1-She has servants 24/7 whose job is not only to clean up any messes she makes, but to wipe her ass for her too.
2 - She is not afraid to be picky with her food. Don't like the seasoning on those green beans? Why not send them back to the cook with an exclamation of "BLUUUU!" for emphasis on how un-yummy they are? Classy folks know how to get what they want out of a dinner service and they don't care if the people at the next table think they're being "too mean" to the waitress.
3- She will subtly let you know when your shirt makes you look fat. She'll grab your arm, pull you close, then wipe her snotty face on you just to emphasize this point.
4- She's more than happy to lend her opinion on your jewelry as well. You just have to let her yank it off you first.
5- She's VERY polite about her pooping and won't even interrupt dinner if she has to go: she just lets it fly, then finishes off her meal before she excuses herself and has her servants clean her up.
6- She'll lend you money when you're in a tight spot.
7- She never curses - just growls.
8 - She knows that she doesn't have to listen just because someone is telling her "NO!" Who cares if they think toys in the fireplace aren't "art?" She inspires other to success by teaching them not to let things like dirt, bugs, or "NO!" get in the way of truly getting what you want out of life.
9 - She realizes that the war for official "first word" between the Mommy and Daddy people can be manipulated to get her yummy things (grapes) or fun things (someone's cell phone.) With the slightest hint of "mama/dada" babble they'll scramble to positively reinforce the saying of those sounds, thus giving her THE POWER. Power, of course, is essential to being classy.
After watching last week's episode of Tosh.0 I was inspired to create my own little hate rant (See here for reference.) Rather than gumming up the works on youtube with a video no one will see, I've decided to do an "I hate list" here. Just because I can.
1) I hate it when chicks think they're too good to sit on the damned toilet seat. It's called a paper cover, ladies - sit your ass down on one and stop spraying down the seat for the rest of us.
2) I hate when people try to merge on the freeway while they're going 45 mph. I especially hate getting stuck behind those douchenozzles.
3) I hate when people stare at a sign and then ask me the question that the sign answers.
4) I hate when I get stuck in an elevator with someone who's eating Funyons. Almost as much as I hate getting stuck there next to someone wearing Axe body spray.
5) I hate that my parents both forward me every Republican propaganda email they every receive. I also really, really hate that they think the term "Mexican" is synonymous with "illegal immigrant."
6) I hate that my genetics didn't predispose me to losing all the baby weight within the first couple months of having my daughter.
7) I hate when people say "LOL!" or "WTF?" out loud. Or, even worse, when they say, "I heart this song!" Internet typing shortcuts are not actual words, people, and you sound like a lazy retard when you try to talk like that.
8) I hate that no one wants to pay me just to stay home with my baby.
9) I hate when people throw up the "metal" horns and stick their tongue out, mistakenly thinking that it makes them look more hardcore.
10) I hate when my boyfriend leaves his dirty clothes on the bathroom sink instead of throwing them in the laundry hamper that is 2 feet away from the counter.
11) I hate when my teeth get that scuzzy feeling and I don't have a toothbrush around.
12) I hate when fat chicks say that they're single because they're "too picky." You are lying and we all know it - why not just not comment on it at all?
13) I hate when people I didn't like or even talk to in high school try to "friend" me on facebook without explanation. If I didn't like you then, chances are I'm not going to have changed my mind in my 10 years of not talking to you.
14) I hate when skinny people complain about how "hard it is to lose the last 10 pounds." Or when they complain about how "big" all their clothes suddenly are. Thanks for gloating, asshole, now I feel like a whale.
Lately I've become obsessed with this Basement Jaxx song:
And lord knows there's nothing like a good song to get my brain churning and bubbling like a cauldron of noxious chemicals.
I have a series of scars all over my body. Each of these have come to mean something to me later in life that I would never have thought of when I got them.
Let's start at the top. First there is the 1/2 inch scar on my forehead that was the result of my 3-year-old playtime in a big, empty box which tipped over when I tried to "make it bigger" so that my Grandpa could come into the box with me. It sent me crashing into my parents' fireplace and earned me 3 stitches.
This scar can represent several different things for me depending on how deeply I want to analyze it. The super-deep meaning: When you are looking for fun in things that are empty, you can waste a lot of time trying to make them more than they are and end up with nothing more than a headache.
The not-so-deep meaning: I'm glad I have a thick skull.
Then there is the scar on my hand.
This is actually from when I was only a day or two old - I was put into the NICU and the nurse who did my IV did a bad job of putting the needle into the vein. My whole hand swelled up with fluid and had to be sliced open to relieve the pressure.
This scar didn't have a meaning to me until the year 2001 when I read Fight Club for the first time. The book quite honestly changed my life and gave words to frustrations that I didn't know how to express - frustrations about rampant materialism, the feminization of our culture and the meaninglessness of wanting to buy pillows to decorate a bed I never made. There is a scene in the book where Tyler Durden kisses the back of the narrator's hand, then pours lye on it to give him a chemical burn and force the narrator to realize, "[Y]ou have to that someday, you are going to die. Until you know that, you will be useless." Ever since the first time I read that I started looking at the scar on my hand as if it were Tyler Durden's kiss, there to remind me that things will never make me truly happy. It's a lesson I have re-learn every time I walk into a store like Bed, Bath and Beyond needing a salt shaker and coming out with 5 beach towels, 3 scented candles and a gadget to separate egg whites for me (forgetting the salt shaker.)
There's the scars on my knees from my bike accident and surgery in 2007:
There are two lessons to be learned from these scars. 1 - Don't ride your bike next to a skateboarder.
2- Don't abide by doctors who prescribe you Vicodin within the first 30 seconds of you telling them what's wrong. My first two visits to urgent care for this knee injury resulted only in the same doctor telling me the to ice it, elevate it, and take the pain pills like a good little girl even though after 1 1/2 weeks it still wasn't getting any better. Had this doctor told me then to go to physical therapy I probably could have avoided surgery, but because the injury healed wrong I had to go under the laser.
Then we get down to the nastiest looking scar of them all: my c-section scar.
This was definitely my most well-earned scar. 41 hours of labor all to have her extricated from me by someone with a scalpel.
It was definitely worth it. :)
What did I learn from this scar? I am damned glad that we live in the age of technology. All throughout my pregnancy I would picture myself having to work as a pregnant farm-woman back in the 1700s: having to quite literally hoe for my life and kill chickens to eat and only stopping to pop a squat in the field for a few hours to have the baby. Now, of course, I know that I would have been one of those women who died in childbirth back then, but at the time I was pregnant it was the thought of my foremothers squatting in fields that made me get out of bed in the morning without coffee and stop complaining about my sciatica to anyone that would listen - if they could do it, so could I!
Um, not quite.
So thank god for modern medicine, because it allowed me to actually become a mother instead of a dead person.
Thus concludes our tour of my scar tissue and my mind. I hope you've enjoyed seeing this grossness. :)
