Sunday, January 31, 2016

Things I Couldn't Do if My Life Depended On It

This weekend I had a disquieting realization: There are a LOT of things I couldn't do if my life depended on it. Things, where if presented with the challenge, "die or do [blank]," I'd be history.

They range in nature from things most people can't do (brain surgery, rocket science) to more mundane things that almost everyone can do (drive a stick shift, bake a pie).

And that leaves a lot--a LOT--of stuff in the middle to silently erode my self esteem. 

That was my thought when we had friends visiting from Wasilla this weekend. Between the two of them, they are a self-contained zombie apocalypse kit. Their competencies range from mass quiche production to generator-fixing, and when the end times come, if it's two things you need it's Crisco and power.

As I watched one of them hard at work at their craft, I said out loud, "Wow, I literally could not do that if my life depended on it." And then I thought to myself, no one will ever say that about me. I will never be doing anything that would prompt anyone to utter that sentence.

Which all goes to my main point: When the apocalypse comes, I'm pretty fucked. 'Cause no one's gonna need a navel-gazing, neurotic, narcissistic hobby blogging-lawyer. If anything, such a person is a liability, because they are always over-analyzing and questioning things, instead of acting quickly; and in all that time, the zombie army has been allowed to advance.

Then all of a sudden, it's BOOM! Game over. 

Moral of the story: If I want to survive the end of humanity, I need to learn how to fix a generator, or at least drive a stick shift.


Saturday, January 30, 2016

I'm Worried Bruce Springsteen Will Die Before I Can See Him in Concert, and the Fact That I'm an Atheist Compounds My Anxiety

I'm not basing this fear on any specific medical intel, but doesn't it look like Bruce Springsteen could just keel over and drop dead at any second? The man is pushing 70 and he still brings it like he's 27. How long can this possibly go on? Seeing The Boss in concert is on my bucket list, and I'm worried that his bucket list will come up for God's cash-in before mine does.

Which brings me to an embarrassing confession. I'm an atheist. This is embarrassing only because we live in America where it's important to believe in God, and where most people do believe in God or some version of God, anyway. But the fact of the matter is I was raised by secular Jewish atheists and I've carried their nihilistic teachings with me into adulthood.

I wish I did believe in God or a higher power of some kind. I've got good friends and family members who do, and who would like to see me saved and salvaged, and who worry for my soul. I'm not offended by that--I'm flattered that they care about me, and I hope they're right. If I thought I'd see everyone I ever knew in Heaven some day, life here on earth would feel a lot easier to me. If I thought God had a plan for everything, then the things that happened, both bad and good, would feel less arbitrary, random, and scary.

But I just can't do it. I just can't make myself believe that there is a man or woman in the sky or even some sort of magical force field in the driver's seat who's going to make it all OK in the end. I certainly believe in being good to people. I certainly believe in doing all the things most religions (on their best days) tell you to do, like love your neighbor and all of that. But I just can't convince myself of any of the rest of it, and some of it is downright crappy in my opinion.

Nor can I get behind the modern atheism movement which feels like a religion in its own right: aggressively campaigning against religion and trying to convince the world that God isn't real and pointing out all the damage that religion does. While I don't disagree with the basics of some of that, the approach seems very hostile and I'm not into hostility.

This was all a big digression from the point of this post, which is that I really want to see Bruce Springsteen in concert before one of us dies. And as far as I can tell, it's only by a stroke of luck and happenstance that this will happen.

Fingers crossed.

Friday, January 29, 2016

First World Mothers Briefly Seize Upon, Promptly Dismiss Fears of Zika Virus

First World mothers in the United States breathed a collective sigh of relief this week, after quickly concluding that terrifying reports of Zika--a mosquito-borne virus--did not apply to them or their children.

An article in yesterday's New York Times reported that Zika was “spreading explosively in the Americas," and that as many as four million people could be infected by the end of the year. The World Health Organization "rang a global alarm," with the "focus of concern" being the "growing number of cases of microcephaly, a rare condition in which infants are born with abnormally small heads and damaged brains."

"Oh great," said one mom reached at her home in Scarsdale, New York. "I'm six months pregnant with my third child, and now I have to worry about imported cheese, sushi, AND mosquitoes?"

"Wait . . . 'Americas' doesn't mean here, does it??," another mother, who asked to remain anonymous, wondered aloud to a fellow parent at a soccer game in Newton, Massachusetts. "I was super scared of Ebola . . . I can't handle another one of these third world virus things."

A flurry of iPhone traffic then ensued in which briefly frightened parents began reading aloud to each other from the Times article. 

"Hang on hang on," said a frantic mother of two from Park Slope, Brooklyn in the parking lot of a nearby Whole Foods. "It says right here  . . . 'the risk of a homegrown outbreak is very low.' We have plans to go to Cabo over spring break, but it looks like this thing is really only in Brazil and Venezuela. What a relief."

The Kanye West/Amber Rose #FingersInTheBootyAssBitch Ass-Play Tweet Beef Set to the Text of Green Eggs & Ham, by Dr. Seuss

I am Ye
Ye is me

That Ye-is-me
That Ye-is-me
I do not like that Ye-is-me!

Do you like
It in the ass?

I do not like that
Ye-is-Me
I do not like
It backwards, see?

Would you like it
Here or there?

I would not like it
Here or there
I would not like it
Anywhere
I do not like it Amber Rose
I do not like it with some hoes

Would you like it
In your Benz?
Would you like it

With some friends?

I do not like it in my Benz
I do not like it with my friends
I do not like it here or there
I do not like it anywhere!

Would you like it in a hotel suite?
Would you? Could you?
For a treat?
On my finger, have a seat!

I would not
Could not
In a suite

You might like it
You will see.
You might do it
Back to me!

I would not could not in a suite
Not in my Benz, not for a treat.
I do not like it with Amber Rose
I do not like it with some hoes
I do not like it in my Benz
I do not like it with some friends
I do not like it here or there
I do not like it anywhere!


A club! A club!
A club! A club!
Could you, would you
In a club?

Not in a club! Not in a suite!
Not in my Benz! Not for a treat!

Say!
In the dark?
Here in the dark!

Would you, could you, in the dark?

I would not, could not, in the dark.

You do not like

Fingers in the booty ass bitch?

I do not like them
Not one bit.

You do not like them, SO YOU SAY.
Try them, try them, and you may.
Stick one in your ass, I say!

Ye
If you will let me be
I will try it
You will see.

Say!
I like fingers in the booty ass bitch!
I do! I like them! I'll catch! You pitch!
And I would do it in a Benz
And I would do it with my friends
And I would do it with some hoes
And I would do it with Amber Rose
And I would do it in a suite
And I would do it for a treat
And I would do it in a club
And I would do it in a tub

I do so like
Some good ass play
Thank you!
Thank you!
Love,
Kanye

Thursday, January 28, 2016

The Ultimate B.o.B. Conspiracy Theory Rap

Based on B.o.B.'s diss track, Flatline, which he dropped this week on Neil deGrasse Tyson and in which he argues the earth is flat.

[VERSE 1]:

Yo, you ain’t heard the truth
I’m a motherfuckin’ science sleuth
The government--they cover shit up
You like a baby, drinkin’ their bullshit from a sippy cup
Yeah, I said it: the earth is FLAT!
What? You think I’m crazy like a shit-house rat?
Aye, Neil Armstrong never walked the moon
That shit was staged up at the studio where they filmed Dune!
Aye, I’m over here givin’ you the X-files
Come on over, over, over for a little while
Aye, I don’t care what you say
9/11 was an inside job like JFK
If they weren’t coming for me then
They coming for me now
I can’t even tell you
Evolution like the Brooklyn Bridge they tryna sell you
Professors get off my dick and prove that AIDS
Wasn’t created by the muthafuckin’ CIA
Woo, use your, use your eyes and ears for once
Roswell aliens and air force at Area 51 chillin,' rollin’ blunts!
I said the Holocaust never happened, so what bruh?
Shakespeare was a bitch and Hitler faked his own death, so?

[HOOK]
Science, science
It’s a secret alliance
Science, science
You got me once, but now I’m defiant!

[VERSE 2]
Lies, lies, all of it lies
Do I give a fuck? It’s time to recognize
Physics, chemistry, biology, what is it?
These cats with PhDs think they “evidence” the shiznit

People with degrees say the climate is warmin' up?
I guess that's why a blizzard just last week came stormin' up?
Hypnotized by something called the scientific method
You write a thesis then you think you intrepid?
Fuck you and your oral exam panel, you gonna be neglected
They stressed, cause they know science is crazier 
Than Jack Nicholson in One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest
Do your homework on Paris and Princess Diana
Look it up: she didn't crash, her limo's tailpipe got stuffed with a banana.

[HOOK]
Science, science
It’s a secret alliance
Science, science
You got me once, but now I’m defiant!



Slow Clap, Mattel! It Only Took Half a Century, But Barbie Finally Has Junk in Her Trunk

Well I'll be Jenna Jameson's silicone nipple.

It only took as long as Alaska's been a state,* but Mattel finally put some junk in Barbie's trunk, and made versions of her with different skin tones and different colors and textures of hair.

From Time magazine comes the exclusive cover story that Mattel--makers of the iconic and controversial doll that heretofore resembled a Las Vegas stripper of inhuman proportions--has at last implicitly acknowledged that women who are not thin, white, and blonde draw breath on Planet Earth. 

No more will my daughter look quizzically back and forth from her saggy, hirsute, brunette mother to her hand-me-down Barbie dolls with a confused look on her face.

I guess Mattel needed to do something about Barbie haters, i.e., millennial and Gen-X moms like me, whose parents and grandparents were up in their grills 24/7 about how fat they were, and who decided they weren't going to traumatize their kids with the same bullshit but rather just accept them for who they are.

As the mother of a chubby second grade girl who has already been called fat multiple times in school, I couldn't be happier about this. Paige sometimes shows interest in Barbies, and I might actually fall prey to Mattel's latest marketing maneuver to get her that one on the right in the yellow skirt. It actually looks a tiny bit like her, minus the arms which are somehow still twigs.

Mattel isn't doing this to be nice, of course. Barbie sales shat the bed and went into free-fall last year, likely because most moms in 2016 don't want to give their daughters one more reason to barf up lettuce three times a day and pop laxatives like M&M's in order to look like Kate Moss. 

Not like my kids need any more plastic crap, either, mind you. But if Paige begs for "curvy barbie," I might be inclined to capitulate simply to support the concept. 

It only took 60 years and a bunch of shitty fourth quarter returns, but Mattel finally got half a fucking clue about Barbie. 

Slow clap, Mattel. Suhloooooooooooooooooooow clap.

*Alaska became a State on January 3, 1959. Barbie debuted in March of the same year.



BarbieCurvy_Original
BarbiePetite_Tall

The Ted Cruz/Nickelback Protest-Troll Deserves a Nobel Peace Prize

There are so many things I love about this story, it's hard to even know where to begin. 

Let's start with the anonymous, self-proclaimed-nonpartisan, 20-something male protester who is INGENIOUSLY trolling Texas Senator and POTUS candidate Ted Cruz by following him around Iowa accusing him of liking the incontrovertibly shitty rock band Nickelback!

As everyone knows, Nickelback is the worst band to emerge from North America since The Monkees, and it hails from Alberta, Canada, the same Canadian province where Ted Cruz was born. 

In a long-ago post entitled "The Nickelback Exorcism," I discussed the uniquely painful phenomenon of getting the Nickelback song "Photograph" stuck in your head, and I made up my own lyrics to it. I will paste just a few bars here for reference:

Listen to this song
I bet you can’t without a giant bong
How did Nickelback get so rich?
Their music makes a deaf man twitch

And this is where I throw up
Chad Kroeger looks like such a schmuck
He’s married to Avril Lavigne
Whose eyeliner is obscene

Every memory of listening to this band
Has me pulling out each hair on my head strand-by-strand
It’s hard to say it, time to say it
Goodbye, goodbye.
Every memory of listening to this song
Makes me wanna ship my radio back to Hong Kong
It’s hard to say it, time to say it,
Goodbye, goodbye.

Anyway, Nickelback is so bad, that until today, I thought the verb "Nickelbacking" meant to surreptitiously inject Nickelback into someone's playlist the way you might TP their house on Halloween. Then I decided to check Urban Dictionary, which disclosed this alternative but equally valid definition:
A twisted, vile game in which, upon hearing a Nickelback song on the radio, a person immediately calls a friend, cranks up the volume, and forces them to listen to Nickelback without saying anything else. The answerer of the phone must listen to Nickelback as long as can be tolerated before hanging up. If the caller receives no answer, he must leave a voicemail recording of the entire Nickelback song to thoroughly disappoint the Nickelback'd individual and ruin his day. Retaliations must continue until one of the players surrenders.
I am completely obsessed with this game, and need to play it TODAY! 

But back to Ted Cruz. 

Let's recall that this anthropomorphized boy-Cabbage Patch Doll wants to be President when he grows up. However, his rivals have accused him of being ineligible for office due to the fact that he might be a CANADIAN. And in 'Murica, of course, being Canadian is even worse than being MUSLIM--or worse yet--an ATHEIST. Which Ted understands, because he said last November that "Any president who doesn't begin every day on his knees isn't fit to be commander-in-chief of this country."

Well. 

I have four words in response to that: THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID! At the risk of offering TMI, that is exactly what I've always told anyone who wants to date or marry me:  Any man who doesn't begin every day on his knees isn't fit to be my boyfriend or husband. 'Cause I like to start my morning off right--with my O-face. 

So I totes see where T. Crizzle is coming from.

Meanwhile, Nickelback doesn't seem to get that the Iowa troll is insulting both Ted Cruz AND their band, or if they do, they don't care because they're rich. Nickelback frontman Chad Kroeger called this protester the "Nickelback Employee of the Month" on Twitter. Which I guess means he supports the protester's activities without totally resenting the fact that his band is the butt of an international joke. Or possibly he does not get the joke. Notwithstanding Chad's terrible highlights job, I'll give him the benefit of the doubt and assume the former.

Either way though, this kid is a fucking genius and he deserves a Nobel Peace Prize for bringing two nations together:  One led by a man Jezebel accurately declared incontrovertibly fuckable, and the other whose fate now lies at the mercy of an evil hybrid of Mr. Burns from The Simpsons and a cantaloupe with veneers.

Apparently not one to rest on his laurels, the Nickelback protester has also been known to dress up like a Canadian Mountie while on his diplomatic missions.

Please, someone alert Scandinavia, because this kid is a serious contender for the Nobel Peace Prize.

Nickelback tweeted this photo of the protester.

Wednesday, January 27, 2016

My Kids Kinda Act Like Drunk Assholes at Bedtime

Actually, it's more like 45 minutes before bedtime. That's when they really start to turn into those dicks who are still at the bar looong after they should've gone home. That's when their long day starts to take its toll, and they begin slurring their words and spinning in circles. "JUST ONE MORE SOOONG?!," they'll beg, dancing around and asking for water.
 

"No." Geoff and I will roll our eyes and address them soberly, like two sensible designated drivers encumbered by our uncooperative and unruly charges. "You don't have to fall asleep, but you can't keep dancing around up here." 

It's the kiddie bedtime version of "You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here." Frankly, they're lucky I don't pull a real dive bar move and spray them with the sink hose to make them scatter from the living room.
 

Then they'll stumble down the stairs, laughing, crying, and brawling with each other. We'll break up at least two major fights before we even get toothbrushes anywhere near their mouths. "Watch out! You're about to pee on the floor!," I'll shout at Isaac as he turns to punch his sister in the arm, laughing maniacally.

"I LOVE YOU MOMMY MORE THAN ANY MOMMY IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD!!" Paige will wail like a banshee. I'll tell Paige I love her too, but she REALLY needs to go to bed now. "How did the dinosaurs go extinct?" Isaac will ask . . . "Oh wait! We forgot to eat dessert!" 

At that prospect, they both spin around 180 degrees. I spin them right back around 180 more, and almost throw them into their beds. Before long, they're completely passed out, totally oblivious to the significant efforts we just made simply to help them perform basic bodily functions and make it 'til morning.

Yup. There's no doubt about it. My kids definitely kinda act like drunk assholes at bedtime.


If I Were Kanye West and the Juneau Community Concern Facebook Page Were Wiz Khalifa

Kanye and Wiz engaged in an epic Tweetstorm for the ages today--a celebrity beef to end all beefs. I totally relate to Ye, because I too am a delusional, juvenile narcissist easily provoked into a knock-down, drag-out, online beef with my putative rivals over nothing. The only difference is I have a lot less money and I'm not into ass playBut if I were Kanye West, and the Juneau Community Concern Facebook Page were Wiz Khalifa, this is what our Twitter beef would look like:

@JCC: Please stop re-blogging your posts here @OHM. Ppl complainin'.
@OHM: OMG @JCC, why don't u drop more tired-ass bars about rain and WalMart leaving? #juneaufullofcranks.
@JCC: Isn't that what the blog posts you JUST re-blogged on here were about? @OHM you a hypocrite and u lookin' 4 free promotion.
@OHM: Who you callin' a hypocrite? You say u don't want ppl posting here for dollars. My blog makes ZERO dollars! You just jealous bc my traffic roll deep.
@JCC: I'm not here for the traffic. I'm here for the cause. I got 3,918 likes and counting, so . . .
@OHM: Well now u got 3,917 cuz I just UNJOINED you, BITCH! 
@JCC: OHM is a weed fool. And didn't your OWN husband agree with @JCC you were outta line re-blogging like a bitch-ass troll to @JCC?
@OHM: 1st, you have distracted from my creative process. 
@OHM: 2nd, your cover photo is corny as fuck and most there after.
@OHM: 3rd, you let a stripper tap you.
@OHM: 4th, I went to look at your FB and you were posting more shit peeps could just look up on Google. I screen-grabbed one & sent it to your admin. #juneauusegooglemuch?
@JCC: I am your OG FB community page and I will be respected as such! 
@OHM: Thank you for the extra promotion onehotmessalaska.blogspot.com. My blog is actually a satirical comedy blog. 
@JCC: Step off B4 I block u.
@OHM: I'm One Hot Mess and I gotta say it the right way OHM OHM OHM OHM.
@OHM: What's sad is I love you. I'ma take all this down because it's all about positive energy, positive vibes.
@OHM: I love the world bottom line and all I want is peace and positive energy.

Untitled-12

6 Questions in Pop Music That Make Most Men Cringe IRL

Far be it for me to generalize on the basis of gender, but in my personal experience, there are certain questions that most heterosexual men rarely answer in a manner satisfactory to the woman who is posing the question. 

Here are some examples plucked from recent Top 40 songs. While asking these questions might have earned their female pop singers a small fortune, here's what usually happens when you ask them in real life:

"Hello, it’s me. I was wondering if after all these years you’d like to meet
To go over everything?"
--Adele, Hello

I have never once had an ex who wanted to  "meet to go over everything," though I'd always be more than happy to do so. This question is better phrased as: "I was wondering if after all these years you'd like to continue to pretend like none of this ever happened, and never see each other in person ever again?" In that case, the answer is almost always, "Yes, please."

"You look like my next mistake. Love’s a game, wanna play?"
--Taylor Swift, Blank Space

Whether they admit it or not, everyone--but everyone--plays games in romance. Accordingly, there's no bigger red flag than the four words "I don't play games" to indicate that the person does, in fact, play many, MANY games. So, points go to Taylor for her honesty. That said, in my experience it's better to just quietly play the game, rather than acknowledge its existence by first asking to play like it was Chutes and Ladders or Connect 4. This is the perfect embodiment of the old adage, "it's better to ask forgiveness than permission."

"After every fight, just apologize, and maybe then I’ll let you try and rock my body right. Even if I was wrong, you know I’m never wrong, why disagree? Why, why disagree?"
--Meghan Trainor, Dear Future Husband

This one makes me a little sad, because it plays into that depressing stereotype of women as shrewish battle axes who hold men hostage using sex and blow jobs as ransom. While often true and undoubtedly effective, if you're using these tactics it might be time to re-examine your conformity to gender stereotypes.

"Oh no, did I get too close? Oh, did I almost see what’s really on the inside?"
--Katie Perry, Unconditionally

This question falls into the category of "If you have to ask, you'll never know" and/or "Don't bother asking." If you're asking this question, you are involved with someone who has more baggage that O'Hare International Airport and should be in therapy--with a professional. Thus, the answer to this question is probably "yes," and you are two seconds away from being bounced to the curb. 

"And I ask myself, why I’m still here, or where could I go? But I hate you, I really hate you."
--Pink, True Love

Again, by the time you're asking yourself this question, and telling your boyfriend/husband you hate him, maybe it's time to just leave for good, even if you can't figure out where to go.

"Why do you have to go and make things so complicated?"
--Avril Lavigne

There is simply no answer to this depressing, rhetorical question. And once again: if you're asking this question, your relationship is in trouble and you're dealing with some damaged goods. Nothing wrong with damaged goods, btw. As we all know, damaged goods are always the most compelling. But don't ask damaged goods this question because the answer is "I don't know." You'll get a deer in the headlights look, and then you'll get ghosted. Which, in the end, is usually for the best anyway.

Tuesday, January 26, 2016

Slightly Misguided Feller in Kansas Wants Ladies to Have a Dress Code Because Why TF Not?

And lest I neglect to mention, this feller happens to be someone who serves the Good People of Kansas in the Kansas State Senate. Also, the ladies happen to be the XX chromosome-bearing peeps who come before his committee to testify.

ICYMI, this irresistible, vaguely serial killerish-looking hunk o' D you luh-luh-luh-ladeeeez see before you is Kansas State Senator Mitch Holmes. Sen. Holmes recently "raised some hackles" among the public and his colleagues with bipartisan vajayjays after he wrote guidelines for the Senate Ethics and Elections Committee directing "ladies" to dress in "professional attire," which in the Good Senator's estimation explicitly excludes "low-cut necklines and miniskirts." 

Kansas state Sen. Mitch Holmes is seen in a photo on his Facebook page.

Despite Sen. Holmes' insistence that the guideline applied equally to both genders, it was conspicuously silent on what men should wear. Since duh, men don't have much choice in the matter. By contrast, ladies testifying on legamaslation can really DISTRACT from the process of legislative sausage-making by planting rapey thoughts in the minds of sausage-bearing legislators, with their perky boobies and buttockulars.

And anyway, the rule has been around for three years. It's only because a Godless, unpatriotic reporter decided to squawk about it now that it's even become an issue: "A particular reporter, one known for not joining in the pledge of allegiance, decided to make an issue of the community rules I use," stated Sen. Holmes in a highly irrelevant and almost comically indignant nonsequitur linking push-up bras to One Nation Under God. 

The Senator does not say so explicitly, but we can only assume this reporter is a hussy, a harlot, and a vixen clad in fishnet stockings, clear Lucite heels, and a silver latex dress bought for 20% off at Frederick's of Hollywood. 

Indeed, if not for Senator Holmes' seminal (pun intended) guidelines, there would probably be a stripper pole instead of a flagpole right in the middle of the Kansas Capitol grounds in Topeka, for crying out loud!

After the aforementioned un-'Murican reporter and a bunch of his or her cranky ho' sympathizers made a stink, Senator Holmes apologized. In so doing, he joins his ignominious predecessors in other state legislatures who have imposed dress codes on female legislators, witnesses, and interns to avoid "distractions," only to be smacked down by the PC Pussy Police and the commie editorial boards of crappy local newspapers.

But here you can see Senator Holmes is deeply entranced by the buxom cleavage of Kansas Senate President Susan Wagle of Wichita. So really, it's no wonder he needed this rule.



Is This All You Got?! C'mon, Juneau! BRING THE PAIN!

Ok, listen up, Juneau.

I'm looking out my window right now, and I gotta say: I think you can do better than this. A LOT better.

Your sideways rain is only at a 45 degree angle, when you and I both know that it could and should be at a 180 degree angle perpendicular to the sidewalk. Likewise and somewhat related: Your base wind is currently at 30 mph, with gusts to 50 when you are more than capable of delivering a base 50 mph wind with gusts to 100.

Looking at the ten day forecast, I see some lowering temperatures that threaten to turn a winter full of rain back into some much-preferred-by-residents snow. Well, all I can say is this is straight up BULLSHIT! 

You can do better than this! Your unique ability to inflict weather-based misery is not adequately reflected in the current weather conditions, at which you are slacking off considerably. They are miserable, but not NEARLY miserable enough. You've been hovering in the mid 30's, but in order to ensure maximum misery, I'd like to see that come up just a little--like an average temp of 40 in January, just to make sure everyone is as depressed as humanly possible.

On my way to work this morning, I almost got knocked over ten times and my hair was damp. I want to almost get knocked over TWENTY times and I want my hair to look like I just SWAM to my desk!

Please Juneau. Get your act together before it's too late. Your reputation is at stake. To paraphrase Al Pacino in Carlito's Way: You think you're big time? THEN MAKE THE WEATHER FUCKIN' SUCK BIG TIME!!!!

Sincerely,

One Hot Mess


I Will Not Feel Loved Until My Husband Tattoos His Forearm With a Highly Detailed Portrait of Me

Anyone who knows me (much less been romantically involved with me) knows how I cringe at romance. Neither flowers nor jewelry nor fancy dinners get my motor running whatsoever.

But what does do it for me is someone tattooing a highly detailed portrait of me on their forearm. 

To me, there is no greater expression of true love than my husband printing a picture of me off iPhoto, cutting it out, and taking it to a tattoo shop while he sits there for five hours as my likeness is indelibly impressed upon his forearm painfully and for all eternity at the cost of an unknown number of dollars.

That's what Manny Machado, the star third baseman for the Baltimore Orioles did for his wife, Yainee Alonso. See?:


Machado took to Instagram to announce his new ink with what--based on the hashtags and number of exclamation points-- can only be described as GREAT enthusiasm: 

Happy anniversary to my one true love!!!You are my rock, my soulmate, & my everything!!!!! You will always have my heart & soul and I will forever have yours !!! #alwaysandforever #doubleinfinity #kingandqueen
DOUBLE INFINITY!? That's a long time! It's doubtful that the 22 year-old baseball phenom will ever live to regret this.

And that's exactly what I expect my husband to do for me: Follow Manny Machado's example, or suffer the consequences. Geoff: if you're reading this, I've given you a head start with the art work to take over to High Tide Tattoo here in downtown Juneau:


Monday, January 25, 2016

My 8 Year Old Said She Wants to Be Skinny. Here's How That Convo Went.

I've written about this issue a lot on this blog, and I've done a lot of research. And if it's one mistake I'm determined not to make, it's contribute to a negative body image for either of my kids, especially my daughter Paige, who is chubby. Which is OK. It's OK to say she's chubby, because she is, and it's not a dirty word or a bad thing. 

I'm not naive enough to think I can actually give Paige a positive body image, but I can at least try to mitigate a negative one. Here's one example of this ongoing dialogue I try to have with her. This conversation happened just a few hours ago:

Paige: Can I run on the treadmill after you?
Me: Sure honey.

Paige: [Running]: I want to run on the treadmill so I can be skinny.
Me: Why would you want to be skinny?
Paige: I don't know. I just do.
Me: But why?
Paige: [Name redacted] said I was fat. I was on the monkey bars hanging upside down and she said I was fat right in my ear so I could hear it. Then I told the teacher and she said 'I never said that.'"

Me: Who cares though?
Paige: I don't know.
Me: Who cares what [Name redacted] said, and who cares if you're fat or skinny? You shouldn't want to run on a treadmill to get skinny. You're perfect the way you are. Remember "All About that Bass?" I'm like the mama in that song. I'm telling you don't worry about your size.
Paige: Ok. Well I also want to run on the treadmill because it's good for my body.
Me: Ok honey. That's a different story.
Paige: Ok, can I be done now?
Me: With this conversation or with the treadmill?
Paige: Both.

Me: Sure honey.

Now if I can just have a similar dialogue with myself, and believe it, I'll be all set. Right?


What Do My/Our Google Searches Say About Me/Us?

So this is actually a kind of amazing thing I did last night after my kids went to sleep, 'cause I'm a total baller.

A fascinating and well-worth-your-time time waster is to type the first three words of a question into Google and see what comes up. I don't know jack about tech, so I don't know how this works, but I assume it's not always the same for everyone. In other words, I assume Google has your proverbial number, somehow, in that Big Brother way it has of knowing what you are curious about. 

However, I REALLY hope I'm wrong, because THIS is what happened when I typed the following one to three word "question" words into Google:

Is it Normal . . . 
To miss a period?
To poop blood?
To have discharge?
To bleed during pregnancy?
To talk to yourself?


Is it Abnormal . . .
To have no friends?
To urinate every hour?
To talk to yourself?
To bleed between periods?

Why Do I . . .

Have diarrhea?
Pee so much?
Crave salt?
Love you?
Waste so much time?

How Can I . . . 
Keep from singing?
It be?
Make money?
Investors receive compounding returns?

Where Is . . .
My refund?
The super bowl?
Potomac?
Cam Newton from?


Is there . . .
School today?
DNA in sweat?
A garland Alaska?
Life on Mars?

Who is ...
Kylo Ren?
Credited with the creation of plainsong?
Snoke?

What is ...
My IP?
Dabbing?
Uber?
Federalism?

Why Cant' I . . .
Cry?
Focus?
Find a job?

Why Can I . . .
Not sleep?
See the moon during the day?
Feel my heartbeat?
Not poop?

Why Do I Always . . .
Feel tired?
Have gas?
Feel hungry?
Have to pee?

Why Do I Never . . . 
Get sick?
Feel full?
Feel hungry?
Want to have sex?

Will I Ever . . .
Find love?
Be happy?
Be good enough?
Get a boyfriend?

Will I Never . . .
Get married?
Find a job?
Ever find love?
Hear from him again?

When Will I . . .
Die?
It Snow?
See you again?
Ovulate?

When Should I . . .
Wake up?
Take a pregnancy test?
Take creatine?
Take the GRE?

How Often Should I . . .
Pump?
Work out?
Shower?
Rotate my tires?

Why Should I . . .
Hire you?
Vote?
Live?
Drink water?

Should I . . .
Upgrade to Windows 10?
Stay or go?
Remove it?
Get a flu shot?

Why Shouldn't . . .
Minimum wage be raised?
I die?
We hire you?
School start later?

Do I Have . . .
Depression?
To file taxes?
ADHD?
Diabetes?

How Come . . .
I'm dead?

If in fact these are generalized Google search responses, my sense of relief in life just went through the roof. If not, I'm back to square one.


Image result for google images

This Ecuadorian Sloth is Totally My New Spirit Animal

Until today (as regular readers will recall), my spirit animal was totally that bear found wandering around downtown Juneau last summer with his head in an empty jar of cookies

The errant bear still holds a place in my heart, but he's had to move over to make room for my new spirit animal: this almost painfully ADORBS long-haired sloth found clinging to a highway barrier in Quevedo, Ecuador.

First, you can see from the puddle around his (?) little tush that he has soiled himself, poor guy--which is a common response to fear and anxiety. While I generally maintain decent control over my excretory systems, it's anyone's guess when those could fail, as I often feel they might.

Second, he's faking a smile. He's clearly totally traumatized, but is attempting to put his best face forward for the cameras. This is something I do every day! Although not often photographed (except selfies), both my work and personal life require me to don a mask of calm and normalcy that belies the profound terror and disorientation lurking just beneath the surface.

Third, my unassailable sources tell me these "residents of the jungles of Central and South America are known for being slow-moving," and come down from the trees about once a week to take a crap. I got up to like 5.5 on the treadmill yesterday, which was pretty fast for me--but I definitely relate to the instinct not to move one muscle until absolutely forced to, for biological reasons. And somehow, I am netting a two pound weight gain since starting my three-day treadmill habit. How can this be!?

Fourth, this little guy is risk averse, as am I. I'm not prone to just running out into traffic, especially when I know I can't run fast. No. If I get stuck on a highway median, I'm going to find the nearest pole and cling to it for dear life until help arrives. Even after help arrives, I'm not letting go until I've been administered a tranquilizer dart and guaranteed safe return to my natural habitat.

Fifth--and who knew this?--sloths "make a good habitat for other organisms, and a single sloth may be home to moths, beetles, cockroaches, ciliates, fungi, and algae." While I can't boast hosting anything close to that menagerie, my kids gave me head lice two summers ago, and they thrived nicely. So there's that.

Finally--and here's something the sloth shares in common with my original spirit animal--this guy is covered in hair from head to toe. Truly if I did not make significant efforts toward depilation, I would be indistinguishable from this sloth. The fact that all my hair is dark brown and I bite my nails would be the only way you could tell us apart.

Long live this sweet, adorable, Ecuadorian sloth--my new spirit animal!

Ecuador Cops Save Tiny Terrified Sloth In Most Adorable Highway Rescue Ever

A Presidential Endorsement Beautifully Recast as a Poem in The New Yorker

Thawing out, lending our support.
Heads are spinning, media heads—
Farm families, teachers, teamsters, cops, cooks.
Rockin’ rollers. Holy rollers. Hands that rock the cradle.
I was told left and right:
You are going to get so clobbered in the press—beat up, chewed up, spit out.
No more pussy footin’ around!
Can I get a Hallelujah?
He knows the main thing: Go kick ISIS ass—this is what we have to remember.
He’s going rogue left and right man, his candidacy.
Which is a movement, it’s a force, it’s a strategy.
And the proof of this?
Accusations that are so false. They are so busted, the way that this thing works.
They won’t be able to be slurping off the gravy train that’s been feeding them 
All these years.
Well, and then, funny, ha ha, not funny, but now . . . What the heck?
How ‘bout the rest of us?
Right wingin’, bitter clingin’, proud clingers of our guns, our god, and our religions,
And our Constitution.
Tell us that we’re not red enough? Yeah, coming from the establishment. 
Right.
They’ve been wearing this political correctness kind of like a suicide vest.
And enough is enough.
Doggone right we’re angry! Justifiably so! Yes! You know, they stomp on our neck,
And they tell us—“Just chill, Okay. Just relax.”
Well look, we are mad, and we’ve been had. 
They need to get used to it.
Their failed agenda, it can’t be salvaged. 
It must be savaged.

Sunday, January 24, 2016

Frustrated Planet Earth Reacts to Declining Price of Oil With Magnitude7.1 Earthquake

ANCHORAGE

Planet Earth responded to the declining price of oil this morning with a magnitude 7.1 earthquake centered in Cook Inlet southwest of Anchorage, Alaska's most populous city.
 

Reached at its home in the Milky Way galaxy early Sunday morning, the 4.5 billion year-old mass of aluminum, magnesium, silicon, and other elements on the Periodic Table expressed frustration with the precarious position of Alaska's economy.

"I just thought it was time to shake things up a little," Earth said. "Have everyone wake up and smell the coffee." 

And by "wake up," Earth meant literally wake everyone up at 1:00 a.m. from Fairbanks to Juneau. And by "smell the coffee," it meant realize that oil is both in over-abundance and running out, and we had better figure some shit out here real quick before a bunch of spilled Gatorade at Carrs on Huffman becomes the least of our problems.

"Also," Earth added hopefully, "I thought an earthquake might dislodge a little extra North Slope crude that's stubbornly buried deep within my fossil record." 

Asked about its choice of magnitude, the planet made clear that it wanted to get everyone's attention without presenting too many grave threats to life or property.

"7.1 is the right range for that, I think. Anything less is just a temblor no one cares about, and anything more seems a little harsh--at least at this point. I mean, right now I'm just sort of trying to let people know I'm pissed both about the way I've been treated and our energy dependence issues."

Neither President Obama, Sarah Palin, nor Kim Kardashian and Kanye West--each of whom is suspected to have had an independent role in provoking the planet into its most recent convulsion--could be reached for comment.