Can We Discuss Disney Princesses Though


I was on the phone with my dad yesterday crying (surprise) over my lack of romantic luck recently. He gave me some really wonderful advice, the most hilarious of which came when he said, “The worst thing Disney ever did for society was write those stupid happy endings.” Or something to that effect — I tend to describe things a little more sassily than he does.

Anyway, it got me thinking: according to Disney, everything works out in the end if you’re a quiet woman in a patriarchal society. I am not quiet, and I’m actively attempting to smash the patriarchy at every turn, so I’m a little concerned about what this means for my love life. Also, I’m not exactly straight so I just wanna know what Disney would recommend if I’m trying to woo a mermaid, but I doubt I’ll be getting any answers on that front any time soon.

I’ve never wanted to be a princess, but I’m realizing that in a Disney world, I would have to be in order to fall in love, so uh…here we go. Now, there are a few (million) necessary adjustments I must make to my life in order to attain princess perfection:

  1. Become tiny. Which might be difficult since I’m 6′ and not exactly slender. Maybe I can cut my legs off at the knees, which would successfully reduce my weight and height in one fell swoop. It would also allow me to become helpless. Maybe my prince would be down to push me around in a wheelchair for the rest of eternity (which is obviously also how long our love would last).
  2. Replace my sweet mother with some horrible woman who wants to lock me in a tower or make me mop her floors and take care of her fat, evil cat. I could probably start looking for that type of woman at the local Chicos clothing store. The more chunky jewelry, the better, I’d assume.
  3. Become straight. And probably develop a dwarf and/or squirrel fetish.
  4. Don’t leave the house unless I look immaculate (note to self: find fairy godstylist). Only do housework if forced to. Allow mice to take up residence in my apartment.
  5. Immediately unlearn every self defense skill I’ve ever been taught. Walk into forests alone at night. Take food from strangers. Make deals with weird octopi in ocean caves. Make out with frogs even though they probably have weird swamp bacteria all over their bodies. Totally wander into random cabins in the woods without worrying about some racist hillbilly coming in and axe murdering me while I’m fast asleep.
  6. Let teacups teach me about love. Employ candlesticks for both light and therapeutic advice. Become easily impressed by silverware. Become way too obsessed with my hair for anyone’s good (this one might not be too tricky for me).
  7. Stop talking. This might be hard, as I don’t think I’ve spent more than 3 hours in silence at any given time. I even talk in my sleep, for goodness sake.
  8. Assume kissing men will always be magical and totally save my life. Because obviously everyone knows how to kiss me the way I’d like. None of them will shove their tongues down my throat (princes don’t actually possess tongues, anyway) or drool on me (and yes, before you ask, that has happened to me and I really don’t want to talk about it). Let random twerps kiss me just in case it helps my situation in life.

I think that’s it.

And yes, I’m super serious about the squirrel fetish.

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Jedgar.


I saw J. Edgar last night with my friend Chloe. It was…well, I am no Ebert, so I’ll give you some selected quotes from the cinematic delight and you can decide for yourself:

Jedgar met a pretty lady. “I’m gonna show her the card catalog system I invented on our date,” Jedgar said to his mother. Let me reiterate: She was pretty. He wanted to show her a card catalog. Then he tried to kiss her, got rejected, then proposed. Because that’s what normal people would do. Needless to say, he got rejected again. As Roger Ebert said, “She could tell nothing was stirring in his nether regions.”

Then Jedgar meets Clove, or Clive, or maybe Clyde. He instantly likes Clock, and asks him to be his new best buddy/awesome sidekick at the Bureau. Clint is a really attractive fellow who likes talking about suits and shoes and hairdos. He is, in a word, fabulous.

Then they go to a swanky nightclub in New York and sit with Ginger Rogers and her mother and her loose friend, who asks Jedgar if she can warm his bed up for him. Then Ginger’s mama asks Jedgar for a dance and he (awkwardly) declines. Then he leaves the club, goes back to his hotel room with his mother, tells her he hates–hates–hates dancing…with women. Because apparently he has homoerotic tendencies and a stutter. Mother makes him talk to himself in the mirror without stuttering, which is actually kind of heartbreaking, and then she says she’d rather have a dead son than a daffodil son, because that’s just not natural. And also impossible, because really, who ever heard of a human-flower hybrid. Then she picks her creaking body off the bed and teaches him to dance.

Cut. Clive shatters a glass against the wall in rage. He and Jedgar have just had a really weird conversation which started with Clover saying he loved Jedgar and ended with Jedgar saying he was gettin’ frisky with an actress. “Have you been physical?” Climb asked. “Yes,” Jedgar replied. That’s when the glass shattering began. “Pick that glass up right now, Clunk!” Jedgar shouted. “NO!” Klutz screamed back, his body language resembling that of a small child having a tantrum. He smashed something else. “You’re not wearing shoes, stop doing that!” Jedgar yelled, worrying for Clove’s safety. “Blahhhhh!!!!!” Clarence yelled. Then they started punching each other and fell to the ground in a writhing mass of blood and fists and (oh weird I totally didn’t predict this because it’s so not clichéd) then Clud held Jedgar down and they kissed and it was really weird.

Let’s please not forget that just moments before, the pair had been criticising Desi Arnaz’ alligator shoes and his “fake redhead wife’s” hat, which Jedgar skillfully reproduced with a bouquet of marigolds or some such flower.

And then Jedgar’s mother died. Throughout the whole movie his mother was in his ear whispering things like, “Have faith Jedgar, keep strong, hang on a minute while I lock your father in this weird closet.” So when she died, it came as a great shock to Jeddyboy, who proceeded to put her dress and necklace on, then rip the necklace off, then curl up in the fetal position on the floor and cry…because that is the beauty of cinema.

Cut. They’re old. Clove enters, all puffed up like a mannequin/robot/slug? Here’s a question: who did the makeup for this movie? For goodness sake… Anyway, Clink’s got a swollen, freckled face and then he has a stroke at the racetrack and Jedgar gets mad at him because he isn’t the young whippersnapper he once was. Then they eat eggs.

Then Jedgar dies. And his housekeeper leaves his body sprawled across the floor and invites Clink up. And he’s really sad, because they were bros for life, and it was actually pretty cute and super sad but also freaky because Jedgar was like…dead…

And that’s all I have to say about that. Because really, what else is there to say besides thank goodness that’s over. Because writing this involved reliving some of the scenes and I almost had a breakdown.

Leave My Man Alone


Hi. College is hard. I wish I was majoring in blogging so that posting here was required. But alas…I am not. So before I begin studying for the tests I have this week, I thought I’d give you this lovely list of videos:


You don’t understand. I am actually obsessed with this video. I watch it all the time and quote from it (Thoreau, actually…the Teapot Dome Scandal of 1922…) daily. I know I’ve posted it a million times on my video lists but seriously…it’s too good to pass up.


The Real Women of SNL

Sometimes days are hard. Sometimes people say you suck. But you just gotta think: What would Maya Rudolph do? What would Kristin Wiig do? WHAT WOULD CHERI OTERI DO?!
Answer: pull someone’s weave and call them insane.


So many things to say…but mostly just YES.


I just don’t think these videos are scaring you enough, so…have this one.


From the girl who brought you “Miss Moogoo” comes…Leave My Man Alone!!! Stickam Girl strikes again.
Note the flag in the background.


Nope. They’re not. They’re dead.


KAAAAAARL!!!

Mary Poppins Pockets


My boyfriend keeps everything in his pockets. I guess that’s not unusual, since most guys don’t carry purses etc. It’s just always so hilarious to me when he pulls his phone and wallet, a whole cake and a small elephant out of his pockets at the end of the day.

What? How? How was all that stuff in there? They didn’t seem full…you didn’t look like you’d had a poo incident in the front of your pants…then how? Your pants aren’t weird or anything, right? There’s no “false bottom” in them? Is that possible?

How have you been carting all that stuff around all day? And can I have some of your magical powers?

There's an elephant in there, I swear.

Of course, I laugh at him, because I have no tact. And he may or may not strangle me (or throw his pocket elephant at me) in anger for writing a stupid blog post about his deformity unusually spacious pockets.

I laugh about it because I think it’s cute. I will never get over the novelty of his Mary Poppins/Hermione bag pockets.  I laugh because honestly, there’s no reason to laugh. I shouldn’t be surprised anymore. I know what he keeps in there (elephants, I tell you!), so it shouldn’t be surprising.

I laugh because I laugh at everything, to be honest. I think the things I say are hilarious, I laugh at my own blog posts (way too hard), I laugh at people’s pockets…it’s just what I do.

It makes me wonder, does the novelty ever wear off? I hope not. I’d like to think that I will forever laugh at his pockets, and lots of other worn out and old jokes that we’ve formulated over the years we’ve known each other. Because it seems that as long as I can laugh at him, and he can tease me for it, we’ll always be in pretty good shape.

Leave it to me to turn a post about pockets into a lesson on keeping love alive, or some such rubbish.

But seriously, I always wanted to date someone like Mary Poppins.

Movie Stars and Have You Ever?


Sigh.

I want to live in an old movie.

I’ve watched black and white movies for as long as I can remember. My childhood consisted of regular kids programs like Mr. Rogers and Sesame Street, but it was filled mainly by movies from the 30s and 40s (like Arsenic and Old Lace, The Thin Man, The Scarlet Pimpernel, and Marx Brothers movies).

I want that life.

People were so classy back then. I understand that women didn’t have many rights, people were pretty racist, and wars were taking over the world, but there was SO MUCH CLASS.
Now it’s all, have you ever done crack? Only once? Whoa, I do it at least once a day.

I always sucked at the game “Have You Ever” when we used to play it, because I’d never done any of the things people thought were important…
Q: Have you ever had sex in public?
A: WHAT? Bloody hell…and also NO.
Q: Have you ever made out with two people at once?
A: What do you think my life’s like? An episode of Jersey Shore?
Q: Have you ever eaten —
A: Whatever it is, no. No no no, let’s just say I don’t eat.
Q: Have you ever done crack?
A: I don’t even know where I’d get it, much less how to do it.

My game would’ve gone more like:
Q: Have you ever eaten a macaroni-orange colored crayon?
A: Erm. Yes. I thought they were really macaroni when I was little.
Q: Have you ever actually read a book?
A:
Why yes! Multiple, in fact. And I enjoyed them.
Q: Have you actually liked someone for reasons other than wanting to rip all their clothes off in a ladies restroom?
A:
Yes…Ah, well, I guess I’m just doomed to grow old and have cats. Or be in an old movie :)

People back then got famous for being good at things (like acting). Now you just have to say something really stupid or show up naked on the internet. And to that, I say: class it up, society. Put your panties back on.

Baby You Can Drive My Boat


There’s a guy in town who has a boat car.
Yep. You heard me. A convertable car with a boat shell around it. And it drives on land – it’s not the like the cars that drive on water. Nope. Boat car = car with a boat shell.
Don’t ask.

Okay, ask, cuz I’m gonna tell you. I personally think it’s cool/weird/stupid/awesome/crazy. So obviously I can’t decide. But I was behind this boat/car yesterday and I felt like a complete ninny for laughing so hard. How many jokes could you make about this thing, I thought to myself. I am hilarious, I’m sure I can think of a couple…

*cricket, cricket*

“Man, that car’s a boat.” It really would be a boat. But it’d also be funny because people refer to big bulky cars as boats. I think you know this. I’m being redundant.

“Meet me at my boat in the parking lot, bro.” How many people would make fun of you for saying something like that? BOATS GO IN WATER, bro.

And think of the awesome movies you could make…

“Dude, Where’s My Boat?”

“A Street-Boat Named Desire.” But nobody can out-do Marlon Brando.

“Boats.” The new Pixar animated feature.

“The Boat.” Based on the 1977 film about a possessed car. But this one’s about a boat. Whoaaaaaaa, tricky!

So. How to make a boat/car:
Drive your car really fast into a boat and hope it sticks.
Beep beep!
Edit: I realize that someone I know owns this car/boat/whatever. I think it’s a pretty nifty idea, a pretty nifty deal. Worry not, I’m not a complete jerk.

Bella Swan: The Most Hateable Character in All of Literature


Oh Edward. So brooding.

So, just about everyone with an ounce of sense has said this already, but what is the deal with Twilight?

I read the books two years ago and must admit that I initially liked them. Most girls do, because everyone is wooed by the thought of having a soulmate, someone who would do anything for them. But when you think about it, Edward takes the “I would do anything for you” philosophy to the most obnoxious level; no girl who loves you wants you to save her. No girl who loves you wants to be away from you. And she obviously doesn’t want you to die. So don’t be a stupid prat and think you’re being a hero. Because all you’ll be is a stupid prat.
Stephenie Meyer must have weird taste in boys. Who goes for the cold, hard, pale boy instead of the warm, soft, tanned one? Especially when being with the cold one means you have to change yourself and possibly never see your family again?
But of course, none of this would be relevant in the real world. Not because there aren’t such things as vampires and werewolves, but because no boy in their right mind would actually love the Bella Swan that Meyer describes. Bella has got to be the most depressing, unloveable, stupid twit of a main character…and the reader is supposed to like her. Yeah, NO.

The movie Eclipse was better than Twilight (I didn’t bother seeing New Moon), but Kristen Stewart’s acting still made me want to vomit and Robert Pattinson still looks like he’s fighting back a seizure at every turn. And does Bella own anything besides plaid flannels?

Oh yeah, and Taylor Lautner, are you aware how many 12 year olds pretend their pillow is you when they kiss it at night?

Click here for a laugh at the expense of Twilight…