What Not To Be For Halloween

As a girl, Halloween can be a time of great inner turmoil;

“What should I be?”

“What can I be that no one else with think of?”

“How can I be the absotively cutest me possible and still wear somewhat sensible shoes for the shit ton of walking I will be doing downtown?!”

Deep inside, I would say the majority of us girls long for fun costumes, where we can display our unique sense of wit, style and humor… only to be quickly bridled by our feminine side. That bitch is yearning to feel sexy, look pretty and by gawd, to set them boobies free! It is a tale as old as time itself.

Oh gawd, is no one dressing traditionally sexy this year?!

Most of us have likely had the year where we were like “screw it, I want my best friend and I to be Wayne and Garth and gawd damnit, we’re going to be the best dang Wayne and Garth this side of the Mississippi!” Then you showed up to a party or a club to be ignored by dudes for that damn sexy, buttcheek-baring Alice in Wonderland!

Likely the only time you’ll be comfortable being something goofy.

Damn you, Alice!

Personally, I haven’t done the funny/odd costume. The closest I got was dressing up as a goth girl… with cute makeup and pink hair. Even though I think the quirky costume would be MUCH more fun to execute than the sexy counterpart, I have elected traditionally girly costumes because I already feel like a little dude most days – because I am forced to shave way too much and my hair is cut kinda short… yeah, it’s really only a matter of time before I’m able to rock a boner all on my own.

So believe me girls, I feel ya, but we have come to a point in time where our costume choices are fugging up the space time continuum and life on this planet, as we know it, may never be the same again. We have tried to get the best of both worlds by combining the sexy with the oddest of odds. In doing such, we have finally flown too close to the sun on wings of pastrami. We have blown the fuse on the “what is okay to make sexy” box.

With that said, I found the following costumes. I am almost speechless about them. I cannot figure out why this is happening. I have been taking showers like that dude in The Crying Game just to try to wash the memory away- but these things cannot be unseen. Worst yet, they can’t be unmade. They’re made, and they’re selling like hot cakes, and it’s all our fault, ladies.

Sexy Bert and Ernie:

What in the eff, Bert?!

Sexy Burger:

I can see her sesame seeds! WHY? WHY?!

Sexy Angry Bird:

You’ll be an angry bird when photos of you wearing this shit surface in a few years.

Sexy Big Bird:

Oh no she di’int!

Sexy Corn:

Guess who’s showing up in your own poo tomorrow- surprise, it’s you!

Sexy Potato Head:

Easiest way to stay single.

Sexy Mario and Luigi:

I “mustache” you to stop.

I could go on, but I don’t want to throw up in my mouth. Ladies, you may think you’re being cute by wearing one of these, but you are sure to end up boning the dude that works the fryers at Carl’s Junior. It won’t even be the best fryer dude, or the loner one with potential, it will be the one who’s only there because he likes to get high so much that he can’t afford to buy his own fries. Allow me to outline your night in 4 easy steps:

1. You get to the club, rocking your mustache and plunger

2. Get ignored by all the cute dudes

3. Get drunk

4. Do the walk of shame in the morning from fryer guy’s mom’s house.

Do you know how hard it is to do the walk of shame with a plunger? Don’t worry, you’ll find out.

Houston We Have Opossum

Hello, I’m going to make you beat yourselves with your own shoes!

Two years ago, Smith was spreading some bags of mulch in the front yard. At the bottom of the stack, between the last two bags he found a baby opossum! It looked like a cute, tiny, weird kitten. We couldn’t figure out where the mother could be, or why she had left her baby in such an odd place. We assumed she was out looking for food or turning tricks to make ends meet. Baby opossum wasn’t scared of us at all. He just looked at us or slept while we worked around him. When we were finished with the yard work, we didn’t want anything to harm the baby in the mother’s absence, so I made a tiny opossum house out of a beer box and placed it over him. There was a tiny front door and tiny windows and tiny stickers. It was super cute. We checked on the little guy throughout the evening – but by morning, the house was abandoned with only a tiny tuft of opossum hair left behind.

Cut to, two months later I was laying in bed at about 3am, when I heard someone trying to break into our pool area! “Ah shit, this is it! Where’s my flashlight?! I gotta prepare for battle!” I nudged Smith awake with my hand over his mouth. Smith was like “muryesh?”

“Someone… is trying… to break in… listen…” I whispered.

“Ah hell nah!” Smith jumped to his feet and ran out half naked with a garden stake and my flashlight. (He clearly thought it was going to be vampires out there.) Side note: that he sprung to action out of a dead sleep- that shit is brave as hell to me. I was just preparing to hunker down behind the bed crying “Now I’ll never get to see the iPhone 6!” until the burglars finally broke through the threshold. Then I would spring into ninja like kicks and tiger like scratching motions and slap fight them until my untimely demise. But not Smith, he’s my big strong man!

Smith snuck outside, and shone the light in the area of the noises. Much to my surprise, it was not the Taliban, it was a young azz opossum! Likely the same opossum from the front yard. He was trying to break into our roof gutter and appeared to be the Vin Diesel of opossums. Totally  BAO; bad ass opossum. Smith even tried to spray him with the hose to get him to leave, lil bastid didn’t even move – he just took it and shook the water off and looked at us. “That all ya got, bitches?!” Like he didn’t retreat or anything. Totally bad ass.

I tried to get a picture of him but I kept freaking out running away like a little bitch. My iPhone actually snapped a pic, mid bolt, to remind me of my weak constitution:

Warp speed!

Smith eventually got the lil guy to move to a tree and quickly developed a plan; Smith would get on the roof to chase BAO further into the tree and I would stand guard with the hose, to distract BAO, should the opossum become aggressive.

I look cute, but I will “pick you up with my mind vision and shake you like a dawg.”

What Smith didn’t take into account? That I would be the dude in those war movies, that’s sitting watch in the woods somewhere and keeps hearing sounds and eventually just mows down everything in a panic. RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!

Tropic Thunder

I kept hearing that lil bastid in the trees, but it was so dark I couldn’t see him so I would just freak out and start shooting the shit out of everything. Every time I sprayed “the opossum,” it was actually Smith I was mowing down. Smith eventually said, in the nicest of ways; “Baby, if you spray me in the face one more time, I’m gonna snap.” Being the lookout for the opossum was hard, because you could smell him just before you could see him, and he’d just pop up like a wack-a-mole, sending me into a panic. This smell/sight /panic process is how I now imagine all those people who have met big foot must have felt like – just before they shit themselves.

This opossum, who I’ve lovingly nicknamed Lamonte, doesn’t know he’s “nocturnal.” Which is why I once came home at about 3pm to find Smith chasing Lamonte in the backyard, armed with only a sandal and a twig. Smith, not the opossum. Opossum don’t give a shit. I was like “What were you going to do if he attacked you? Beat him about the ass until he promised to move? What if he’s kinky?! You might as well just throw a welcome mat up there and get to tweaking your nipples!”

SO, we’ve been fighting this lil dude for 2 years now. Mainly because every pest place we’ve called wants to kill him – and we’re just not down with that. We don’t want him to go to meet baby Jesus, we just want him to find a home that isn’t our roof. Anyhow, Lamonte comes back to move into the gutter every 4-6 months. Must be like the official opossum sabbatical time frame or something. Yesterday, I saw Lamonte shimmy out around 2pm. I made the mistake of telling Smith, who quickly climbed onto the roof and began some “construction.”

Yeah, then this piece goes like this… yeah… perfect. HONEY, GET ME THE ELMER’S, WILL YA?

Lord only knows what Smith made up there. I’m too clumsy to investigate anything more that 5 feet off of the ground. He was on the roof from 2:10 to 8:15pm. Only stopping “construction” for 15 minutes to gather supplies at the Home Depot. Smith told me what he did up there- but mind you, Smith is like a mad scientist and I am a girl who gets distracted easily. This is a diagram I made for you to understand how I understand Smith’s opossum diverting construction to be:

I might have misunderstood or totally nailed it. Either way, good luck Lamonte, may the force be with you.

You know I made a special-tee for this! Click here > Opossum Tee

The Secret Visitor

A few years ago, my workplace sent out a memo reading something like:

“We will have a secret visitor on Monday. For security purposes we cannot disclose their identity, but we ask that you please make sure your area is clean and that you dress appropriately for our guest.”

I immediately jotted this information down in my special notebook of things I don’t give a shit about:

My notebook of “Things I Don’t Give a Shit About”

However, most of the company began to lose their minds at the thought of who it could be. You could hear so much heavy whispering, it sounded like bitches were casting spells-n-shiz. They couldn’t handle the secrecy. “Who is it? Who can we ask? How can we find out? Who do you think it is?” And so on, and so on.

I became inspired from all of the buzz. I quickly enlisted the help of my cubical neighbor – a crazy 3d developer named Stephen. We both worked in the graphics department, which they keep very dark to minimize the glare on our monitors. This cloak of darkness was the perfect setting for my ninja-like hijinks. First, we began sneaking into any unoccupied cubicles and loudly “whispering” conversations on the phone with no one. The script was loose, but it went something like this:

*Fumbles phone*

Whispers: Hello? Yeah, so I totally found out who ‘YOU-KNOW-WHO’ is going to be… *pauses to provide dramatic emphasis for the surrounding ears*

Well, if I tell you… you can’t tell a soul, promise? I could get in trouble, okay? Promise? Okay. It’s… Prince… like the musician. *Pauses* I know I’m totally excited. I love his music too… okay I gotta go!

*Click*

Amid our cubical tour, Stephen and I would take detours into the common areas and just start a conversation like: “OMG did you guys hear who the visitor is?! *looks both ways to make sure no one is coming as if we are about to reveal top-secret info* It’s totally Gary Coleman.”

(Please forgive me, Gary Coleman was alive and well when this happened. I even met him later in the same year, oddly enough. Along with the twin brothers from Harry Potter and The Fonz. If you want to know what magical setting facilitated meeting all of those people at the same time – it was in the butt crease of carnivals known as the Central Florida Fair – which took place in a farty dirt patch somewhere near downtown.)

Please pretend this is a tribute photo of poor lil Gary C.:

R.I.P. Ass Dan and poor lil Gary Coleman

Anyhow, people would immediately say:

“Really? Why the hell would Gary Coleman be coming here?”

To which Stephen quickly responded “I think cause the owner is a fan or something and Coleman is coming to town because he’s starring in Mr. Bojangles, so he’s doing a tour of the joint for us to make him some posters.”

(Please note, at this time the company really only created government simulators and training for the military type graphics, not posters for former child-stars.)

“What’s Mr. Bojangles?”

“Dude, get out from under your rock- it’s only one of the most successful touring shows ever, it’s got dancing and passion and great music.”

“Really? Gary Coleman is a dancer? I didn’t know that.”

“Oh yeah, he’s like a classically trained ball room dancer or something. That’s how they found him for Different Strokes, actually, at a dancing thing.”

“Wow. I totally didn’t know that…”

It was a short time later we could hear people conducting friendly whisper arguments about how one side knows it was going to be Prince while others heard it was Gary Coleman.

When anyone asked what I was going to wear for the event I said, “I totally have a purple crushed-velvet outfit – I’m wearing it just in case, cause it’s a 50% chance that it’s Prince!”

Needless to say, Stephen and I ended up staying late to finish the work that we had neglected during our shenanigans campaign trail. One of the executives approached us when he saw we were still at our desks…

“Yeah, since it’s officially after hours, and so that you dress appropriately on Monday, I just wanted you guys to know that the governor is our visitor. Please keep this information to yourselves. I am telling anyone that’s here because, for some reason I’ve gotten a lot of questions about Gary Coleman and Prince, and I just don’t want anyone showing up with their collectable Arnold action figures or Prince albums.”

Stephen and I began to giggle. To which the department head, Rob, said “What’s funny?”

“Well, they kinda maybe might have gotten that idea from us.” We disclosed our full story to Rob. By the end he was laughing so hard that he literally slapped his knee. He seemed most amused at the made up Mr. Bojangles the musical part.

By gawd, don’t forget the dancing!

Monday came, and the governor (Jeb Bush, who may or may not be part Cyclopes) showed up. Meh. He was tall as shiz. I think he was nice, but there was a camera rolling the whole time, so I can’t be 100% certain. I could totally spot who was a Republican that day though, because they were all rocking Jeb Bush boners.

There were a few people in our department that actually felt a little let down that Prince and Coleman were a no-show. I wonder if the governor picked up that vibe off of anyone. Most of our victims were highly amused, and approached us like “I thought it was odd, but I totally fell for it. Is the Bojangles thing happening?”

A side note worth mentioning: that same day, a dude got in trouble for having porn-like material on his monitor during the governor’s visit. True. Story.

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That time I was almost the next big thing in voiceover talent

In celebration of the quickly approaching holiday season, I would like to share a highlight of my work history. My profession is a creative one. I get to design art stuff like logos and […leaping…] commercials. Last year, I came up with a holiday commercial concept for one of our clients, an indoor arena football team. The video guys finished editing the commercial spot but didn’t have the voiceover back for first round approvals. They needed a “monster truck type-voice.”

This, to me, means “grumbly ridiculous guy voice.” So imagine my surprise when they asked if I wanted to take a crack at the script. I was like “HEY! EFF YOU… yes I would love to do the monster truck voiceover.”

It was soon thereafter my voiceover talents were dismissed for sounding “too racist.” But I totally sounded monster truck in my head. The whole time I was recording I was like “HELL YEAH I’M NAILIN’ THIS SHIZ, DAWG!” *high fives to self* and picturing how I was gonna be a millionaire just like that bum who became a voiceover sensation. I was also picturing myself dressed as a wizard, totally spilling a giant bucket of gold coins down a mountain top. MILLIONS! Anyhow, I couldn’t find the finished commercial – but I found the VO track:

Soon after starting the recording session, I quickly learned it’s hard to grumble your voice if you’re a girl. YOU GO AHEAD AND TRY IT! I don’t even know what kind of dialect I am channeling in this spot, but I’m pretty sure I’ve never been there. But now I want to go to there so bad!

Perhaps SNL might will want to cast me for their Underground Easter music festival promotions.

Click to see >  SNL Underground Easter Music Festival

“Racist” my buttcheeks – I’m just “crunk-ass” according to that SNL video.

RIP Ass Dan, you will be missed. Also, just to be clear: I ❤ Ethnicities! NOH8!

FU and the Z-man

I like to drive around town with my lil doggy man. I like to imagine that he is my tiny butler and I am chauffeuring him here and there on his day off. (Please picture him in a tiny top hat and monocle.) We have a grand time tearing up the town.

Rollin’ wit mah homie.

We do all sorts of things during our many adventures. Sometimes “we” have conversations where I ask him about his tiny day at his tiny office – totally normal shit like that. Sometimes we sing songs. He actually does sing, he just gets all of the lyrics totally wrong. (Annoy-ying.) Anyhow, it is in the song singing area of our relationship that I was recently forced to do a little thought and reflection. By “thought and reflection” I mean “evaluate if I have a problem” or just a “quirky personality trait.”

Smith’s family was in town, and I decided to hit up the Starbuck’s drive thru for everyone. I always let little “Z-man” go with me when I do drive thru anythings. We were off to get delicious coffee treats! When I got to the ol’ ‘bucks- the line was a small, 4 million cars deep. I prepared mentally for the wait, so I was not stressed. To pass the time I began a conversation with my dog. Moved forward 1/2 a car length, waited. Next, I began singing (using my inside voice) to Z-man. Moved forward 1/4 car length, waited. Cut to, 4 car lengths later, I was full on dedicating my rendition of the A-Team theme to my dog in my full-on show choir voice.  By the time I was 3 cars from the window, I likely could have opened on Broadway.

Lit-tleZ-man IS the best dog in town!

Lit-tleZ-man, came to par-ty down…

HUH? Is that song really about meeeee?

During the last bit of our wait, –> (please insert an 80’s montage of me and my dog doing various things in the car; high fiving, telling scary stories under a blanket, star gazing, Chinese fire drill, trying on clothes, playing video games, roasting marshmallows, etc.) It was finally our turn! We were both drooling at the thought of that sweet, sweet Frappuccino. I whipped out my debit card and cheerfully tried to hand it over to the drive-thru attendant. To which, Starbuck’s chick shakes her head “no”, and puts up her stop-in-the-name-of-love hand.

*holds microphone on headset*

“That guy in front of you, totally paid for all of your stuff.”

“Wwwwwhhhat?” Says me in a Scooby Doo-like voice.

“Yeah, he said he wanted to do something nice for you because of long the wait. He was super awesome. He said you were entertaining.”

And so it was then I realized that I was just a car length away from Jesus, or at the very least, possibly one of the earth’s coolest men, and that he possibly thought he was buying a crap load of coffee for a “nice retarded girl, who just learned to drive.” Either way, free Starbuck’s coffee is free Starbuck’s coffee.

Where’s my Frappuccino, bish?!

Thank you random act of kindness man! I will find you, and you will marry one of my friends one day. Once you have mentally prepared yourself for that, meet me back at the Starbucks. I’ll buy you some coffee!

Pride! In the Name of Love!

U2 must love the shit outta some gay people. I can’t blame them, gay people are awesome.

If you are curious what the heck goes on at a gay pride festival, Google no more my friends! Smith and I (straight) have more gay friends than straight friends. We don’t quite know how that happened, but we are thankful for all of the gourmet foods we’ve been sampling, and good times we’ve been having as result thereof. I would strongly suggest that if you can whip up a few gay neighbors, to do so. You will have the best time at their barbecues. Think of it, every morning going to get the mail and running into an Anderson Cooper or an Ellen. Now, that can’t suck. Also, your property values will likely sky rocket, just from being in close vicinity to their meticulously groomed yards. Come to think of it, Gays might even get us out of the housing market crash altogether. Again, I can’t recommend getting some gay friends and neighbors enough.

There is nothing quite like a gay crowd that is ready to party. They are happy and loving and open to partying with anyone that wants to join – gay or straight. Pride, is a perfect example of that. We go with our friends every year- to celebrate them being them.

The PRIDE! Preparation:

First, I rainbowed my toes-

A rainbow a day keeps the blues away!

Next, I made and wore this sign to celebrate our gay friends out loud:

“My gay friends are so fabulous, they sweat glitter”

I made shirts for them that are the original saying: FU I’m So Fabulous, I sweat glitter tee for sale HERE

Then it was time to go to the parade. Like I said, they welcomed EVERYone to join in. To support this statement, there was a preachy hater man on the corner with a megaphone – yelling about the gay community being devils and going to hell. How does a gay person react to this? Several gay people tried to get a high-five from him. Now, if that isn’t an open reaction- I don’t know what is. My straight reaction was to show him my butthole. Luckily I didn’t get to whip it out for fear it would become my butt slapping contest amidst the high five-ing.

In the parade there were floats:

Silverman is Canadian? Who knew?

There were sailors:

Sailor aboard the Hamburger Mary’s float

There were representatives from Southwest Airlines:

The real reason airlines keep blankets on hand for the chills… cold captains.

There were British men in underwears:

I see your panties!

There were awesome politicians:

Alan Gray,SON!

There were dudes so happy they were holding their feet way up in the air:

Damn, that dude can flex!

As the sun went down, there were friends in twinkle lights:

Two of my lovelies ❤

There were live drumming DJ’s that made everyone party at the amphitheater:

Shake yo groove thangs!

There was a big gay rainbow fountain, that I tried to smuggle home with me:

Gay Eola fountain 😀

There were fireworks as we walked to our car that night:

BOOM!

There was also Debbie Gibson at 1am… I only made it ’til 8-ish before I needed to go eat gelato. Win some, lose some. Side note, I though Debbie was a transvestite and was like “damn, that dude looks pretty good. I can hardly tell.” (That’s right, “hardly.”)

Note: If you are in the Orlando area, Pride! lasts ALL THIS WEEK. This was just the kick-off night. I told you gay people  know how to throw a party!

Click here to learn more about PRIDE -Orlando festivities on their site. Hope to see you there in 2013!

Epcot is 30!

Yeah!

As many of you know, yesterday I relieved myself of my duties at the shit factory place of employment. (I still feel good about it, so I would say I did the right thing.) How does one deal with the self loathing and guilt that ultimately comes from losing one’s job? Why, by putting on your happy pants and going to Disney World, that’s how! Note: by “self loathing and guilt” I mean “fits of giggles and the taste of sweet, sweet freedom.”

Smith found out that Epcot turned 30 yesterday, and that there were magical celebrations planned! So we high tailed it down to the Mouse House and spent the afternoon riding things, fielding the flood of calls from shocked co-workers and acquaintances, and laughing at a lot of nothings. The first of the laughable nothings happened in Norway at the Epcot World Showcase, where this was happening, despite the signs. In fact, right next to the signs:

Strollers gonna stroll, son!

There were a lot of additional signs in Norway that mentioned Fjording. (One is in the background of that photo.) I’m not even positive what fording means to a Norwegian, but judging by the amount of things it’s written on, it seems important. Regardless, “fjording” made Smith and I giggle like  a couple of bitches. Mainly because we used “fjord” to replace various words like “fart” in our conversation, as is evident by the new FU product below:

Who effing Fjorded?! Click to see in the FU merch shoppe!

It might be a “you had to be there” funniness, but I made the shirt anyways because I think everyone can find some kind of humor in a good fjording reference.

I waited in line at Mission to Mars with Smith, but decided not to ride it because I wanted to not go to heaven via an amusement park ride. I mean, I’m just not willing to skip seeing the iPhone 6 to ride that shiz.

Apparently, nothing says “space” like a bunch of big balls.

Speaking of balls, it was hot as balls out. Well, not really hot as balls… humid as balls is what I should say. Do balls get humid? I imagine with the constant pants darkness and friction that they do. (I will assume your silence is confirmation of my theory.) Anyways, I was glad for the sun to get the eff outta here.

Come to the dark side, we have cookies.

The Food and Wine festival had just started and I was able to trick Smith into eating fake beef at the Terra stand. He seemed to enjoy it while I ate my gyro. Oh delicious gyros, why can’t I quit you?

As usual, Illuminations, the fireworks display on the World Showcase lagoon, started promptly at 9. It was beautiful. We watched near Canada, which I think will always be one of our favorite places to watch the show.

BOOM!

Because of the birthday, they started a second fireworks display right after Illuminations. It was like 20 minutes of awe and shock, due to the sheer number of explosions. At one point I lost my balance from the force/fear of the explosions and thought “holy shit, has this thing just lost control?”

Say whaaaaaaat?

But it hadn’t lost control. It had just made me its bitch, and I was covered in the ash to prove it. I don’t know if Disney will be doing this celebratory display throughout the week – but it would definitely be worth stopping by just in case!