Tag Archives: boys

Blurry Eyes Love Old Women

The day elderly women began rocking the Full House-era John Stamos quaff is the day I realized I could be accidentally bisexual.

I dare you to resist this.

I dare you to resist this.

As I  drove through the streets the other day using my superior 90/20 vision, a glorious (albeit blurry) image besought my irregularly-shaped eyeballs.  From across the street I beheld a gorgeous man, bedecked in flowing plaid khakis (always a classic) and a large polo shirt.  Even more striking than his classy swagger and timeless fashion-sense, however, was his magnificent head of flowing locks.  They were a gift from the heavens themselves; dark as sinful passion, luscious as candy lips, and fuller than an orchid’s bloom at midnight.  His hair was beyond anything I could have ever dared to imagine.

And at 5 yards away, “He” suddenly turned into “Her.”

At least 60-years-old, slightly hunched, bespeckled in Harry Potter rims and most definitely female.

Okay, in no way am I against freedom of choice.  Choose whatever hairstyles you desire; who doesn’t want to look like John Stamos?  However, keep in mind that certain people who SHOULD be wearing glasses do not do so (due to money issues, or laziness, or an attempt to rise against optic oppressors) and may experience around 2.7 seconds of intense attraction to your finely crafted quaff.  This could possibly lead to a permanent loss of sexual identity and/or a socially questionable relationship involving an androgynous grandmother and a confused minor.

Once you realize just how similar attractive men and bouffant-rocking women appear, you begin to notice other striking parallels.  Both enjoy food; both naturally breathe air; both blink and cough and sneeze.  Many members of the young male species and elderly women may enjoy partaking in Froot Loops or watching Breaking Bad or avoiding beaches during Shark Week or sharing the commonality of sharing nothing in common.

It’s creepy.  It’s weird.  It’s alarming.

And it’s all preventable with Lasik surgery.  Santa save me now before I accidentally marry Eugenia and end up with step-children 20 years my senior.

Lets Get Productive!

How To Have a Productive Weekend When Work is Slow and Your Best Friend is in Canada (MEDIOCRENINjA EDITION):

  1. Purchase an extremely large diabetes-inducing three layer triple chocolate cake.  Pretend said cake is the newest tier on the Food Guide Pyramid.  Consume said cake at every meal.  And snack time.  And during commercials.  And TV shows.  And bathroom breaks.
  2. Eat 3 frozen dinners to counterbalance the positive benefits of uncontrollable energy and shakiness the cake will induce.  You don’t want your friends thinking you’re TOO healthy.  They’ll be intimidated.
    NOTE: Make sure you heat the frozen dinners at 1 in the morning in the loudest possible microwave.
  3. Lovingly raise a brood of singing monsters to level 10 on your android phone, then proceed to throw phone into volcano and curse the skies when your account gets deleted.
  4. Enter an old lady’s house disguised as a plumber’s assistant.  Do everything in your power to procure a compliment on how you’re such a pretty plumber.
  5. Realize this is a backhanded compliment.
  6. Proceed to create old lady voodoo doll.
  7. Sneak into your neighbors’ backyard and take pictures of their cats.
    The more frightened they look, the better you're doing it.

    The more frightened they look, the better you’re doing it.

     

  8. Occupy your mind with an illogical crush on a kid you met three weeks a go.  Make sure to have had zero thoughts about said boy until exactly 3 weeks have passed.
  9. Scratch head in confusion and tell yourself you need to get out more.
  10. Finally decide to get out and head over to Office Max wearing jogging shorts.  Proceed to attract stalker employees for the duration of your stay.  Count this as a compliment.
    NOTE: wear sweat-stained shirt for optimal effect.
  11. Finally, REPEAT STEPS AS NECESSARY.  Throw in dinosaurs and chick flicks for an added bonus.