that not one other woman knows that it's good to communicate with your adolescent, since a mother's instinct is really just to ignore the thing and leave it in the kitchen somewhere. Since, as a mother, I have not already assumed that I "shouldn't feed young children tiny plastic toys" because it never occurred to me that "babies can choke on tiny plastic toys" since, as a new mother, I have filled my house with "tiny plastic toys" just so I can prove how good of a mother I am by putting these "tiny plastic toys" away and doing so when other people can see me doing so. I hope you're following. I just know I would be the weirdo mother who lets her kids watch R-rated movies and thinks a "balanced meal" is food on a scale, and then neighbors would think I'm a drug dealer because my kids eat french fries on a scale and they'd think I was hiding druggies in their huggies or some weird shit cause neighbors are just stalkers with a shorter distance to stalk and so then they'd call the cops and the cops would walk in and we'd all be naked because I think it's incredibly unnecessary for children to wear clothes and I wouldn't want to be the outcast and then the cops would ask me why no one has clothes on and then I'd say my kids' skin is just so soft they can't wear clothes and I'd stroke their skin but since I'd be naked as well it'd look like incest pedophilia and I'd be taken to jail and what kind of mother could I be there? EXACTLY.
It's not that I hate babies; believe me, there is something fiercely appealing about having someone who will always love and adore you for the rest of your life even when your husband's left you and you think power walking is exercise. That's beautiful. It's unconditional love in a diaper. But now is not the time girls my age are supposed to be looking forward to that. I mean talk about the stupidest mothers in the world.
"So I was like teaching my babAY to grind and like my best friend PollAY was like, 'oh my god megan you cannot teach your babAY to grind that's just like wrong' and I'm like 'every girl needs to know how to grind PollAY' and she's like, 'but your babAY is only two' and I'm like, 'PollAY, it's never too early to start teaching your girl to give a guy a boner' and she's like, 'oh my god megan you are SO right!' and I'm like, 'duh, I'm a MOM now, hello?" and she's like, 'i am just so silLAY i want a babAY' and I'm like, 'it's really not that hard to like get one' and she's like, 'you're right i totally should get one' and then we were just teaching my babAY to grind but then I left her with my mom so I could go to the club and do some grinding myself.'
-just so you know, I didn't just make that up. Not in the least bit
All I know is that if I were an 18-year-old guy, I'd be looking for junk in the trunk, not a mummy with a tummy. But maybe that's just me.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Friday, June 12, 2009
A Middle Aged Man's Phalange
The reason I don't watch sports isn't because "I'm a girl." I don't watch sports because big, sweaty men getting sweaty together really doesn't interest me that much. I don't find sweat and balls an entertaining combination. (balls as in basketballs, baseballs, etc.) (not that the other kind of balls and sweat make a great combo either.) (not that I would know.) (not that I'm against men's balls.) (not that these side thoughts are inappropriate and awkward in the least bit.) (not that my father occasionally reads my blog.) I just don't understand the male fascination with things you can do with balls. Or really just things men can do with balls. Sports should really just be deemed Men With Balls. Or Things Men Do With Balls. Or Watching A Man Try To Grab That Other Man's Ball. Or you could simply call it Gay. (not that I have anything against gay people.) Not only do men LOVE watching other men play with balls, they have parties in honor of the practice. So not only are you a grown man who willingly admits to watching men get sweaty together, but you'll invite your fellow male friends to join you in getting off on watching these men get sweatier...and angrier...and hotter. And then you act like it's a Man's Thing. Well I know the truth.
"Hey honey, me and the boys are watchin' the game tonight, so you stay in the kitchen."
What They Want You To Think: "We are so manly, us manly men, cause we like sports and beer!"
What They Actually Think: "I don't want you seeing me get a hard on over these men and their rippling biceps and skills with balls."
And that's another thing. Not only do they congregate to oogle over ripped men, they drink while they do it. And I think it's pretty well known that drinking often gives people the feeling of...horniness. So they're males. All together. All watching men with balls. All horny. Interesting...
You don't think I have a point, do you? Well I do mother fucker, and the point is that I saw Jeff Fisher tonight.
"Hey, that's Jeff Fisher!"
"Where?"
"Who?"
"The coach of the Titans football team, over there by Smoothie King!"
"Talking to those two people?"
"Yeah!"
"Oh yeah, I recognize him now..."
"JEFF!"
I mean come on, what would you do if you saw someone "famous?" Scream out their name from half a parking lot away, THAT'S what you'd do.
"JEFF!"
And yes, you would use their first name.
"JEFF!"
The couple he's talking to turn, look at us, and turn back to Jeff, completely ignoring us. Those pretentious gina wads.
"Well that was awkward."
"We should just approach him and be like, "Jeff Fisher?!" and he'll be all like, "Yep that's me," and we'll say, "Oh, I LOVE the Rams!" and he'll be like, "Uhhh...no, I coach the Titans," and we'll be like, "Oh. Dude they suck," and we'll walk away. Then who'll feel stupid? JEFF FUCKIN FISHER, THAT'S WHO.
"Hey! He's getting in his car!"
Jeff drives by us, and we were prepared for whatever my happen. (Actually we were trying to think of something cool to yell but all we could think of was 'I LOVE YOUR ICE CREAM, MAN!" which, yes, we ended up yelling) and he waves at us, which, you know, was nice of the guy, so we're thinking, hey, maybe he's not so rude after all, until the couple he was talking to, who were following him to go somewhere, drive by us as well. And you know the that little fucker of a hubby did?
FLIPS US OFF, THAT'S WHAT HE DID.
I mean, what? Talk about a wannabe. Sorry, bud, it's not YOU we wanna see, it's Jeff. I'm sorry if you're all jealous and pissy that you're just "the friend in Jeff's shadow" but flipping us off so you get all the attention that was initially focused on Jeff? Now that's just fuckin' desperate. It's one thing to have your dick in a box, but it's another to just BE a dick in a box.
"FUCK YOU, BITCH!"
Yeah. Okay. I did it, and it was immature. But come on, some wannabe Jeff flips you off, what ya gonna do? You're gonna step out of your car and call them a fucking bitch, that's what you're gonna do. And what kind of friend is he, anyway? He just made Jeff look like a total dick, which I'm sure he is since he hangs out with a 40-year-old man who gives teenagers the bird. I mean, I could report him for flashing. Who knows? A middle finger is long and thin, I could easily have mistaken it for something else, you know what I'm sayin? I'm just a teenage girl, I could have been emotionally scarred by that old man and his long, skinny body part. Seriously, a middle aged man's phalange? Not something a girl my age needs to see.
Fuck watching sports. Fuck Jeff Fisher. Fuck Jeff Fisher's friends. And most importantly, fuck Jeff Fisher's ice cream.
"Hey honey, me and the boys are watchin' the game tonight, so you stay in the kitchen."
What They Want You To Think: "We are so manly, us manly men, cause we like sports and beer!"
What They Actually Think: "I don't want you seeing me get a hard on over these men and their rippling biceps and skills with balls."
And that's another thing. Not only do they congregate to oogle over ripped men, they drink while they do it. And I think it's pretty well known that drinking often gives people the feeling of...horniness. So they're males. All together. All watching men with balls. All horny. Interesting...
You don't think I have a point, do you? Well I do mother fucker, and the point is that I saw Jeff Fisher tonight.
"Hey, that's Jeff Fisher!"
"Where?"
"Who?"
"The coach of the Titans football team, over there by Smoothie King!"
"Talking to those two people?"
"Yeah!"
"Oh yeah, I recognize him now..."
"JEFF!"
I mean come on, what would you do if you saw someone "famous?" Scream out their name from half a parking lot away, THAT'S what you'd do.
"JEFF!"
And yes, you would use their first name.
"JEFF!"
The couple he's talking to turn, look at us, and turn back to Jeff, completely ignoring us. Those pretentious gina wads.
"Well that was awkward."
"We should just approach him and be like, "Jeff Fisher?!" and he'll be all like, "Yep that's me," and we'll say, "Oh, I LOVE the Rams!" and he'll be like, "Uhhh...no, I coach the Titans," and we'll be like, "Oh. Dude they suck," and we'll walk away. Then who'll feel stupid? JEFF FUCKIN FISHER, THAT'S WHO.
"Hey! He's getting in his car!"
Jeff drives by us, and we were prepared for whatever my happen. (Actually we were trying to think of something cool to yell but all we could think of was 'I LOVE YOUR ICE CREAM, MAN!" which, yes, we ended up yelling) and he waves at us, which, you know, was nice of the guy, so we're thinking, hey, maybe he's not so rude after all, until the couple he was talking to, who were following him to go somewhere, drive by us as well. And you know the that little fucker of a hubby did?
FLIPS US OFF, THAT'S WHAT HE DID.
I mean, what? Talk about a wannabe. Sorry, bud, it's not YOU we wanna see, it's Jeff. I'm sorry if you're all jealous and pissy that you're just "the friend in Jeff's shadow" but flipping us off so you get all the attention that was initially focused on Jeff? Now that's just fuckin' desperate. It's one thing to have your dick in a box, but it's another to just BE a dick in a box.
"FUCK YOU, BITCH!"
Yeah. Okay. I did it, and it was immature. But come on, some wannabe Jeff flips you off, what ya gonna do? You're gonna step out of your car and call them a fucking bitch, that's what you're gonna do. And what kind of friend is he, anyway? He just made Jeff look like a total dick, which I'm sure he is since he hangs out with a 40-year-old man who gives teenagers the bird. I mean, I could report him for flashing. Who knows? A middle finger is long and thin, I could easily have mistaken it for something else, you know what I'm sayin? I'm just a teenage girl, I could have been emotionally scarred by that old man and his long, skinny body part. Seriously, a middle aged man's phalange? Not something a girl my age needs to see.
Fuck watching sports. Fuck Jeff Fisher. Fuck Jeff Fisher's friends. And most importantly, fuck Jeff Fisher's ice cream.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Show Me The Money
I need cash and I need it quick. It was only 12 years ago that I was told money does not grow on trees, and I haven't gotten over it since. The weird thing is, it never occurred to me that a tree would be a place for money to grow until I was told that it does not grow there, which really just doesn't make sense at all. Ever since that moment of---
"Money doesn't grow on trees, Natasha."
---I have been contemplating if money grows anywhere at all. I mean, who said money grows? I assume it does indeed grow somewhere, since if it didn't, why would you even add the "on trees?" Wouldn't you just say: "Money doesn't grow, Natasha." But no, it's 'money doesn't grow...on trees." Which means, "Money doesn't grow...on trees, that is..." Did you catch the difference there? By adding "that is," I have not only proved my point but made my point sound quite mysterious, as well. ON. TREES. So money grows...somewhere else? I've actually found it incredibly easy to think of some likely candidates for discrete locations money could grow.
1. Bushes
2. Tulip Buds
3. My Grandfather's Mustache
Because of this recent epiphany of mine, there are two things I have been asking myself.
1. Where THE HELL does money grow?
2. Where can I buy money seeds to plant?
With these money seeds, which I'm assuming, no...which I'm inferring, do exist since in order for something to grow it must begin as a SEED, or any other S-word with the long-E sound, (yes, I do mean what you may be thinking I mean) I could make billions. Literally, make billions. What would occur if a girl like me was growing billions in her backyard?
1. I would give billions to the poor.
2. I would give billions to sick children who can't afford medicine.
3. I would build billions of giant pools in my backyard.
See? If a girl like me had money seeds, there would be no starving people, no sick people, and I would be incredibly tan. Basically, it would bring about world peace. There's a reason the words 'peace' and 'seeds' almost rhyme. Because they're almost the exact same thing.
Seeeeeeeeedsssssss...
Peeeeeeeeeaccccccce...
Seeeeeeeeeeeeeee???
AnyWHO, all I'm asking is if anyone knows where these damn money seeds are, please let me know. I have things to buy, college things, things a college student needs, such as:
1. a laptop
2. textbooks
3. stylin' clothes
Obviously these things are a MUST. Therefore, I MUST have money. It's not my fault that I don't have a job. It's called laziness, people, and it's not easily cured. Jobs are for people who like to "earn" things. People who like to "deserve" what they get. People who look down upon two of my best talents:
1. Mooching
2. Thanking People For Giving Me Things
So what? You have a job. Well that's damn dandy if you like to serve other people and be stranger's bitches, but I'd rather give out my address and see who mails me some cash. I mean, let's use some math here. ONE Natasha gives FOUR HUNDRED people ONE envelope for themselves and ONE envelope for a friend of theirs and asks for at least FIVE dollars, what is the ratio of people who WILL send Natasha money in comparison to the ratio of people who WON'T and then WILL be found mysteriously dead one week later?
Calculating answer...
...still calculating...
...there's a reason I took Pre-Cal 2 years in a row...
Alright, according to my calculations, approximately LOTS of people will send Natasha a rounded sum of SOME money and she will have about ENOUGH bills to buy some cool shit. Therefore, YOU, the Y variable in this equation, have FOUR options.
1. Tell me where money grows.
2. Buy me some money seeds.
3. Mail me your money.
4. Mail me your mom's money.
All proceeds will be put to very good use, I assure you.
"Money doesn't grow on trees, Natasha."
---I have been contemplating if money grows anywhere at all. I mean, who said money grows? I assume it does indeed grow somewhere, since if it didn't, why would you even add the "on trees?" Wouldn't you just say: "Money doesn't grow, Natasha." But no, it's 'money doesn't grow...on trees." Which means, "Money doesn't grow...on trees, that is..." Did you catch the difference there? By adding "that is," I have not only proved my point but made my point sound quite mysterious, as well. ON. TREES. So money grows...somewhere else? I've actually found it incredibly easy to think of some likely candidates for discrete locations money could grow.
1. Bushes
2. Tulip Buds
3. My Grandfather's Mustache
Because of this recent epiphany of mine, there are two things I have been asking myself.
1. Where THE HELL does money grow?
2. Where can I buy money seeds to plant?
With these money seeds, which I'm assuming, no...which I'm inferring, do exist since in order for something to grow it must begin as a SEED, or any other S-word with the long-E sound, (yes, I do mean what you may be thinking I mean) I could make billions. Literally, make billions. What would occur if a girl like me was growing billions in her backyard?
1. I would give billions to the poor.
2. I would give billions to sick children who can't afford medicine.
3. I would build billions of giant pools in my backyard.
See? If a girl like me had money seeds, there would be no starving people, no sick people, and I would be incredibly tan. Basically, it would bring about world peace. There's a reason the words 'peace' and 'seeds' almost rhyme. Because they're almost the exact same thing.
Seeeeeeeeedsssssss...
Peeeeeeeeeaccccccce...
Seeeeeeeeeeeeeee???
AnyWHO, all I'm asking is if anyone knows where these damn money seeds are, please let me know. I have things to buy, college things, things a college student needs, such as:
1. a laptop
2. textbooks
3. stylin' clothes
Obviously these things are a MUST. Therefore, I MUST have money. It's not my fault that I don't have a job. It's called laziness, people, and it's not easily cured. Jobs are for people who like to "earn" things. People who like to "deserve" what they get. People who look down upon two of my best talents:
1. Mooching
2. Thanking People For Giving Me Things
So what? You have a job. Well that's damn dandy if you like to serve other people and be stranger's bitches, but I'd rather give out my address and see who mails me some cash. I mean, let's use some math here. ONE Natasha gives FOUR HUNDRED people ONE envelope for themselves and ONE envelope for a friend of theirs and asks for at least FIVE dollars, what is the ratio of people who WILL send Natasha money in comparison to the ratio of people who WON'T and then WILL be found mysteriously dead one week later?
Calculating answer...
...still calculating...
...there's a reason I took Pre-Cal 2 years in a row...
Alright, according to my calculations, approximately LOTS of people will send Natasha a rounded sum of SOME money and she will have about ENOUGH bills to buy some cool shit. Therefore, YOU, the Y variable in this equation, have FOUR options.
1. Tell me where money grows.
2. Buy me some money seeds.
3. Mail me your money.
4. Mail me your mom's money.
All proceeds will be put to very good use, I assure you.
Semi-Charmed Road Trip
There I sat, embarking on what was to be the longest journey I'd ever traveled without Ma-Ma or Da-Da. There I sat, mentally prepared (due to a consumption of Red Bulls that should be deemed illegal) as well as physically prepared (shades that block the sun and well as make me look just plain awesome) for this dangerous, death-defying, terrifying, nerve-wracking, insane in the membrane road trip all the way from Nashville, Tennessee to...
COVINGTON.
(a city in coughCOUGHKentuckyCOUGHcough)
That's right, folks, there i sat, ready to risk my life for 5 hours of freeway in order to see one band, one band back from the 90's. (Screw Nirvana and their desire to be raped, screw Green Day and their food dishes involving human organs, I'm talking about a suicidal and a lord of alcohol. I'm talking about...Third Eye Blind, baby.) I had to go through a lot for permission for this trip. It went from me asking to see Third Eye Blind in Ohio...
"NO."
To me asking if I could see them in Kentucky...
"ABSOLUTELY NO DRUGS IN THE CAR NATASHA YOU ARE 18 AND INTERSTATE TRAFFICKING OF DRUGS IS 5 YEARS IN JAIL MINIMUM."
But permission was eventually granted, therefore I knew there was one thing I could NOT do: fuck it up.
I started by making sure I had all the necessary essentials a road trip feeds off of.
-full tank of gas (despite the fact that while getting that gas the little door to my gas thing just FALLS OFF and I still am not able to get it back on)
-CD's (despite the fact that my stereo makes every song skip, and yes it is not the CD it's the stereo because I've tested them all on other car stereos and guess what? No skipping. So while I'm trying to jam out to some Landon Pigg, and it's a slow and beautiful love song, all I get is "I TH-TH-TH-TH-TH-THINK THAT POSS-POSS-POSS-POSS-POSS-IBLY
MAY-BE-BE-BE-BE-BE-BE I'M F-F-F-F-F-F-F-F-ALLING FOR Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-O-U-U-U-U-U-U-" which totally ruins the romantic effect since if someone was telling you they were falling in love with you, you don't want it to be a I-think-that-possibly-maybe-I'm-reminding-you-of-Porky-Pig-kinda moment
-glasses in order to see better should it rain (despite the fact that one of my windshield wipers is torn and so it looks like I have the normal two wipers and then they got busy and had a deformed baby wiper that tags along. Or maybe the male wiper just grew a third arm. The point is it ruins the whole point of wipers since once they both wipe and return to their original positions, the third straggler-outcast-over-achiever wiper is still trying to wipe my windshield and therefore I still can't see. There's a reason windshield wipers go BACK AND FORTH, they don't just GO and then STAY right in your line of vision so you're forced to stick your head out the window as you drive which can one, cause a wreck and two, cause a bug to fly in your mouth which would one, cause you to choke and two, cause you to wreck. It's a lose-lose situation, people.)
-a sister to read road signs out loud to me, a.k.a. a sister to blame should/when we got lost (despite the fact that on her side of the car it is difficult to look out the windshield to read signs since there are three giant cracks running down it that only seem to be progressing along with their attack with the purpose of making my whole windshield look like it has veins, which all started due to a Crab Apple In Storm Incident that I'd rather not explain)
-a male amigo to tell us NOT to ask for directions (despite the fact that, according to my father, my dashboard is "falling off." Okay sure, that wasn't relevant at all, but since we're on the subject of Things Wrong With My Car, I thought I'd throw that out there. Maybe get a couple answers to my questions? Such as: HOW DOES A DASHBOARD FALL OFF A CAR. WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN.)
So we were all set. Covington, here we come! The three of us pull out of my driveway...
"WOO HOO ROAD TRIP!"
Take a right out of my cul de sac...
"THIRD EYE BLIND HERE WE COME!"
A right out of my subdivision...
"COP!"
And get pulled over.
"You were going 55 in a 40 mile zone blah blah blah I'm a cop because I get off on having my crotch in people's faces through their window cause I'm too cool to bend down and look them in the eye so suck it bitch here's your ticket."
First ticket of my life. 104 freaking dollars. Traffic school, here I come. But once that douche got back in his undercover cop car...
"LET'S GO TO COVINGTON!"
Three cups of coffee, one pack of gum (advice quickie: if you're going to chew a whole pack of gum in one day, DON'T CHEW BIG RED. I did that one time, and my tongue was swollen for 14 hours, swollen to the point where I couldn't speak.) (another advice quickie about Big Red: don't lick the wrapper and stick it to your forehead. it burns very badly and you will have a giant red rectangle on your forehead for the rest of the day.), zero directions mishaps, (props to the driver, man. oh wait...that's me. Thank you so much!), and the most intense automatic hand dryer I've ever used in my entire life (this thing made it look like an unidentified flying object was about to land on my palm), we finally reached Covington.
"Excuse me? Could you tell us where the Madison Theatre is?"
We were driving through downtown, the obvious hotspot for nightlife. We had rolled down the window and asked some men on the sidewalk for directions.
"Yeah, it's just down that way!"
"Stellar! Thank you!"
"Should we just park now and walk?"
"Yeah, we seem really close."
"So close..."
"WE MADE IT TO COVINGTON WOO HOO!"
So we paid 4 dollars. Parked. Walked. And soon found ourselves in the midst of the downtown crowd, with 5 minutes left until the concert started. Perfect timing.
"Should we ask someone for directions again?"
"No."
"Okay, Male Amigo. You guys stay here and I'll ask that woman."
So I walk up to some random woman.
"Excuse me? Could you tell me where the Madison Theatre is?"
"Hmmm...I think...I think that's in Covington..."
"Covington...right. Um thank you..."
"Hey guys?"
"I think all we need to do is walk down that---"
"Guys?"
"---street and it's probably down there some---"
"GUYS!"
"What?"
"You know that woman I talked to?"
"Yeah, what'd she say?"
"She said, 'I think that's in Covington.' "
"................"
"...uhhh......"
"...ha......ha.....wait what...."
"Well then where the hell are we?"
"EXCUSE ME, PIZZA MAN!"
"Yeah?"
"Hi. Um, could you tell me...uhh...well just...what city is this?"
"Cincinnati."
"Right. Okay...Cincinatti...cool..."
"WE'RE IN OHIO."
"What?"
"What!"
"HOW THE HELL DID WE END UP IN CINCINNATI, OHIO."
"We're supposed to be in Covington."
"We're supposed to be in Kentucky."
"Well fuck."
"HA! Okay, BACK to the car!"
Lucky for us, we still made it in time for the show. In a venue with a disco ball and chain smokers galore. One opening act, one amazing show, and one dancing blonde chick who kept bumping into me, and we were done.
"NOW ALL WE HAVE IS THE DRIVE BACK!"
Pops didn't want us spending the night there. Ten hours total behind a wheel. All on the freeway. No plans on stopping. I. AM. JACK. TRAVEN.
Got home at 4am. Woke up the next morning to a shocked but proud Pops of me for traveling the longest road trip of my life and living to tell the tale.
I have yet to show him the speeding ticket.
COVINGTON.
(a city in coughCOUGHKentuckyCOUGHcough)
That's right, folks, there i sat, ready to risk my life for 5 hours of freeway in order to see one band, one band back from the 90's. (Screw Nirvana and their desire to be raped, screw Green Day and their food dishes involving human organs, I'm talking about a suicidal and a lord of alcohol. I'm talking about...Third Eye Blind, baby.) I had to go through a lot for permission for this trip. It went from me asking to see Third Eye Blind in Ohio...
"NO."
To me asking if I could see them in Kentucky...
"ABSOLUTELY NO DRUGS IN THE CAR NATASHA YOU ARE 18 AND INTERSTATE TRAFFICKING OF DRUGS IS 5 YEARS IN JAIL MINIMUM."
But permission was eventually granted, therefore I knew there was one thing I could NOT do: fuck it up.
I started by making sure I had all the necessary essentials a road trip feeds off of.
-full tank of gas (despite the fact that while getting that gas the little door to my gas thing just FALLS OFF and I still am not able to get it back on)
-CD's (despite the fact that my stereo makes every song skip, and yes it is not the CD it's the stereo because I've tested them all on other car stereos and guess what? No skipping. So while I'm trying to jam out to some Landon Pigg, and it's a slow and beautiful love song, all I get is "I TH-TH-TH-TH-TH-THINK THAT POSS-POSS-POSS-POSS-POSS-IBLY
MAY-BE-BE-BE-BE-BE-BE I'M F-F-F-F-F-F-F-F-ALLING FOR Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-O-U-U-U-U-U-U-" which totally ruins the romantic effect since if someone was telling you they were falling in love with you, you don't want it to be a I-think-that-possibly-maybe-I'm-reminding-you-of-Porky-Pig-kinda moment
-glasses in order to see better should it rain (despite the fact that one of my windshield wipers is torn and so it looks like I have the normal two wipers and then they got busy and had a deformed baby wiper that tags along. Or maybe the male wiper just grew a third arm. The point is it ruins the whole point of wipers since once they both wipe and return to their original positions, the third straggler-outcast-over-achiever wiper is still trying to wipe my windshield and therefore I still can't see. There's a reason windshield wipers go BACK AND FORTH, they don't just GO and then STAY right in your line of vision so you're forced to stick your head out the window as you drive which can one, cause a wreck and two, cause a bug to fly in your mouth which would one, cause you to choke and two, cause you to wreck. It's a lose-lose situation, people.)
-a sister to read road signs out loud to me, a.k.a. a sister to blame should/when we got lost (despite the fact that on her side of the car it is difficult to look out the windshield to read signs since there are three giant cracks running down it that only seem to be progressing along with their attack with the purpose of making my whole windshield look like it has veins, which all started due to a Crab Apple In Storm Incident that I'd rather not explain)
-a male amigo to tell us NOT to ask for directions (despite the fact that, according to my father, my dashboard is "falling off." Okay sure, that wasn't relevant at all, but since we're on the subject of Things Wrong With My Car, I thought I'd throw that out there. Maybe get a couple answers to my questions? Such as: HOW DOES A DASHBOARD FALL OFF A CAR. WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN.)
So we were all set. Covington, here we come! The three of us pull out of my driveway...
"WOO HOO ROAD TRIP!"
Take a right out of my cul de sac...
"THIRD EYE BLIND HERE WE COME!"
A right out of my subdivision...
"COP!"
And get pulled over.
"You were going 55 in a 40 mile zone blah blah blah I'm a cop because I get off on having my crotch in people's faces through their window cause I'm too cool to bend down and look them in the eye so suck it bitch here's your ticket."
First ticket of my life. 104 freaking dollars. Traffic school, here I come. But once that douche got back in his undercover cop car...
"LET'S GO TO COVINGTON!"
Three cups of coffee, one pack of gum (advice quickie: if you're going to chew a whole pack of gum in one day, DON'T CHEW BIG RED. I did that one time, and my tongue was swollen for 14 hours, swollen to the point where I couldn't speak.) (another advice quickie about Big Red: don't lick the wrapper and stick it to your forehead. it burns very badly and you will have a giant red rectangle on your forehead for the rest of the day.), zero directions mishaps, (props to the driver, man. oh wait...that's me. Thank you so much!), and the most intense automatic hand dryer I've ever used in my entire life (this thing made it look like an unidentified flying object was about to land on my palm), we finally reached Covington.
"Excuse me? Could you tell us where the Madison Theatre is?"
We were driving through downtown, the obvious hotspot for nightlife. We had rolled down the window and asked some men on the sidewalk for directions.
"Yeah, it's just down that way!"
"Stellar! Thank you!"
"Should we just park now and walk?"
"Yeah, we seem really close."
"So close..."
"WE MADE IT TO COVINGTON WOO HOO!"
So we paid 4 dollars. Parked. Walked. And soon found ourselves in the midst of the downtown crowd, with 5 minutes left until the concert started. Perfect timing.
"Should we ask someone for directions again?"
"No."
"Okay, Male Amigo. You guys stay here and I'll ask that woman."
So I walk up to some random woman.
"Excuse me? Could you tell me where the Madison Theatre is?"
"Hmmm...I think...I think that's in Covington..."
"Covington...right. Um thank you..."
"Hey guys?"
"I think all we need to do is walk down that---"
"Guys?"
"---street and it's probably down there some---"
"GUYS!"
"What?"
"You know that woman I talked to?"
"Yeah, what'd she say?"
"She said, 'I think that's in Covington.' "
"................"
"...uhhh......"
"...ha......ha.....wait what...."
"Well then where the hell are we?"
"EXCUSE ME, PIZZA MAN!"
"Yeah?"
"Hi. Um, could you tell me...uhh...well just...what city is this?"
"Cincinnati."
"Right. Okay...Cincinatti...cool..."
"WE'RE IN OHIO."
"What?"
"What!"
"HOW THE HELL DID WE END UP IN CINCINNATI, OHIO."
"We're supposed to be in Covington."
"We're supposed to be in Kentucky."
"Well fuck."
"HA! Okay, BACK to the car!"
Lucky for us, we still made it in time for the show. In a venue with a disco ball and chain smokers galore. One opening act, one amazing show, and one dancing blonde chick who kept bumping into me, and we were done.
"NOW ALL WE HAVE IS THE DRIVE BACK!"
Pops didn't want us spending the night there. Ten hours total behind a wheel. All on the freeway. No plans on stopping. I. AM. JACK. TRAVEN.
Got home at 4am. Woke up the next morning to a shocked but proud Pops of me for traveling the longest road trip of my life and living to tell the tale.
I have yet to show him the speeding ticket.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Coolness Via Walgreens
The information you are about to read is all true.
So I'm sitting in my car at Walgreens. Yes, Walgreens. You know, the place where all the cool kids go to what? To sit in their cars and be what? Cool, that's what. So I'm sittin' there, bein' cool, as usual, at the coolest pharmacy that has ever rocked this world, on a Wednesday afternoon. Yes, the coolest time to be sittin' in your car at Walgreens. My window is down, because, as every cool kid knows, you gotta feel a cool breeze if you're gonna be sittin' there bein' all cool and whatnot, when a woman approaches my side.
The woman is in her 40's.
The woman is large.
The woman is limping.
"Hi there I'm sorry to bother you I'm with my sister and we just escaped from a domestic violence situation and we're trying to drive somewhere to get away and our gas tank is on empty and we have no money and I was just wondering if you could help us out 'cause we just got out of a domestic violence situation and we just need some gas so if you could just spare anything we'd be very grateful."
So I'm sittin' there, right? And yeah, I'm lookin' cool, being one of those cool teenagers who loiters outside of pharmacies, well, not just any pharmacy, but the cool pharmacies, (Walgreens)and I'm looking at this woman and yeah, since this was the very first time a stranger had ever approached me asking me for money, of course it came across my mind that she could be lying out of her ass. You know, she just saw me lookin' cool and thought I'd be cool enough to give her some cash. Now, my impulsive reaction would be to lie and say I have no money, but this Limping GENIUS had approached me right as I was emptying my wallet of a handful of 20 dollar bills. So lying was out of the question. Not that I was afraid she would jump me if I had blatantly lied; she was limping after all, but maybe she was telling the truth? Then who'd go to Hell? I would. So, in my mind, my options were a) give her some money, or b) go to Hell. So what did I do? I tucked the 20's underneath my thigh that was conveniently located right beneath me (fate, was it?) and gave her five ones. Yes, I gave the beggar woman 5 dollars.
"Thank you so much."
And she limped away.
Three days later.
So, I'm sittin' there, just chillin', bein' cool/lookin' cool/actin' cool, and I happen to be at Walgreens. It's a Saturday night. (Look, I have a reputation to keep. You can't just be all cool all the time sittin' at Walgreens then just randomly STOP lingering outside of the famous pharmacy to what? To go to a party? To be social? To interact with other human beings? Please. Like I stated before, I have a reputation to keep. A reputation of cool.) So, of course, I'm at Walgreens, and yes, of course, my window is down. I'm listening to some tunes, cool tunes of course, when I hear something.
"Excuse me? Excuse me?"
So I turn to my left, in a very cool manner nonetheless, only to see two women sitting in a car pulled up right next to mine. They're in their 30's, each smoking a cigarette. So I'm thinking, okay...if they can afford cigarettes, then they're not going to be asking me for money...
"Hi there we're trying to get to Gatlinburg and we are completely out of gas and we just won't make it since we ran out of money completely and we were just wondering if you'd be so kind as to help us out in some way."
At least the first woman got straight to the point.
"Oh, you mean you need some gas money?"
"That would help us out and that's be wonderful thank you kindly."
So yeah, I gave her some money. Okay, it was only two dollars this time, but I mean COME ON, two people in one week? When only three days ago that was the first time that had ever happened to me in my LIFE? I mean, good god! It's unbelievable! I'm a teenager! You think I have cash? If I had cash, wouldn't I be INSIDE Walgreens? BUYING THINGS? I'm not, am I? No, I'm loitering in the parking lot listening to music. No drinks, no food, no pharmaceutical drugs. I mean, THEY NAMED A SANDWICH AFTER ME. Ever heard of a Po Boy?
She leaves.
I'm pissed.
Two days later.
Yeah, I'm back at Walgreens. I know, I know, it takes a really cool person to be parked in the same parking lot three nights in one week doing absolutely nothing. It's called sacrifice. The Sacrifice To Be Cool. I'm almost done with the thesis, actually; it'll be available in bookstores soon, don't worry. You, too will learn the ways of Coolness Via Walgreens. So it's a Monday night, not really a party night, but to be cool you gotta be cool at any time of the week, so there I was at Walgreens. Sitting. Window down. Wallet in glove box. When I look to my left.
A man is approaching the car.
I turn to my sister, who had been present for the first two accounts.
"No. Way."
I wait.
He is still headed to my window.
"Not. Possible."
He approaches my ever-notorious window.
"Excuse me, I'm sorry to bother you, but I was on vacation with my daughter and we are trying to get back home to Alabama and we have completely run out of money---"
I'm going to be honest with you, this was the moment where I started laughing right in that man's face.
"---I'm sorry, believe me I'm not a bum, I've never gone up to anyone in my life and asked for money but we are just trying to get home, we're hungry, I mean we're hungry---"
You don't look hungry, you quarter-ton-er.
"---and I'm a 49-year-old Christian man and if there's anything I could give to you in return---"
Like what, Christian man? I thought you were broke.
"---then I will absolutely come back and give it to you---"
Ew, pervert.
"---but I would just really appreciate your help right now."
I'm sitting there.
Looking cool.
Laughing.
I couldn't help it.
"I'm sorry, I'm not laughing at you, it's just this is the third time this week...nevermind. Here, I have three dollars, I hope that helps."
"Thank you so much. If there's anything I could give to you---"
You could give me my three dollars back, asshole.
"No, no, it's fine. Don't worry about it."
"Thank you so much. This will come back to you in some way."
Yeah since the first time I gave someone money it came back a second and a third time.
And I start cracking up. I mean, this is beyond ridiculous. I have now given THREE bums cash in a span of SIX days. That's a bum every other day. It's just not what I need. I JUST got money for graduation and I've already given away ten dollars of it to one limper, one smoker, and one christian man. I mean it's getting to the point where I'm gonna start going by Jesus.
So I'm sitting in my car at Walgreens. Yes, Walgreens. You know, the place where all the cool kids go to what? To sit in their cars and be what? Cool, that's what. So I'm sittin' there, bein' cool, as usual, at the coolest pharmacy that has ever rocked this world, on a Wednesday afternoon. Yes, the coolest time to be sittin' in your car at Walgreens. My window is down, because, as every cool kid knows, you gotta feel a cool breeze if you're gonna be sittin' there bein' all cool and whatnot, when a woman approaches my side.
The woman is in her 40's.
The woman is large.
The woman is limping.
"Hi there I'm sorry to bother you I'm with my sister and we just escaped from a domestic violence situation and we're trying to drive somewhere to get away and our gas tank is on empty and we have no money and I was just wondering if you could help us out 'cause we just got out of a domestic violence situation and we just need some gas so if you could just spare anything we'd be very grateful."
So I'm sittin' there, right? And yeah, I'm lookin' cool, being one of those cool teenagers who loiters outside of pharmacies, well, not just any pharmacy, but the cool pharmacies, (Walgreens)and I'm looking at this woman and yeah, since this was the very first time a stranger had ever approached me asking me for money, of course it came across my mind that she could be lying out of her ass. You know, she just saw me lookin' cool and thought I'd be cool enough to give her some cash. Now, my impulsive reaction would be to lie and say I have no money, but this Limping GENIUS had approached me right as I was emptying my wallet of a handful of 20 dollar bills. So lying was out of the question. Not that I was afraid she would jump me if I had blatantly lied; she was limping after all, but maybe she was telling the truth? Then who'd go to Hell? I would. So, in my mind, my options were a) give her some money, or b) go to Hell. So what did I do? I tucked the 20's underneath my thigh that was conveniently located right beneath me (fate, was it?) and gave her five ones. Yes, I gave the beggar woman 5 dollars.
"Thank you so much."
And she limped away.
Three days later.
So, I'm sittin' there, just chillin', bein' cool/lookin' cool/actin' cool, and I happen to be at Walgreens. It's a Saturday night. (Look, I have a reputation to keep. You can't just be all cool all the time sittin' at Walgreens then just randomly STOP lingering outside of the famous pharmacy to what? To go to a party? To be social? To interact with other human beings? Please. Like I stated before, I have a reputation to keep. A reputation of cool.) So, of course, I'm at Walgreens, and yes, of course, my window is down. I'm listening to some tunes, cool tunes of course, when I hear something.
"Excuse me? Excuse me?"
So I turn to my left, in a very cool manner nonetheless, only to see two women sitting in a car pulled up right next to mine. They're in their 30's, each smoking a cigarette. So I'm thinking, okay...if they can afford cigarettes, then they're not going to be asking me for money...
"Hi there we're trying to get to Gatlinburg and we are completely out of gas and we just won't make it since we ran out of money completely and we were just wondering if you'd be so kind as to help us out in some way."
At least the first woman got straight to the point.
"Oh, you mean you need some gas money?"
"That would help us out and that's be wonderful thank you kindly."
So yeah, I gave her some money. Okay, it was only two dollars this time, but I mean COME ON, two people in one week? When only three days ago that was the first time that had ever happened to me in my LIFE? I mean, good god! It's unbelievable! I'm a teenager! You think I have cash? If I had cash, wouldn't I be INSIDE Walgreens? BUYING THINGS? I'm not, am I? No, I'm loitering in the parking lot listening to music. No drinks, no food, no pharmaceutical drugs. I mean, THEY NAMED A SANDWICH AFTER ME. Ever heard of a Po Boy?
She leaves.
I'm pissed.
Two days later.
Yeah, I'm back at Walgreens. I know, I know, it takes a really cool person to be parked in the same parking lot three nights in one week doing absolutely nothing. It's called sacrifice. The Sacrifice To Be Cool. I'm almost done with the thesis, actually; it'll be available in bookstores soon, don't worry. You, too will learn the ways of Coolness Via Walgreens. So it's a Monday night, not really a party night, but to be cool you gotta be cool at any time of the week, so there I was at Walgreens. Sitting. Window down. Wallet in glove box. When I look to my left.
A man is approaching the car.
I turn to my sister, who had been present for the first two accounts.
"No. Way."
I wait.
He is still headed to my window.
"Not. Possible."
He approaches my ever-notorious window.
"Excuse me, I'm sorry to bother you, but I was on vacation with my daughter and we are trying to get back home to Alabama and we have completely run out of money---"
I'm going to be honest with you, this was the moment where I started laughing right in that man's face.
"---I'm sorry, believe me I'm not a bum, I've never gone up to anyone in my life and asked for money but we are just trying to get home, we're hungry, I mean we're hungry---"
You don't look hungry, you quarter-ton-er.
"---and I'm a 49-year-old Christian man and if there's anything I could give to you in return---"
Like what, Christian man? I thought you were broke.
"---then I will absolutely come back and give it to you---"
Ew, pervert.
"---but I would just really appreciate your help right now."
I'm sitting there.
Looking cool.
Laughing.
I couldn't help it.
"I'm sorry, I'm not laughing at you, it's just this is the third time this week...nevermind. Here, I have three dollars, I hope that helps."
"Thank you so much. If there's anything I could give to you---"
You could give me my three dollars back, asshole.
"No, no, it's fine. Don't worry about it."
"Thank you so much. This will come back to you in some way."
Yeah since the first time I gave someone money it came back a second and a third time.
And I start cracking up. I mean, this is beyond ridiculous. I have now given THREE bums cash in a span of SIX days. That's a bum every other day. It's just not what I need. I JUST got money for graduation and I've already given away ten dollars of it to one limper, one smoker, and one christian man. I mean it's getting to the point where I'm gonna start going by Jesus.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
If I Were A Rich Man
There comes a time in everyone's life where you realize money DOES in fact bring you happiness. I am eighteen years old, and I have already reached this point. What this means, basically, is that I'm wise beyond my years and I should start growing out my beard so everyone knows it. I mean, come ON people, you don't think being able to buy every little thing, every big thing, every thingy thing, can make you happy? I think you need to stop and reevaluate the times that have made you smile.
You bought a new dress that makes you look bangin. HAPPY!
You were parched out of your mind and you had the dollar you needed to buy a can of soda pop. HAPPY!
You had 5 dollars and someone asked you to borrow 5 dollars. That other person is now HAPPY! And you? NOT HAPPY! Why? Because you just gave your money away! What were you like before you gave that bum the crispy Lincoln? HAPPY!
See my point? Life's all about those dimes and nickels, baby. That's an instinct we're born with. What? You don't think you were born to love money? Okay, let's go back in time then, shall we?
You're 4 years old, walking down the street and you see a penny. HAPPY! And then what does your mother tell you? Your mother, the adult, who's supposed to have learned by now that "money doesn't make you happy?" She says, "Oooh, Johnny, you found a penny! You know what that means, don't you?" and you say, "No." because you're 4 years old and don't know shit, and she says, "See a penny pick it up, all day long you have good luck!" And do you know what luck makes people? Lucky, yes, but also...HAPPY!
You're 13 years old, and you go on your very first date. You see a movie with a girl and you want to impress her. Well, jokes won't do the trick, and you know it. So you walk up to buy your ticket, and you say, "Two please." and she says, "Oh, you don't have to do that!" even though she was expecting you to the whole time, and you say, "Oh, it's on me." and you make out with her during the whole flick. Think she would have made out with you if you had said, "Buy your own ticket, bitch." NO. But she did make out with you, and now you have the taste of LipSmackers on your own lip smackers and you know what that makes you? HAPPY!
But then what happens? All of a sudden, we get fed this idea that money doesn't bring happiness. Since when, my friend? Since you got dumped for Richy Rich? Why don't you go give a homeless man a dollar and see what he says. He says, "Thank you," or "God bless you," or, "I like your hat," even though you're not wearing one. And you know why he complimented your imaginary hat? Because he's HAPPY. And you know why he'll go ask someone else for a dollar right after you gave him one? Because then he'll have even MORE money, which, obviously, equals MORE HAPPINESS. I mean, get with the picture. And for those of you know-it-alls who are thinking, "Oh, I bet Natasha won't mention the whole 'there are some things money can't buy' schpeel because she won't know what to say to THAT one, well guess what? I'm gonna tackle that sucker right now.
Thing Money "Can't Buy"
1. Love
They're called hookers, people, and they don't come free. You may say "that's not love," but from what I hear, they DO in fact say "I love you" upon request, as well as many other things upon request, some things that don't even require words, and I'm pretty sure a night with someone who'll say, "Sure I'll take a dump on your chest," will make someone what? HAPPY.
2. Peace
All I have to say is if I was in a fight with someone, and they said, "Hey, I'll give you 20 bucks if you don't Vulcan nerve pinch me," I'd say, "Man, forget the Vulcan nerve pinch. Give me that 20 and I won't even be mad anymore." I don't think that's just me, either. I think many would do the same in that situation. Sure, that dude will be very happy that he wasn't unconscious, but do you know who is even happier in that situation? Me, fools. ME. You know why? Cause I got the mulah, that's why.
3. Beauty
Implants. These can actually be applied many places on the body. And yes, they cost what? Money.
4. Good Spirits
You wanna be in a good mood? Go buy some crack. It'll cost you some money, but hey, you'll be feelin good smokin' that crack, now won't you?
You can phrase it however you want, money is happiness...money brings happiness... money equals happiness...if you're broke you suck...it doesn't matter, they all mean the same thing. We've all wasted years of our lives listening to our teachers preaching to us about there being "more importat things in life than money," but you know why they're saying that? Because teachers are poor. You think a prostitute is happy? NO. But her pimp? YES. You think Donald Trump is happy? YES. But his wife? I would think NOT. You know why Tevye sang, "If I were a rich man, ya ha deedle deedle, bubba bubba deedle deedle dum?" Because he was too sad to even speak English anymore, he knew the truth, man, and he didn't want to be the one to say it. Well I know the truth, too, and I'm not afraid to say it. If I were a rich man, I'd be happier than Gilmore, mother fuckers, BUBBA BUBBA DEEDLE DUM!
You bought a new dress that makes you look bangin. HAPPY!
You were parched out of your mind and you had the dollar you needed to buy a can of soda pop. HAPPY!
You had 5 dollars and someone asked you to borrow 5 dollars. That other person is now HAPPY! And you? NOT HAPPY! Why? Because you just gave your money away! What were you like before you gave that bum the crispy Lincoln? HAPPY!
See my point? Life's all about those dimes and nickels, baby. That's an instinct we're born with. What? You don't think you were born to love money? Okay, let's go back in time then, shall we?
You're 4 years old, walking down the street and you see a penny. HAPPY! And then what does your mother tell you? Your mother, the adult, who's supposed to have learned by now that "money doesn't make you happy?" She says, "Oooh, Johnny, you found a penny! You know what that means, don't you?" and you say, "No." because you're 4 years old and don't know shit, and she says, "See a penny pick it up, all day long you have good luck!" And do you know what luck makes people? Lucky, yes, but also...HAPPY!
You're 13 years old, and you go on your very first date. You see a movie with a girl and you want to impress her. Well, jokes won't do the trick, and you know it. So you walk up to buy your ticket, and you say, "Two please." and she says, "Oh, you don't have to do that!" even though she was expecting you to the whole time, and you say, "Oh, it's on me." and you make out with her during the whole flick. Think she would have made out with you if you had said, "Buy your own ticket, bitch." NO. But she did make out with you, and now you have the taste of LipSmackers on your own lip smackers and you know what that makes you? HAPPY!
But then what happens? All of a sudden, we get fed this idea that money doesn't bring happiness. Since when, my friend? Since you got dumped for Richy Rich? Why don't you go give a homeless man a dollar and see what he says. He says, "Thank you," or "God bless you," or, "I like your hat," even though you're not wearing one. And you know why he complimented your imaginary hat? Because he's HAPPY. And you know why he'll go ask someone else for a dollar right after you gave him one? Because then he'll have even MORE money, which, obviously, equals MORE HAPPINESS. I mean, get with the picture. And for those of you know-it-alls who are thinking, "Oh, I bet Natasha won't mention the whole 'there are some things money can't buy' schpeel because she won't know what to say to THAT one, well guess what? I'm gonna tackle that sucker right now.
Thing Money "Can't Buy"
1. Love
They're called hookers, people, and they don't come free. You may say "that's not love," but from what I hear, they DO in fact say "I love you" upon request, as well as many other things upon request, some things that don't even require words, and I'm pretty sure a night with someone who'll say, "Sure I'll take a dump on your chest," will make someone what? HAPPY.
2. Peace
All I have to say is if I was in a fight with someone, and they said, "Hey, I'll give you 20 bucks if you don't Vulcan nerve pinch me," I'd say, "Man, forget the Vulcan nerve pinch. Give me that 20 and I won't even be mad anymore." I don't think that's just me, either. I think many would do the same in that situation. Sure, that dude will be very happy that he wasn't unconscious, but do you know who is even happier in that situation? Me, fools. ME. You know why? Cause I got the mulah, that's why.
3. Beauty
Implants. These can actually be applied many places on the body. And yes, they cost what? Money.
4. Good Spirits
You wanna be in a good mood? Go buy some crack. It'll cost you some money, but hey, you'll be feelin good smokin' that crack, now won't you?
You can phrase it however you want, money is happiness...money brings happiness... money equals happiness...if you're broke you suck...it doesn't matter, they all mean the same thing. We've all wasted years of our lives listening to our teachers preaching to us about there being "more importat things in life than money," but you know why they're saying that? Because teachers are poor. You think a prostitute is happy? NO. But her pimp? YES. You think Donald Trump is happy? YES. But his wife? I would think NOT. You know why Tevye sang, "If I were a rich man, ya ha deedle deedle, bubba bubba deedle deedle dum?" Because he was too sad to even speak English anymore, he knew the truth, man, and he didn't want to be the one to say it. Well I know the truth, too, and I'm not afraid to say it. If I were a rich man, I'd be happier than Gilmore, mother fuckers, BUBBA BUBBA DEEDLE DUM!
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Blasting from the Boonies
My sister and I are walking around in someone's front yard. I am in my giant mustard-colored sweatshirt with giant naked African people dancing on it that says, "JAMBO" that is also the kind of length that makes it look like I have no pants on; my sister is in pajama pants made of pink fuzz with giant cats all over them. Have you ever been rained on until your hair is soaked, and to dry it you drive around for a long time with the windows down, and by the time you step out of the car you have a Foxy Cleopatra fro? Well that is just what had happened before we decided to walk around in someone's front yard.
This wasn't by choice, by the way. I'm not one of those who posts up in someone's tree with binoculars and a sock waiting for them to conveniently undress right in front of their open window; I'm just somebody who obeys their father.
"Go to that party you were at last night and see if your sister's cell phone is there."
And so that is just what we were doing.
Awkwardly.
In giant pajamas and Einstein 'do's.
So we're walking through this front yard, which is quite big, with a driveway to the left.
(That's all I'm going to elaborate as far as scenery goes; it's a pet peeve of mine when people spend 15 minutes trying to explain where exactly they were before they even begin the story.
"You know where that restaurant is on that street with the little sign?"
"No."
"Well okay, you know that school on that avenue where people walk around?"
"No."
"Hmmm...okay how about that road with the dead end sign where there's a dead end?"
"Sure."
A.k.a. just tell the damn story already.
"Okay well that's where we were. Anyway that's not important. So this guy---"
Yeah. I hate when people do that.)
So literally 34 seconds after we begin our trespassing, a car pulls out of that same driveway to the left. Of course this would happen. Of all the cars. Of all the driveways. Of all the times. Of all the sweatshirts.
"That car is coming from this house!"
"What should we do?"
"Just act like we're on a walk!"
"What?"
"Just act like we're taking a walk!"
"Natasha, no one goes on walks through people's front yards."
"Then let's walk over there!"
So we walk out of the yard as this car is driving right past us, and see that the road ends and there is a graveyard, which we start walking next to. I start whistling because I've seen it done in movies, and my sister keeps telling me we look morbid and why do I have naked black women on my shirt.
"Hey, are you looking for something?"
"Uhhh...yeah...sorry."
Sorry this is so incredibly awkward.
"We're looking for my phone. I lost it here last night."
"Is it black?"
Like the women on my sweatshirt? Please don't notice them.
"YES!"
"Yeah, I found it in the yard. I'm leaving now but you can just go on in and get it. It's in the kitchen."
"Thank you!"
Relieved, we stroll on up to the front door. Remembering that he said, "Just go on in," I start trying to open the door. It won't budge. So I try turning the knob several times. It's locked. Frustrated, I grab the knob with two hands and start shaking it as hard as I can yelling, "AAAAHHHHH!" trying to amuse my sister. That's when someone opened the door from the other side.
"Can I help you?"
She was looking at me as if I were Norman Bates. Though with my hair looking the way it did I'm sure I could have been mistaken for his mother.
"Yeah, uhhhh, sorry. HI! I'm Natasha."
"Are you looking for something?"
"Yes, yes. YES, I AM. A phone. Cell phone. My sister left it here. Uhhh sorry about trying to open your door he told me to just come on in so I figured the door was jammed or something..."
Yeah, sorry I just started yelling like an ape right outside of your house, then shaking your door violently trying to break in.
"Oh, it's fine, honey."
Older folk always say that when they're freaked the fuck out. I've never heard an adult say, "Man I'm freakin out!" they just say something like, "Hmmm, we'll work this out." That's how I knew she thought I was Jennifer Beals in a leotard and leg warmers.
"Oh, that's the phone!"
"There you go."
"Thank you!"
"Uh-huh."
"Sorry again about the whole breaking into your house thing...ha...ha..."
"See you later, honey."
GOD HOW DO I MAKE EVERYTHING SO AWKWARD. As soon as we get outside, we start talking about how creepy the area the house is in, this country-back-of-the-woods-isolated-farm-land.
"Man this is like a creepy country-back-of-the-woods-isolated-farm-land."
"For real."
And as soon as we say this, no joke, CIRCUS MUSIC starts playing from who the fuck knows where. CIRCUS MUSIC IS BLASTING THROUGH THE BOONIES.
"Is that circus music...?"
"LET'S GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE!"
So we start running towards the car, I'm talking full out sprint here, to my Volvo which we parked in someone else's driveway "to be smooth," but as we advance to that same driveway we see a car waiting beside it to pull into THAT driveway. I'm assuming this person actually owned the house in which the driveway we had parked our car in led to, unlike us, which brings me back to my previous point of HOW DO I MAKE EVERYTHING SO AWKWARD. We don't look at them because it's already uncomfortable enough; we just get in the car; I keep my head down which made it very difficult to drive, as you can imagine, and left. Laughing. And screaming.
This wasn't by choice, by the way. I'm not one of those who posts up in someone's tree with binoculars and a sock waiting for them to conveniently undress right in front of their open window; I'm just somebody who obeys their father.
"Go to that party you were at last night and see if your sister's cell phone is there."
And so that is just what we were doing.
Awkwardly.
In giant pajamas and Einstein 'do's.
So we're walking through this front yard, which is quite big, with a driveway to the left.
(That's all I'm going to elaborate as far as scenery goes; it's a pet peeve of mine when people spend 15 minutes trying to explain where exactly they were before they even begin the story.
"You know where that restaurant is on that street with the little sign?"
"No."
"Well okay, you know that school on that avenue where people walk around?"
"No."
"Hmmm...okay how about that road with the dead end sign where there's a dead end?"
"Sure."
A.k.a. just tell the damn story already.
"Okay well that's where we were. Anyway that's not important. So this guy---"
Yeah. I hate when people do that.)
So literally 34 seconds after we begin our trespassing, a car pulls out of that same driveway to the left. Of course this would happen. Of all the cars. Of all the driveways. Of all the times. Of all the sweatshirts.
"That car is coming from this house!"
"What should we do?"
"Just act like we're on a walk!"
"What?"
"Just act like we're taking a walk!"
"Natasha, no one goes on walks through people's front yards."
"Then let's walk over there!"
So we walk out of the yard as this car is driving right past us, and see that the road ends and there is a graveyard, which we start walking next to. I start whistling because I've seen it done in movies, and my sister keeps telling me we look morbid and why do I have naked black women on my shirt.
"Hey, are you looking for something?"
"Uhhh...yeah...sorry."
Sorry this is so incredibly awkward.
"We're looking for my phone. I lost it here last night."
"Is it black?"
Like the women on my sweatshirt? Please don't notice them.
"YES!"
"Yeah, I found it in the yard. I'm leaving now but you can just go on in and get it. It's in the kitchen."
"Thank you!"
Relieved, we stroll on up to the front door. Remembering that he said, "Just go on in," I start trying to open the door. It won't budge. So I try turning the knob several times. It's locked. Frustrated, I grab the knob with two hands and start shaking it as hard as I can yelling, "AAAAHHHHH!" trying to amuse my sister. That's when someone opened the door from the other side.
"Can I help you?"
She was looking at me as if I were Norman Bates. Though with my hair looking the way it did I'm sure I could have been mistaken for his mother.
"Yeah, uhhhh, sorry. HI! I'm Natasha."
"Are you looking for something?"
"Yes, yes. YES, I AM. A phone. Cell phone. My sister left it here. Uhhh sorry about trying to open your door he told me to just come on in so I figured the door was jammed or something..."
Yeah, sorry I just started yelling like an ape right outside of your house, then shaking your door violently trying to break in.
"Oh, it's fine, honey."
Older folk always say that when they're freaked the fuck out. I've never heard an adult say, "Man I'm freakin out!" they just say something like, "Hmmm, we'll work this out." That's how I knew she thought I was Jennifer Beals in a leotard and leg warmers.
"Oh, that's the phone!"
"There you go."
"Thank you!"
"Uh-huh."
"Sorry again about the whole breaking into your house thing...ha...ha..."
"See you later, honey."
GOD HOW DO I MAKE EVERYTHING SO AWKWARD. As soon as we get outside, we start talking about how creepy the area the house is in, this country-back-of-the-woods-isolated-farm-land.
"Man this is like a creepy country-back-of-the-woods-isolated-farm-land."
"For real."
And as soon as we say this, no joke, CIRCUS MUSIC starts playing from who the fuck knows where. CIRCUS MUSIC IS BLASTING THROUGH THE BOONIES.
"Is that circus music...?"
"LET'S GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE!"
So we start running towards the car, I'm talking full out sprint here, to my Volvo which we parked in someone else's driveway "to be smooth," but as we advance to that same driveway we see a car waiting beside it to pull into THAT driveway. I'm assuming this person actually owned the house in which the driveway we had parked our car in led to, unlike us, which brings me back to my previous point of HOW DO I MAKE EVERYTHING SO AWKWARD. We don't look at them because it's already uncomfortable enough; we just get in the car; I keep my head down which made it very difficult to drive, as you can imagine, and left. Laughing. And screaming.
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