Chocolate Makes the Heart Grow Fonder?


There’s something rotten here, and I think I know what it is. Flowers. And chocolate.
True, the flowers are pretty fresh and I don’t actually know if chocolate can rot, but it’s the symbolism that counts here, people. Don’t let yourselves be blinded by Valentine’s Day and love and all the sugar you’ve no doubt been eating.
Here’s the deal: If you really love someone, every day should feel like Valentine’s Day. Not to mention the fact that if you REALLY loved her, you wouldn’t give her chocolate. She’s already self-conscious of her thighs.
So listen to me, the girl who has never had a Valentine and is therefore the expert on this holiday: put down the roses and back away slowly.

I think Valentine’s Day can be wonderful. Really. But does coupling up really matter? So I’ve come up with a new holiday: Saint Cappy’s Day. After all, I’m practically a saint for all I put up with from you people. I was going to make it named after a true-blue saint, but I figured 1) I’m not Catholic and the Episcopal church only has as many saints as were around when we split from the Catholic church and…basically I didn’t feel like figuring out whether there was a saint of single people and whether or not he/she was recognized by the church I don’t even attend very often. And 2) I’m cuter than most of the saints anyway.

Here’s how it goes: all my single ladies (and men…and anyone else, if you’re a little gender confused), put your hands up. Okay, there are a few of you. Kid in the back, pay attention. Every September 14, we are going to have an international day for singles in which we give ourselves chocolate (but only if we’re not dieting, and even then it has to be dark chocolate cuz that’s better for you. Anti-oxidants, people!) and flowers (any flower typical at funerals is permitted, so go crazy with your easter lilies). Then, we’re gonna take ourselves out for a coffee and/or lunch, celebrating the love we have for ourselves.
And I’m not kidding. Here’s where I get serious. Now.
I have grown to love myself so much. Who I am and what I do, they’re all mine. So let’s take a day to celebrate ourselves! Because, as Ke$ha would say, we are who we are. And as Lady Gaga (my homegirl) would say, I was born this way. It’s too dang true.

xoxo,

Saint Cappy.

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Recap


Halloween: it’s the most wonderful time of the year. Not to be confused with Christmas, which is the most SnoWonderful time of the year.

It went something like this. Really. I'm so proud of my costume.

I dressed as Ke$ha, which probably makes me a big hypocrite, because I ranted last week about why people shouldn’t be tarts on Halloween. But I promise you this: I did not act like a tart, nor did anyone see my goods this weekend. …So you can rest assured that no one went blind on Halloween night. Anyway, I did the whole “Hi, I’m Ke$ha, I don’t brush my hair and I use so much hairspray there’s a hole in the ozone above my head” deal. Let’s just say there was a lot of eye makeup involved. It was the best time of my life. Who knew ripped fishnets were so freeing? 
I did not, repeat did nottttt, brush my teeth with a bottle of Jack. Those shenanigans are unnecessary.

I sooo got my dance on. Really. Someone told me people were watching me dance because I was good, but I’m pretty sure it was more “People are watching you so they don’t get smacked in the face with one of your flailing limbs.”

Tip from the wise (ie me): Don’t grind so much, people. I am ashamed that my generation thinks that dry humping each other constitutes as dancing. I am also horrified that some girls were ACTUALLY bending over and touching their toes. I was just praying for one of them to fall over and break her nose and all her teeth. Heeheehee.
Another tip: Swimsuit tops and short shorts are not costumes. They are what you wear to the beach in July, not out in the end of (COLD) October. 
Aaaand a warning: If you grind on your girl, that’s your deal (though I will warn you that I’m pretty sure you’ll get some sort of STD). But if you grind on your girl and get your butt all up in my space, I WILL  pretend to grind on you when you don’t know it. For five minutes. While everyone watches. I will pretend to grind hard. Because I don’t mind being a creeper.

So there you have it, folks. Don’t take candy from strangers. I think that’s a good moral for this story.

You’re Afraid


Today, I noticed someone was sent to my blog by Google (ohhh Google, you’re almost as weird as me) with the search “I’m afraid my tall strong wife beats me.” First, I want to find this person and give him a cuddle. Then I want to ask if he means “I’m afraid! My tall strong wife beats me!” or if it’s the I’m afraid as in “Oh yeah, and I regret to inform you that my wife beats me.” Then I want to ask if he liked the post Google directed him to. But I actually don’t know which post that is…because I don’t write about wives, beatings, or fear. I think…

Google has a weird computer brain. Because it also directed “creep emailing me” to this blog. I guess I write about creeps, but I’m still confused.

Oh yeah, and y’all love Katy Perry. Or at least, it seems that way to me. I have gotten hundreds of hits on this blog from searches like “Katy Perry California Gurls” or “Katy Perry Cupcake Bra” or “Katy Perry Bending Over” (um…). I wrote about Katy Perry once. Or maybe it was twice. I dunno. Anyway, I wrote about how she creeped me out. But then I broke my own rules and decided I like her. I even shout-sing Hot N Cold in my car sometimes. Oops. I sing Ke$ha sometimes too. I’m a huge hypocrite. You love me.

“This is something this is nothing jazz hands.” Do you think Google will tell me who wrote that in because I want to find them and force them to be my friend. They make no sense. Neither do I. Soul mates!

And of course, the ever wonderful “How to lips.” Maybe I should take this person out on a date and teach them how to lips. First I have to look it up, though, cuz I don’t know how to lips either.
I know! I’ll Google it!!!

Stah Talk Talk Talkin’ That…


Blaah blah blah.

Trashy? Or classy? Ke$ha switches roles with the jerk guys who terrorize girls at social gatherings.

For those of you who don’t know, Ke$ha is a pop singer who recently became famous with her CD “Animal.” While I can’t figure out if I like her or not (seeing as her songs tend to be about getting trashed and partying, I probably shouldn’t), her song Blah Blah Blah intrigues me.

I’m not sure if her song is meant to sting male musicians whose songs are mainly about getting girls in bed and not actually speaking to them, or if she genuinely just wishes guys would shut up and get down to business. But it makes me think about how many times I’ve met a guy somewhere and he’s not interested in me at all but instead wonders what he can get me to do. Sometimes I just wish they’d stop talk talk talking that blah blah blah and leave me alone if they don’t care about my side of the conversation. Because when I’m not interested, I’m really not interested, but I generally don’t blow the guy off because I want to be polite. Why? I don’t know, I’ve just never wanted to offend.

Ke$ha seems a bit egotistical, kinda crazy, and vulgar, but I think one thing everyone should take away from her songs is be a little more self interested in situations where you just don’t want to deal with someone. Don’t tell them to shut up and get in bed, persay, but if you want to blow someone off if they’re driving you nuts, do it. You have more important things to do.