Wednesday, April 7, 2010

Stick it to the Beard

"This beard is killing me, man."

Never mind the giant intertube that seems to be hidden underneath your shirt. That just CAN'T be the reason you're drenched in sweat after a 4-minute stroll to class. It's the beard, man. It's the hair on your chin that has caused your shirt to become 3 shades darker and the pores on your face 3 times larger. Damn that chin hair.

"Yeah, man. I hate my beard. Girls won't make out with you when you have a beard."

Wo-ho-HO! What have we here! Yet ANOTHER individual flaw that can be blamed all on the beard! Who ever said "stick it to the man?" I think it's quite obvious there's a new trend about town: stick it to THE BEARD.

"I know, right! Last time I shaved I had girls crawling all over me, but as soon as I grow this damn thing out they're all "eewwww noooooo it's all scratchyyyyyyy..." "

I think that all depends on where you kiss her, breh.

"The worst thing really though is the heat. I'm gonna have to shave. I can't take it anymore, man."

I've never really thought of beards as being people's own personal mini-heaters, but I guess it all makes sense now. The other day I saw a boy on a bicycle, hair flying back in the wind, arm hair flying back in the wind, leg hair flying back in the wind, whatever other hair flying back in the wind, but not his beard. OH no. The beard remained completely and absolutely: stationary. Which honestly ruined the whole picturesque-ness of Beautiful Boy On Bicycle for me, since everything oh-so-elegantly floated in the breeze except for the tangled nest of dead follicles placed smack-dab on half of his face. Why don't people grow beards like that guy in Kill Bill 2? The Asian man who whipped it to the side and intimidated us all? Now that was a sexy man-beard. It is to my dismay that I have never seen such a beard in real life. Whether or not they really exist will more than likely forever remain a mystery, since I have no intentions of jetsetting to Hohhot, China, deviously pronounced as HU-HE-HA-O-TE!" (I would constantly feel laughed at.)

Pardon my tangent on my opinion of beards, which has already changed because now that I think about it, I don't really care for Kill-Bill-Asian-Man-Beards, and would much prefer Good-Ol-Lumberjack-Beards, but then again, in 5 minutes I may change my mind yet again and want one myself. Or want one in a jar. Or want an Asian man. These things all depend on my mood and exactly how many cups of coffee I have consumed. Nevertheless, BACK TO THE POINT. You're curious now, aren't you? Intrigued? Interested? Mystified? Perhaps you're thinking, "What fascinating point could tie in to all of this beard talk? I am so titillated!" (titillated: my word of the day. I am not ashamed to admit that I still have some maturing to do. Moving on.) Maybe you're thinking, "Wow. This post SUCKS. ALL Natasha does is ramble and ramble and ramble and RAMBLE..." And if you are indeed thinking that, then WHY ARE YOU READING THIS. STOP NOW. DO NOT GO ON. I AM SERIOUS. GO READ A SNOOPY COMIC INSTEAD. THEY ARE GREAT. CHARLIE BROWN IS LIKE EIGHT AND IS BALD. IT'S GREAT.

The point: summer. I may not have a beard, but I do have an equally as troublesome dilemma in regards to staying cool in this blasted heat. MY CLOTHES. I don't know exactly when this happened, but some time in the last 3 years every pink, green, blue, and yes, even yellow, article of clothing has disappeared from my life, never to return again. It is a sad fact when you must admit to yourself that something will never return again, but at the same time it is a great revelation to experience once you have truly admitted it. COLOR IS OUT OF MY LIFE. Ah...see. I already feel refreshed. While I am perfectly content with keeping things simple (simple, a.k.a. black), other people don't seem to be, which is really quite sad...SAD THAT YOU MORONS DON'T HAVE LIVES OF YOUR OWN.

August 2009

It's August. It's summer. It's hot. I'm hot. ('hot' as in body temperature. good god, people.) I'm at a frat party. (don't judge me I was merely young and curious.) I had gone to this party accompanied by a male amigo of mine who was "in" with the fratties. I didn't really think twice about the fact that everyone was campaigning for the ALERT SOCIETY OF THE COLORS OF THE RAINBOW cause, while I was campaigning for the LONG LIVE BRANDON LEE AS THE CROW foundation, because I'm used to it. Some people dress in blue, some people dress in black. Some people dress in pink, some people would never wear pink. Some people get dressed, some people are nudists. Not a big deal. (Ready for this suspense about to hit you?) ...OR SO I THOUGHT.

Yellow Frattie and Blue Frattie pull my friend to the side and start whispering. Glancing at me sporadically. Continuing to whisper. If I were cocky, I may have thought, "Ooh, they're checking me out! They want a piece of dis azz, hell yeah baby, I'm THE SHIT!" If I were paranoid, I may have thought, "RoofieroofieohmygodI'mgonnagetraped." And if I were intoxicated, I may have thought nothing of it at all and continued to mingle with the minions. (There is also an Option D: All of the Above.)

SO. It wasn't until a few weeks later that I found out what they had said. Turns out that Yellow and Blue Frattie Fuckwads did not want a girl "like me" at their parties, that my friend could not "try and pull that shit" on them anymore, and that I was not "allowed." All because of one. single. color. You racist sonsuvbitches.

February 2010


"Hey Orangey!"

"Hey, these are my friends Yellowy and Browny."

"Hey, I'm Natasha!"

"Oh, I know."

"Oh, sorry, have we met?"

"No, but you're the girl who always dresses in all black!"

This is getting ridiculous. My identity has been stolen. By a color that technically isn't even a color. My identity has been stolen by the absence of color. I need some purple.

I mean COME ON PEOPLE. I have red shoes! And today I wore a (black) T-shirt with a GRAY picture on the front of Curly from the Three Stooges smoking a cigar. GRAY AND RED. I'm expanding! Evolving! Broadening my horizons! And I'm going to start having to because this black is hot. I'd rather be known for a color than be known for holding the world record in Perpetual Sweating. I'm like an Everlasting Gobstopper, except not. More of an Everlasting Sweatmonster. GrossYES.

Honestly this is all talk from my ass. I have no plans on changing my wardrobe; I don't even go shopping. I have one pair of pants and it's gonna stay that way. I have 13 pairs of shoes but only wear one one of them and it's gonna stay that way. I'm banned from frat parties and it's gonna stay that way. I don't give a shit about anyone's fascination with my color coordination. AND IT'S GONNA STAY THAT WAY.

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