Since my dum dum mommy has for whatever lame reason not posted in, like, 4 months (that’s about 3 weeks to you humanz), she said I could fill in and write a guest post. So here I am, in all my canine wisdom, to edify you about what it is like to be a dog. Or, more specifically, the dog I am.
I know that my mommy has written here about me before, but I don’t know where she gets off speaking for me. I mean, that was some like kind of unauthorized biography or something. I do love her and all – as much as a dog can “love”- but no one asked for my inputs. So now that she seems to be blowing off her blogging duties, it is my chance to step (or prance) in and tell you the whole thuths.
I am a Schnoodle who will be turning 5 this September. Eight weeks after I was brought into this cruel world, along with my long-lost sister, I have been fed and exercised and loved up by my mommy and daddy. I don’t remember this, but every once and awhile I hear my parents reminiscing about the day they picked me up from those asshole breeders: I was shivering with fear in my kennel all snuggled up to my sister. My parents were concerned about how scared I was but the asshole breeder dude wearing his tie-dye shirt didn’t give a rat’s ass. I also hear my mommy and daddy talking about how excited they were to bring me home, how carefully they prepared, almost like they were bringing one of those yucky human baby things home. That first day after I climbed and peed all over everything, my parents put me in a kennel for the night and oh, how I howled! It wasn’t until mommy finally thought of the parrots and put a towel over my kennel that I shut the hell up.
Soon, the first snow came. I didn’t know what that cold stuff was. Mommy took me up the block and I didn’t like it so I scrambled up her leg and she put me inside her coat. I soon grew to like the snow and I loved to go outside and frolic and prance and dance as much as I could. Mommy hung a bell on the front door I was supposed to ring every time I needed to go outside to do my duties. I quickly learned that if I rang the bell every 15 minutes or so, I it was party time. I could actually muster up enough piddle to make it look like I couldn’t hold my bladder too! It took quite a few months for my humanz to realize I was just playing them! Those bastards cut back my piddle excursions from about 10 a day to just 3. Assholes!
I slept in my kennel at night and when my parents weren’t home during the day for the first 6 months or so. Eventually, they wanted me to sleep on their big bed at night with them. I didn’t see the point of that so I went back to my kennel. Pretty soon tho, I figured out that the big bed was an awesome place to be, even when my parents were doing all manner of weird funny business. I just waited until they were done. Now, the big bed is my most favorite place be.
I’ll tell you some more junk about me later, like how my mommy got all obsessed with being my “Pack Leader” (ack) and how I freak out whenever she reaches for an ice-cube or a plastic storage container and just how AWESOME squirrels and bunnies and tennis balls are! Also, how my daddy thinks he is the boss of me and when he plays video games I run away. That is, if mommy doesn’t revoke my guest writing privileges.
The following is a list of dudes I would totally do if the opportunity presented itself. It might take some convincing of the hubby (although the free pass I was given for #1 back in 2007 might still stand), but I’m sure I could present a pretty good case for them all. Or at least a couple. A few on my list are no-brainers, but most are “WTFs?” No accounting for taste, I guess. Here goes:
7. Tony Soprano. Not James Gandolfini (yuck!), but Tony Soprano. Yes, I realize Tony Soprano is a fictional character, but like I’m ever going to meet – let alone stand a chance with – any of these guys in reality so I think I am allowed artistic license here. So Tony is fat, bald; he has effed up teefs as well as some vocabulary and breathing issues, but there is something incredibly sexy about his power and resolve. I don’t normally go for “bad boys,” but Tony does it for me.
6. Stanley Tucci. Another bald guy. I swear I don’t have a thing for bald guys, but I have had a crush on Stanley for years. I can’t even articulate why. He is just such a cutie. And his face is really symmetrical. I think I started crushing on Stan back in 1996 after I saw the film “Big Night.” I don’t even remember the film, just that I adored Stanley. And look at that chest forest: RAWR!
5. Robert DeNiro. Another long time crush. Talent, clout, good hair: he’s a legend. Even though my crush took a bit of a hiatus after I saw him in “Cape Fear” (a little too realistic portrayal of a psychopath for me), and I question his film choices as of late, who would pass up a chance at a roll in the hay with this guy?
4. Rahm Emanuel. Three words: the President’s ear. He’s smart, sexy with smoldering good looks, he has power and has one brother who is a doctor and another who is a talent agent. I bet Thanksgiving dinners with his family would be a blast.
3. Jeffrey Skilling. Sigh. Even though he is currently serving out a 24 year sentence in federal prison, I adore this guy. Back in 2001, I was a little bit obsessed with the whole Enron fiasco. Skilling was CEO for a while and was allegedly (okay, he was convicted) instrumental in all the financial shenanigans that went on. I read the book “The Smartest Guys in the Room” (which is a great account of how the whole collapse of Enron went down, by the way) and fell even more in love with Jeffrey. He is incredibly smart, vulnerable, and he used to have a lot of money. I really need to make him my prison pen pal.
2. Henry Cavill. How I didn’t hear of this beautiful specimen of a man until “The Tudors” I don’t know. He may just be the most lovely human male on the planet. That jaw line. Those sideburns. And his British accent doesn’t hurt.
1. Justin Timberlake. In 2007 I went to see Justin perform during his “FutureSex/LoveSounds” tour. I went with a girlfriend and we had pretty good floor seats. I was convinced that if I could only get close enough to Justin he would spot me in the crowd, invite me back to his hotel, and a night of sweet lovemaking would ensue. Although I was newly engaged, my generous then-fiance granted me leave to give Justin my consent (yes, this was the fantasy of a 38-year-old, not a 16-year-old). Although our eyes never met that night, I love everything this man does. He is immensely talented, funny, and beautiful. He really stands alone in this list.
So, there you have it: my completely improbable list of Men-I’d-Never-Stand-a-Chance-With-and-I-Wouldn’t-Really-Cheat-On-My-Husband-But-What-the-Hell-It-Is-Fun-to-Dream-and-I-Needed-a-Blog-Post.
Don’t pretend I am the only one: who are your dream dates?
I admit it: I am obsessed with eyebrows. Mostly women’s eyebrows, but men’s too if they are groomed within an inch of their lives. Eyebrows are probably the first thing I notice about a face, especially if they are bad ones. I am fascinated by how eyebrow styles have changed over the decades. To me, there is nothing (non-surgical) so radical a person can do to completely alter the look of their face as reshaping their eyebrows. This, I know from experience.
I had very thick eyebrows for most of my life. This was fine for a while, especially since waxing a 9 year old’s eyebrows seems a bit egregious. I was a teenager in the 80’s when Brooke Shield’s was a beauty ideal so my big fat eyebrows fit in well.(That is Brooke, not me, in case you were wondering.)
Aside from taming my unibrow (yes, Frida Khalo and I have much in common), I didn’t do anything to reshape my brows until I was in my 20’s. This was in the early 90’s when eyebrows started getting a bit less unruly. I sat down one day with my first pair of tweezers and went to work. Holy Oprah, that was time-consuming. Especially with such thick brows, every single hair I removed completely changed the shape of the brow. My biggest fear was giving myself a pair of tadpole brows. Tadpole brows are the worst, in my book.
During the late 90’s and early 2000’s, eyebrows got really skinny again. Way too skinny. (Still not me.) This look is harsh, too easily dated, very difficult and time-consuming to maintain (especially for someone with hairy brows like me), and it can lead to permanent hair loss which is problematic when the styles change. I admit I thinned mine. Too much.
I covet Halle Berry’s eyebrows.
Model Doutzen Kroes and Jennifer Connelly nicely work the fuller brows:
One has to have very strong features in order to master that look. I admire Jennifer especially because she never gave in to the super-thin brow trend.
I also enjoy Angelina Jolie’s eyehats:
Carrie Underwood and Meg Ryan have awful eyebrows: the are way too far apart, overtweezed, and look completely unnatural:Here, fishy fishy! Carrie’s brows make her look 15 years older while Meg’s brows look like an overly enthusiastic 12-year old did them.
My favorite celebrity gossip blogger, Michael K. at Dlisted, also has an eyebrow obsession. We have so much in common, I am convinced if we ever met we would become instant BFFs and sit in a cafe making fun of people’s eyebrows. He hipped me to the whole chola eyebrow phenomenon. Check this gorgeous example:I’m afraid of her.
I love it when guys “manscape” their brows and it ends up looking completely unmasculine. Here are two examples in Cristiano Ronaldo and Carmine Gotti:
So this is pretty much what my eyebrows look like now:They aren’t perfect but they will have to do. My husband says I obsess over my brows and he dislikes how much time I spend on them. He says I should let them grow in naturally: yeah, right. Every other morning, every other night, I am in the mirror with my beloved Anastasia tweezers (Thank you, G!) searching for the dreaded stray that is gunning to ruin my whole aesthetic (and Oprah help you if you try to talk to me while I am focused!). I’m always trying to make sure they are symmetrical (they aren’t), natural looking but well-groomed (I hope?), that the length, arch, and width are all ideal for my face. It’s a lot of work. I spend way more time and exert more effort on grooming my eyebrows than I do applying what little make-up I wear. I admit I go too far at times: several years ago I had a modeling gig with Target and had a marathon session in the mirror the night before. The make-up artist the next morning scolded me for how I had injured my skin while trying to pry out each and every stray hair. He ended up plastering lavender eye shadow over my tender skin to hide the trauma (good thing I was modeling Halloween costumes and was dressed as a pirate wench).
I have never considered having my brows professionally waxed because I know there is no way I would be able to tolerate the in-between period when you have to let them grow in long enough for the wax to grip them: the horror!
My mom told me that if you keep tweezing the same hairs over and over they will eventually stop growing back. After 20 years of plucking, I am still waiting for that to happen. But my husband should be happy: eyebrow maintenance is way less expensive than a nose job. Eyebrows are, after all, the window to the soul.
Last night the hubby and I went to dinner at one of those Mongolian barbeque places where you load up your plate with all the fixings of your choice and then the cook fries it up for you on a huge sizzling wok type thingy. If you have never eaten at one, you select your ingredients from a long line of food that looks like a salad bar. There are all kinds meats, seafood, vegetables, noodles and sauces and the combinations seem infinite. I usually select the same meats and vegetables every time: chicken, cabbage, bok choy, spinach, mushrooms, tomato, broccoli, and scallions. I add a few rice noodles and then scoop on the various sauces to make it all medium spicy. Once in a while, when I’m feeling particularly adventurous, I’ll add some peas or curry sauce. Hubby usually chooses all the varieties of meats and seafood, lots of noodles, then throws in some corn and mushrooms. I kept telling him last night to put something green in there so he placed two spinach leaves in the mix.
Going to a Mongolian barbeque is like going to the all-you -can-eat buffet or grocery shopping: I love looking at what other people have in their bowls, on their plates, and in their shopping cart and figuring out what kind of person they are. At the barbeque you can easily guess at what kind of eater a person is by looking at their combination. One guy next to me had only meat and noodles in his bowl. He was heavy-set and was eating alone. No judgements there – I’m sure he is a great guy and perhaps he even had a salad for lunch- but how about trying some vegetables? At the grocery store I like to guess if the shopper is single or married and, I confess, I silently judge their food selections. A single twentysomething guy is likely to load up his cart with white bread, soda, frozen pizza and snack chips. A mom shopping for her family has several gallons of milk, boxes of cereal and frozen waffles, and multiple packs of Lunchables. Next we have the urban hipster who only shops organic and eschews any processed foods: God forbid they choke down a Pop Tart for breakfast. I can’t help but look at the cart of an obese person completely filled with fatty, processed foods and wonder why they don’t make healthier choices. When I go shopping most of what I purchase looks fairly healthy. Because of my low-carb lifestyle, most of what I eat is fresh. There are very few processed food items I can consume while anything with sugar or white flour is completely out. But Hubby needs his potato chips (which I may or may not sample), chocolate ice cream, Coke, and boxes of macaroni and cheese mix too. Of course he can eat all that stuff and not gain an ounce. Bastard.
I realize what you eat for one dinner and what is in your grocery cart are only snapshots of a person’s life. I don’t know who that person really is based on that alone and most of my assumptions are probably dead wrong. But standing in line waiting for my meal to get cooked or groceries to be scanned is pretty boring and imagining who people are based on what they eat passes the time.
I’m typing this at 10:39 PM when I have to get up in 6 hours. But I digress…
What I am also doing right now is trying to clear out my RSS feed. One of the sites I follow is The High Definite. I love this site for its comprehensive and varied collection of internet pop culture posts. Anywho, I just clicked on this link from one of their posts. Why? I was interested in who they were deeming “beautiful women” and what they considered “beautiful photographs.” Beauty is subjective, after all. And everyone, including me, has their opinions. I am now on photo 24 of 30 and I am all “Wha?”
A) The women are attractive for sure, even beautiful, but if YOU were compiling a singular post of the 30 beautiful women in 30 beautiful photographs would these be the ones that you choose? Of all time? Hmmmm.
B) After photo #2 it clicked in: each of these shots is completely sexually suggestive. Now, women can be beautiful, and women can be sexual, but the two concepts are not mutually inclusive (not exactly sure if I just made that phrase up but it would be the opposite of mutually exclusive): a woman can be sexual without being beautiful and she can definitely can be beautiful without being sexual.
Every single photo in this series was of a woman who could be deemed attractive by someone somewhere (“beautiful” is arguable) and every single photo shows a woman with: her mouth suggestively parted (who walks around like that in real life? Didn’t your mother tell you that a bird would poop in your mouth if you kept doing that?) ; her legs suggestively parted; her breasts exposed; her ass exposed; her taking off her clothes; her lying on a bed; or 4 out of the above 6: all signals (presumably) that if you are a man she wants to have sex with you or has just had sex with you and it was damn good. Is that “beauty?”
I get that most of the people behind these blogs are chubby/ horny nerds who’ve never had a real girlfriend and who do indeed idealize this false ideal of what it means to be a “beautiful” woman (confusing “beauty” with “easy access?”). This may be as beautiful as a KFC Famous Bowl: hot, steamy, cheap, pedestrian, and bad for your heart.
There are a bazillion lists on the internets of “Sexy Women” and “Women We Love.” The above list of “Beautiful Women” is surely not the source-to-end-all-sources.
Why do we classify these images as “beautiful?” What are your thoughts on this subject?
I follow Penelope Trunk’s Brazen Careerist blog and was intrigued by a recent post of hers on a happy life versus an interesting one. I took her test which is supposed to tell me whether I am happy or interesting and scored a -2. This means I am either suspiciously well balanced or lacking a self-identity.
Penelope blogs a lot about happiness. She admits to being obsessed with the topic and if you’ve ever read her posts you will know that she backs up her opinions with lots of references to research. She believes that a person can either have a happy life or an interesting one, but not both. Penelope writes that happiness is rooted in complacency while interesting is rooted in the lack of complacency. It got me thinking about what kind of life I have and if that is the life I want to have.
I work in the field of domestic violence. This might be interesting, but it is almost never happy. The fact that I’ve worked in this position for 13 years is flat-out depressing. I’ve lived in the same city for the past 22 years: happy, not very interesting. I did move away from home to go to college, however: a fact that I find both interesting and happy. I generally don’t like change which makes me comfortable although not necessarily happy; definitley not all that interesting. Some of my closest relationships are with people who have beliefs and opinion the complete opposite of mine on many topics: interesting. I am interested in a wide variety of subjects and am constantly learing new things, so that should make my life more interesting except I don’t exactly put what I learn into practice (if I read a book on architecture I am not going to go out and design a building). I am fairly liberal in my social and politcal views which makes me unhappy when a Republican is in office. I have opinions on almost anything which makes me annoying. The only thing I am nationally known for is my Twitter reality TV spam.
I would like to be the charming, witty person at the dinner party who can expound with expertise on any subject: interesting. I would like to visit far off lands and commune with the natives: interesting. I would also like to have a house and a yard and a kid and stability: happy. I would like all my vacations to be at a beach resort: happy.
Penelope says that she would rather be interesting than happy. I’m not sure which I would rather be. I wonder if you can have an interesting life for awhile, shunning your family while living abroad, making friends with skinny people and visiting your shrink, then eventually settle down to your house with your 2.4 kids and your cubic zirconia and be a happy, fat, Republican with jacked-up eyebrows. Either way, I think it is an interesting topic and something to think about.