By Nicole L.

I have to choose when you breathe your last breath,
This is a hard burden laid on my chest,
I must choose for your future: life or death,
But for you my Baby I want the very best.

Although it hurts, I know what I must do,
Baby, I must now lay you down to sleep,
It may hurt me, but it's the best for you,
But the memories in my heart I will keep.

I love you that is why this hurts me so,
It hurts my soul and so deep in my heart,
Baby, I never want to let you go,
But deep inside I know we'll never part.

Baby, I love you but I must let you fly,
Baby, I love you, but I must say goodbye.

My friend Nikki wrote this poem in seventh grade. After it was published in Nikki's middle school's literary magazine, her teachers and peers understandably assumed that she had had an abortion. In actuality, the inspiration for this poem came from the tough decision to euthanize her sick cat. But because her cat's name was "Baby" and she neglected to make any reference to its feline features, she was pretty much asking to be gossiped about as a practicing pro-choice preteen.

If this poem is any indication, she was far too young and naive to be in that situation in the first place.



Sign you're at a wonderfully trashy bar:

A gruff, middle-aged lesbian who introduces herself to your friend Crystal promises that she'll have no trouble remembering her new acquaintance's name, followed by her pressing her index finger against her nose to close one nostril and pantomiming snorting vigorously.

Yeah, the un-ironic crystal meth reference is pretty disconcerting, but I can't help but love a good mnemonic device.


Holy Mole-y

The other night Sasha, who most often wittily paints animals, was looking for inspiration for a new art piece that fit the theme "peep show". After some useless suggestions I came up with the awesome idea of a blind mole at a strip club. Just the notion of a creature who can't see trying to enjoy an entirely visual act tickles my funny bone.

Sasha sort of liked the idea (and, frankly, anything more than "I hate that" is a big compliment coming from her) and went about looking up pictures of moles to see how she might artistically render one. Unfortunately, I don't think she's going to wind up using the idea. But her on-the-fly comments while looking for the mole pictures were works of art in their own right:

1. "I'm just trying to search for mole images without finding, like, CANCEROUS mole images."

"Do they not even have eyes?"

3. "I don't know if I can even draw a convincing mole because they're so ugly. I could do a totally awesome rendition and it would still be ugly."

"How is that even a thing?"

"They're like dicks with teeth."

Dicks with teeth! How funny is that? And how gross is that thing? It really is phallic in the worst way. Maybe it's better that they're blind so that they don't ever catch a glimpse of their own reflection.


Photo Scavenger Hunt

Brady's photo scavenger hunt birthday party was one of my favorite events of 2011. Penny, Lizzy, Randal and I ran all around LA in strange attire while snapping pictures and causing a ruckus. Together we...

Chatted with a kooky lady about her dress and dog

Became Scientologists

Used a pay phone

Pole danced in front of a strip club

Ate some skateboard punks' Del Taco...

Then let them jump over us...

And then we jumped with them

Piggy-backed through a drive-thru

Laundered ourselves

Rolled down a hill

Had a battle in Halloween costumes

Price-checked Magnum condoms at a sex store

Got fleas

Photobombed a family of Shrek fans

Had my tits signed by Princess Tiana

Rode through the grocery store on an electronic cart

Following the photography sessions, all teams reassembled to score each other's work. It probably goes without saying, but my team won. Those other teams didn't stand a chance.


The State of the Union

We're just a few hours away from Obama's last State of the Union address.

No, that's not a prediction that Obama will lose the election. That's a reminder that the year is 2012 and it is the last State of the Union for all of us.

FACT: Obama is not a secret Muslim, he's a secret Mayan. Everyone in that room tonight already knows the end is upon us. It's why Michelle Obama is so angry, John Boehner always cries, and Joe Biden just doesn't give a fuck.

Think about it: the world's imminent end is the only reasonable explanation for why our government is being run so poorly. Why go to the trouble of fixing an economy that won't exist in another year? Why worry about health care when cancer won't even have enough time to kill most of its victims? Why provide children with a quality education who will never have a chance to apply that knowledge?

I'm going to be applauding a lot tonight, and not just because I'll be blitzed. I'm grateful that the unemployment rate is so high so that I don't have to spend my last days working. I'm grateful that I've been shot at with paint-bullets alongside fellow peaceful protesters so that I can finally experience what it's like to play paintball, a luxury I've previously been unable to afford. And I'm grateful that we killed bin Laden in advance so that none of us will get stuck next to him in purgatory. U-S-A! U-S-A!

Look for all to be revealed tonight when Obama declares, "The state of our union is apocalyptic."


My Lonely Days Are Over

"They can't play 'At Last' at Etta James's funeral. It's not appropriate lyrically." - Ted


Would He Die for You?

After only a week of dating, my former roommate Tammy* decided to introduce her new boyfriend, Blaine*, to her family, mainly at her family's urging. The family is super close-knit, to the point where dating Tammy essentially means dating her family as well, a scenario which has been known to drive previous suitors away.

Before the big dinner, about ten of Tammy's family members were gathered in my living room discussing the impending meeting. They wanted to know all about Blaine from Tammy in advance. One aunt cut to the chase: "Does he promise to love you forever? Would he be willing to die for you?"

Tammy made a nervous face. I had been trying to stay out of the ordeal, but I couldn't help but chime in after hearing that. "You can't ask that! They've only been dating a week!"

"Tammy is a very special girl with a lot of love, we need to know that he cherishes her," the aunt responded. It seems to me that dying for someone you barely know is a lot to ask of someone, but since we clearly saw differently on the subject, I ended the conversation.

Later that night, Tammy and Blaine came home from dinner, with Blaine looking like he had been beat up. When he was alone, he gave me the details: the family had decided to play a "game" where they went around in a circle each taking turns asking Blaine very personal questions.

"They wanted to know my intentions, like for marriage and stuff," Blaine sighed. "I like Tammy and all, but it's been like a week. I don't even have intentions yet."

"Oh my gosh," I finally realized. "Her aunt didn't ask if you would die for her, did she?"

Blaine gave me a stare. "Yupppp."

I gave Blaine a hug. It's a wonder that they survived that first week and are still together years later. Dying for someone seems way easier than dealing with her family.


Careers for Girls

While looking for board games in a closet at my grandpa's house, I found this awesome game from my mom's childhood, What Shall I Be?: The Exciting Game of Career GIrls.

Exciting is right. Even though it was manufactured in 1966, there were already SIX amazing careers available to women:

  • Ballet Dancer
  • Teacher
  • Model
  • Airline Hostess
  • Actress
  • Nurse
With such diverse choices, how did a girl playing the game decide which career to pursue? Well, it all depends on her god-given traits, naturally.

If you doubt this game's influence on young women, please note that she did in fact become a teacher. I wouldn't be surprised to learn that she wanted to be an airline hostess, but lacked the appropriate grace.

Actually, these playing pieces hold some good advice in general. So if you're unemployed and female (and really, if you're one then you're most likely the other) remember that the world needs more ballerinas. And even if you've never thought about modeling before, it's always an option! Just lose some weight, stand up straight, and fix your make-up, toots.


Excuse Me, Waiter, There's a Fly in My SOPA

Tomorrow I'll be blacking out my site in solidarity against SOPA. They can call it an anti-piracy bill, but that's really just a smokescreen for the government to hijack the internet and censor it as they see fit. The internet needs to remain a haven for unrestricted sharing of information. And yes, that includes TMI stories about my bowel movements.

I know, I know... a whole day without me babbling? How will you cope? I suppose you could try to find a better website, but a) that doesn't exist and b) any site that even comes close will probably be going black, too. Hopefully the devastation of not hearing from me will get you to speak out against the bill as well. (Also, any excuse to take a day off from thinking of something funny or interesting to blog is okay in my book.)

Anyway, I'll be back Thursday to post awesome things... until I'm censored for real by SOPA or imprisoned under falsified suspicions of terrorism thanks to the NDAA.


Do It for Martin

Let's talk about Martin Luther King Jr. Let's not talk about him just because it's his holiday. Let's not talk about him just because we feel like good people for doing so. Let's talk about him because his message is entirely relevant today.

I'm actually not referring to issues of race, as I'm going to assume that I don't have many segregationists reading my blog. That's not to say that we've come close to solving racial inequality, but that the problem is so much bigger than that. Race isn't real, it's a social construct, a concept that's used to divide us when what the people really need is unity.

It wasn't until recently that I learned that King was about so much more than race. In school, I think they boil it down to racial equality because it's easier to swallow. That's no different than how they teach us the Civil War was all about slavery, when it was just one of many of the motivations, and not even one of the top ones.

In addition to Civil Rights, King preached:
  • non-violence even when faced with violent opposition
  • refusing to align with a political party in order to remain critical
  • opposing war
  • engaging in civil disobedience
  • questioning capitalism
  • helping people have access to jobs, homes, and health care
It's striking to me that so many of King's speeches and words could be delivered unaltered today. He was sharing the message of Occupy Wall Street decades before the rest of us. Sometimes I waiver in my own participation in the movement, wondering if it's all futile, but when I see a man as great as MLK espousing the same ideas, I'm swayed back with his quotes like: "Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter."

A lot of people assume that now that we have a black president, the work of King is complete (never mind that he's as much a corporate puppet as anyone), but that's absolutely not the case. The work of Dr. King has barely just begun. We as a society have so much more to accomplish.

So get involved, get informed, and get civilly disobedient. Change doesn't result from those who quietly dissent. I'm charging all of you who agree with many of the tenants of the Occupy movement yet find various excuses not to participate to take a bigger leap. In the words of MLK, "In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends."



Ummmmm, I just played the word JISM against my mother in Words with Friends.

I think it's safe to say that I've never used that word - or any approximation - in front of her before.

Part of me was just curious whether it would be considered an acceptable word (and by acceptable, I mean legal, obviously), and then I tried to take it back, but it was too late. I've soiled our Scrabble board, and now I can never talk to her again. Sorry, Mom.

P.S. If you like playing Words with Potty Mouths, you can challenge my user name Kevin Babbles. Just remember I'm good.


Tramp Stamped

Are you and your friends drinking Smirnoff Ice? And are you enjoying that sugary shit so much that you let your friends tramp stamp the logo on you with an airbrush tattoo kit?

No? Well then I’m sorry to hear your Friday night has been a failure.


War Horse: Critical Reviews

See what the critics are saying about War Horse:

1. "Winner of this year's Gallop Poll."
2. "I think it's safe to say that Julia Roberts will be scoring another Oscar for her believable performance in the title role."
3. "Hung like horse is usually a compliment, but with a runtime of two and a half hours, the film is just too long for its own damn good."
4. "Eat your heart out, Seabiscuit."
5. "I'm glad this movie exists, if only to inspire the inevitable War Whores beastiality-themed porn parody."
6. "A remarkable portrayal of the past, as well as what's to come. In the future, our battles will be fought exclusively by war horses."
7. "The only way this flick could have kept me glued to my seat was if they turned the warrior equine into an adhesive."
8. "Constantly wishing I knew how the horse was feeling as the action unfolded gave me a new appreciation for Mr. Ed."
9. "More yays than nays. But more neighs than anything."
10. "Wait, which war is this? I was hoping to see the horse clomp over some Nazis."


Hobos Are Upstanding Citizens

If you're one of those people who uses the term "hobo" derogatorily, you are an ignorant motherfucker. Allow me to direct your attention to the Hobo Wikipedia page, not only to help clarify things, but because it is also the best article on all of Wikipedia.

Hobos are a good people. Hobos have parades, national conventions, and even a set of ethical codes. Apparently, true hobos are gentlemen who follow laws, constantly look for work, temper their drinking, respect nature, practice good hygiene, and don't molest children.

How dare people lump them into a category with bums and tramps:
A hobo or bo is simply a migratory laborer; he may take some longish holidays, but soon or late he returns to work. A tramp never works if it can be avoided; he simply travels. Lower than either is the bum, who neither works nor travels, save when impelled to motion by the police.

Hobos work! Hobos travel! Bums do neither. If you want to insult a lazy good-for-nothing fella, go ahead and call him a bum, but leave hobos out of it.

(Thanks to Alex for the tip.)


How Many Reasons Are You Going to Hell for?

Thousands of Occupy Wall Streeters marched following the Rose Bowl Parade this year, and I believe it went well. From what I saw, more faces in the crowd were receptive to the movement than opposed, which is encouraging. Still, that doesn't stop a lot of critics from saying it isn't an appropriate place to protest corporate power in America (at a parade where most floats have a corporation's name prominently displayed, no less) and others who just don't like that it "breaks tradition". The truth is that demonstrators have been permitted to follow the last float for several years now, but usually it's just a couple dozen nuts who are intolerant in the name of Jesus. So unless you think it's a shame that cheers of "God hates fags!" were drowned out, there really shouldn't be any objections.

I have a fun game: look at the sign and tell me how many reasons you're going to hell. I fit 9/30 categories (of those that I understand - what do some of those even mean?), which leads me believe that I'm already in too deep with the devil to repent. Knowing a few bloody thirsty women, I bet some of you are even more damned than me.

What's your score?


The Language of Love

Thanks to the magic of internet dating, two people in my social circle were matched together and went out for coffee. They weren't previously acquainted despite having a bunch of mutual friends (though it seems likely they've attended the same party at some point), and didn't realize how much their own circles overlapped until later in the date.

So fate finally brought these two together, right? Not exactly. Certain friends have been able to get both sides of the story on the blind date's dysfunction. The best snippet comes from the guy who, for clarification's sake, is white, educated, and a native southern Californian: "She asked me if English was my first language... twice." I think that's all you need to know about how well that conversation went.


Republican Candidates: The Froth and the Hope

The circus of the GOP primaries (as well as Obama “reluctantly” signing the Constitution-defying NDAA, just so you know it’s not an issue of partisanship), is enough to put me off politics forever. As much as I want to ignore it, unfortunately political matters don’t work the same as say… what’s something else that’s awful… Two and a Half Men in that while Jon Cryer doesn’t have to be a part of my life if I don’t want him to be, politicians will impact my life on a daily basis even if I try to mute them.

Therefore, to my own agitation, last night I followed the caucus results in Iowa, and I was shocked to see Rick Santorum in a dead heat with John Kerry I’m sorry, Mitt Romney. Yes, somehow the man whose top Google listing is one that defines his name as a crass anal sex “by-product” (which I will happily link to in order to contribute to the magical Google algorithm that keeps it at #1) is a contender? The only enjoyable think about Santorum popping up in the news is that Wonkette always publishes that hilarious picture of his daughter crying. Yeah, I’d sob, too, if he were my dad.

I forget whose blog I was reading yesterday (remind me! I’ll link you) that introduced me to the part of Santorum’s wikipedia page that explains how he brought his son who died a couple of hours after being born so prematurely home to meet and “cuddle” with his siblings. Moreover, Santorum then slept with the dead infant in his bed that night. When I read that, I was like, “That sounds like some Duggar shit” thinking of the recent photo shoot the family did with their miscarried baby.

Then Andrew told me about how the Duggers are campaigning for Santorum, even lending their bus (my favorite detail is that the Duggar kids managed to “badly misspell” Santorum’s name when painting it on the side of the bus), and now it all makes sense.

But if Weekend at Baby Bernie’s (or the anal sex froth) isn’t enough to make you question Santorum, how about his racism, his extreme homophobia, or his eagerness to start a war? Can’t we do better than this, America? BLAH.

I was thinking about how sad it is not to have a candidate to even root for in the GOP primaries, but I think I finally discovered one today: Buddy Roemer. I can’t pretend to know too much about him, but he’s running – as a Republican - on a platform of taking corporate money out of politics and instituting campaign finance reform. In a way, I don’t even care what his other stances are (although he is passing my initial sniff test), because until we make changes in this facet of politics, it’s just going to be more politics as usual.

Roemer needs to get 5% of the vote in New Hampshire in order to be included in the next debate. Even if he doesn’t stand a chance to win, I hope Roemer gets that much so his viewpoint can become a part of the larger conversation. He’ll need more luck and support considering, as he himself pointed out, that he received only five more votes than “Lizard People” in Iowa. (See? He’s funny, too!)


Cum Gravity

I bought Erica this book for her birthday because it's called Cum Gravity. I mean cum on! How can you resist? What goes up must cum down, after all, wink wink.

Once we got passed the easy jokes and actually looked through the book, the absurdity doesn't stop at the cover. I think of "living with gravity" as the only life I've ever known, but this book seems to assume that its readers have some kind of longstanding grudge with gravity. Check out the title of chapter 2. Don't feel ashamed if you thought gravity was some sort of villain. Apparently that's a "new concept".


New Year's Eve

How was your New Year's Eve? I don't really care, actually, I only ask so that you'll return the question, because I have three important things to share:

1. I managed to spill so badly on myself immediately upon arriving at the party that within five minutes I had to be driven back home so that I could change my pants. Since taking off my pants is the natural progression of most parties anyway, I briefly considered just committing to pantslessness early on, but the spill had soaked through my boxers, too. At any rate, thanks for giving me one last chance to look like an idiot in from of my friends, 2011.

2. Despite my better judgment, I'm so glad that I exchanged phone numbers with Bev, the older lady I met at the lesbian karaoke bar years ago because she still sends me ridiculous holiday greetings. LOOK AT THIS.

What you can't tell from the screen grab, however, is that it's an animated GIF. The boobs jiggle! They jiggle! I hope Bev finds a similar "bev"y of topless beauties in 2012.

3. Most importantly, our party broke into a vacant house and had a dance party in it. It was all too easy... the door was unlocked, the electricity still worked, and the lack of any physical objects (other than a rainbow feather duster, which made for a good prop) made it the perfect spacious space to plug in some speakers and bop around. As a committed member of the Occupy Wall Street movement, I support the notion of Occupying everything. If the banks are going to take homes from people and do nothing with them, I'll be damned if we can't throw dance parties in them.