Tag Archives: humor

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.

Recreating Jared Leto

I have had a little too much free time lately.  Work is slow, my “BESTEST FRIEND EVER WHO I COULDN’T LIVE WITHOUT” is in Canada and unable to reply to text messages, and my martial arts dojo is closed for the week due to a ninja infestation.  I could be doing something productive like working out or learning a new language or weaving baskets, but that’s not how my short attention span likes it.

Instead, Paint.

It all started with trying to find a picture of black hair with red lowlights (because I need bombshell hair for my totally bombshell lifestyle of playing Sims and throwing chips at my dogs).  However, no suitable pictures were found so my brain was all “Hey, how about we just draw a sexy version of you and force the stylist to believe its a good idea to dye hair based off a drawing?”

So that’s how this picture happened:

Hair like this should be total husband bait.

Hair like this should be total husband bait.

I’m actually pretty proud of this.  It’s a good first attempt at a portrait.  So good in fact that I decided to recreate a portrait of someone famous.  Someone whose hotness could match the sexiness of my own portrait.

Jared Leto was the obvious choice.

The original picture:

Gimme dat with nachos any day of the week.

Gimme dat with nachos any day of the week.

The recreation:

If this isn't almost an exact replica, I don't know what is.

If this isn’t almost an exact replica, I don’t know what is.

Besides the fact that I have no idea how to blend the background colors, I think it’s pretty obvious that this is just as sexy as the original picture, if not more.  Just look at dat 4 o’clock shadow.  And smoldering gaze.  And totally buff arms.  If you look really closely, you’ll see that my version of Jared Leto possesses no visible neck.  And what’s sexier than an angst-ridden head connected directly to the torso?

That’s right, nothing.

After working diligently upon Leto’s quaff for a couple hours, I decided to move on to greater projects.

Like a tyrannosaurus rex fangirling over Bruce Willis riding a skateboard.

Even extinct reptilians can't resist John McClayne.

Even extinct reptilians can’t resist that beautiful bald head.

Or a very accurate recreation of me when I was 12.

I was a happy child;

What a looker.

By the time I finished the last carefully-measured stroke of hair upon my cartoon self’s prepubescent head, my arm had seized and it was time to call it quits.  I gently put aside the mouse and leaned back, triumphant.  This morning I had been but a girl; now I was a Painter.  An emotional T-Rex and Jared Leto had led me to my true calling.  The calling I had been desperately searching for my entire life.

Who am I?

I am an artist.

The Stalker Bench

Dearest Stalker-Like Patron of the Park, 

                I understand that my ninja t-shirt and pink flower pajama pants are a real turn-on, but averting your obtrusive eyes and pretending I don’t exist for a minute would be greatly appreciated whilst I eagerly await the arrival of a certain puppy’s early morning dump.  Perhaps the sun’s reflection upon my grease-laden hair is too much to resist, in which case I sympathize with your inability to control yourself.  Either way, this whole awkward stare-off could have been avoided if we had both just pretended that this fence separating my backyard from your spot in the public park was made of bricks.  Or Adamantium.  Because that would be bad-ass.

Sincerely,
Too-Hot-For-Privacy

Since the dawn of time, there has existed a mythical land just beyond the confines of my humble backyard.  It was a place of magic, mystery, and beauty; filled with grand tournaments between cleat-laden midgets, jogging warriors fighting to reclaim their youth and all that’s in between.  One day, the Law of the Land enacted a decree stating that three royal benches would be erected around the land to guard against their enemies and stand as a monument to their greatness.  One of these benches was erected directly facing the territory of the Greatest Enemy of All.

A.K.A my freaking backyard.

This bench has now come to be known as The Stalker Bench.

Extremely well made map of my predicament.

Extremely well made map of my predicament.

At first my family was in denial.  There’s no way the city would put a bench directly facing our house; there had to be a mistake.  But as time went on, it became evident that the putrid-green bench was there to stay.  And with it came a host of awkward stare-offs and parties I was never invited to.

Take this morning for instance.  As I stood in all my pajama-wearing unshowered glory waiting for my two dogs to evacuate their bowels, a young man sat upon the Stalker Bench.  And stared.  Just stared.  In defense I ignored him, then eventually conceded to a battle of glaring.  Usually at this point people will awkwardly look away or leave the bench altogether, but this man aptly deserved the title of Stalker bestowed upon him by the bench.  His staring abilities were the stuff of legends.  It wasn’t until my hulkish father appeared that the young man awkwardly coughed and looked away, and even then he would steal occasional glances.  I get it, I’m irresistible in ninja t-shirts; but please exercise some self-restraint.

However, self-control is not something that happens very often around the Stalker Bench.  If I were asked how many times I have been witness to sexual acts, the Stalker Bench would greatly skew the results and I would probably land in jail.  First base, second base, third base, thirteenth base…One time a couple went All The Way and I almost got my confetti cannon out and threw them a celebration, but it was over before I could even get the party hats out.  Drinking, smoking, partying, dancing, fist fights, sleeping, choking on apples, contacting the spirit world and the likes are also common occurrences.  It’s amazing just what people will do on a public bench.  And its even more amazing how much I’m never invited to these functions, no matter how big I make my puppy eyes.

Thus I am forced to out-stalk the stalkers and scare them away from the bench with intense stares and crazy body convulsions.  If only they knew they could avoid this whole ordeal by inviting me to their seances.

Or just leaving.

Darth Vader Keeps it Classy in Canada

I have a confession to make.

Canada has never been a favorite of mine.  I admit I have been the procurer of many a Canadian joke; maple syrup, mounties and passive-aggressive accents are only some of topics that fill my Canadian repertoire.  I am not proud of this fact… I am an avid dissenter of stereotypes, and yet I cannot break the habit of taking a stab at the U.S.’s good ol’ moose-riding buddies every now and then.  No matter how hard I tried to stop being a hypocrite, I could not find a cure for my Canadian Conundrum.

Until this picture came into existence:

This is exactly what it looks like.

This is exactly what it looks like.

 

Yes.  That is indeed a picture of Darth Vader playing the violin in the streets of British Columbia.  Recently my “AMAZING BESTEST FRIEND FOREVER” (exact quote from the best friend herself) went to Canada and sent me this picture.  Rather than the immediate disapproval of Canada I should have experienced upon the viewing of this picture, I felt a spark of interest.  Do Canadians drive on the left side?  Is free burgers in Canada a thing?  Do 3-way stops exist?  Are Canadians only allowed to wear stripes and plaid?  Is the bus full of British dissenters?  Are buses called “trolleys” in Canada?

So many questions.  So little time, eh.