Tag Archives: humour

Ricky

20 Feb

We had a meeting this morning. When it was over, this guy Ricky asked for my office phone number so I could give him more details. So I gave it to him and then said in my proudest, smoothest voice, “Ricky, don’t lose that number.”

Yes, my friends, it was a perfectly executed joke about one of Steely Dan’s most popular songs, “Rikki Don’t Lose That Number.” Not only that, but it was expertly delivered to the perfect audience–a room full of 40-50 year old men who all appreciated it and laughed…except for Ricky. My smile faded as he sat there looking at me blankly. Then, the most preposterous thing happened:

 

______

Me: You know, like the song by Steely Dan?

Ricky: I don’t know Steely Dan.

______

 
Weird.

I let it slide, but I’ve been stewing ever since. Really, Ricky?  How is it possible to have zero knowledge of Steely Dan when you’re an American man in your 40s–especially if your name is Ricky? You’re actually telling me no one has used that line on you before? Do you have a radio? Can you hear? Do you even enjoy music? 

Are you really saying your friends never mentioned it? That’s impossible. Clearly you have no friends or the worst friends ever.

You know, it’s not like you have to be in love with Steely Dan to know the song. You don’t even have to know the song is by Steely Dan. What’s important is that the majority of American men over the age of 25 have heard “Rikki Don’t Lose That Number,” even if it was just at the grocery store or in a friend’s car or something.

That includes you, Ricky. I know you’ve heard it and I’m on to you, you monster.

Phew.

So get this, you guys. As I was sitting here writing this and stewing away, I got an email. From Ricky.

 

Screen Shot3 2014

 

Ricky went right ahead and lost my number. Unless he’s a great liar, he may not even understand how funny that is. What an ass.

I refuse to give it to him again. Surely this is a sick joke or some kind of plan to make me lose my mind. Whatever. You can go send my middle finger off in a letter to yourself, bud, because you’ll never win. Do you hear me?

You’ll NEVER WIN.

 

Sparkly, Safe and Funny Inside

18 Feb

On the night we met, I thought he was just goofy and weird (he is), but I remember walking into my quiet house after he dropped me off and something felt different. “That guy’s a weirdo,” I thought to myself–but it wasn’t bad. I felt sparkly and safe and funny inside.

It has been one year and I still feel that way. Friday was my first Valentine’s Day with someone in a couple of years. At first I felt strange about it because I kept thinking about the final Valentine’s Day I had with my ex-boyfriend before he passed away. That evening he said I had to straighten my wavy hair because it was “too wild” and later that I seemed unhappy and was “impossible to please.”

It made me think about my expectations and I felt bad, but he was right, I wasn’t happy. Despite the fancy Valentine’s Day presentation, I didn’t have fun and I didn’t know why.

Last weekend I learned, however, that it’s not that I am “impossible to please.” It isn’t that I didn’t appreciate fine dining and $94 Vera Wang roses in a silver julep cup that were meant to sweep me off my feet with modern sophistication. It was that I needed to be with someone goofy and weird who gives me room to be myself, have fun and let my hair flow freely. That’s just who I am.

The best thing I ever did was take the time to be honest with myself about who I am and what I was looking for in a relationship. BEST. IDEA. EVER. It seems like it would be such a simple thing to do, doesn’t it? But it isn’t easy for all of us, and there’s nothing wrong with that.

So, now things are different. On Friday, we had our own version of a romantic weekend and it was the best I’ve ever had, even if the cupcakes weren’t perfect and even if we looked out the window and saw this:

 

 

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A Quickie

31 Dec

According to my WordPress Annual Report, my most popular topics in 2013 were:

1. Stuff I did on Ambien
2. My first time
3. Young James Spader
4. Guys stripping on Skype
5. My boobs

WordPress suggests I talk more on these subjects.

I am so, so very grateful that people care about these topics, but what else could I possibly say?

Boobs? Still got ‘em. “My First Time” was actually about death, so no thanks.

Thankfully, I haven’t seen any douchey guys strip on Skype and my opinion still stands that James Spader was hot when he was young.

So…now what? Well, I guess new and somewhat interesting posts will just have to exist! Stay tuned for all kinds of titles laced with innuendo. You’re so excited right now. I can feel it.

To be honest, I would still write about whatever keeps me sane whether I had 1 view or 40,000 views in a year. It just happens to be that the latter number was more accurate in 2013, so I just wanted to say THANK YOU SO MUCH to everyone for your support. You’re awesome!

A lot of you are a bunch of pervs and I guess some of you like poetry, but I love all of you just the same and not by the one abnormally long hair on my chinny-chin-chin would I have you any other way.

Cheers! Happy New Year!

8 Perfect Gifts for Ladies

23 Dec

So, you waited until today to buy your lady a gift and you have no idea what you’re looking for. Naughty. Fortunately, I have a keen eye for all things unique and beautiful, as seen in my award-winning piece about dresses, and I’m about to save your life with this list of perfect gifts for ladies.
 

1. Grumpy Cat Tank Top

grumpycat

The Grumpy Cat tank top is great for the fashionista in your life. I mean, it’s Grumpy Cat being grumpy and possibly howling at the moon…and it’s a TANK TOP. Women named Julie and Jen will be shocked by its perfection and this summer our jaws will drop when we see all the trendy moms in visors and fanny packs wearing this very tank top over their bathing suits at the water park. You heard it here first!
 
 

2. Stix Eyewear (not to be confused with Styx, the band I love)

stix_eyewear2

This is an ideal gift for the gal who wears glasses and often uses chopsticks for food and/or her hair. I guess that is super specific….I don’t know, maybe you’re buying for your best friend who also happens to be a nearsighted geisha spy. If so, this is your lucky day!
 
 

3. Heated Snake Rug

rug

Mom won’t be passive aggressively criticizing any of your choices this holiday season after she receives a heated snake rug. You might have to help her get in and out of it because this doesn’t look like an easy process. If you would say your mom isn’t much of a slitherer, a heated blanket may or may not be a better choice.
 
 

4. Extremely Classy Duvet

duvet

Your girlfriend will love this duvet much more than an engagement ring. I promise. All her friends who recently got engaged will be so jealous when you post it on Facebook! “I want this instead!” they’ll shout at their betrotheds. You best pick out a fancy cape because you, sir, are about to be a hero.
 
 

5. Diamond Ice Cube Tray

diamond-icecubes

This is a really good gift for a girlfriend you’ve been with for 8 years or so. The moment she sees it she will need a drink and if she cries, it’s likely because she’s so happy.

 
 

6. Shittens

shittens-mitten-moist-wipes-4

Your wife wants Shittens, trust me. Shittens are disposable mitten-shaped moist wipes. Also, just so we’re clear, they’re for butts.
 
 
7. Banana Bunker

banana

A gift for all women everywhere–the Banana Bunker. It’s strictly for bananas. I don’t know a single woman who likes a bruised banana and that’s why this is a great gift. I say buy a pack and give them to coworkers, your sister, your aunt and anyone else who doesn’t like bruised bananas. What a great stocking stuffer!
 
 
Aaaaannd last but not least….
 
8. Wine Rack

winerack-med

Another thing your girlfriend probably wants is a wine rack. Okay, maybe it’s just me that wants this. Someone please buy me this for Christmas. Please? Anyone? I just want to drink wine out of my sports bra already.

We Need To Talk

13 Nov

Listen, we need to talk. Things are getting out of hand with a pretty big issue. It offends me on a regular basis, and I know I’m not alone. You may be an offender, so please sit down for a moment. Whew, I’m nervous.

Okay, deep breath–

I’m here today to discuss your wind chimes. They’re awful.

Before you get upset and think I’m some sort of tranquility hater, please understand that my problem isn’t with actual chimes or the actual wind. I mean, who isn’t enchanted by the chimes in a magical Christmas song? Which one of your souls isn’t soothed by the chimes during a spa massage?

And tell me, who among us would deny the wild, provocative wind its right to tussle our hair about like a playful lover? Who would say no to its gentle caresses? Don’t feel ashamed, I’ve been with the wind. I know how it is, I know.

Your wind chimes, however, are the worst. I get what you’re going for, but there is nothing zen about how aggressive those things can get in the middle of the night while I’m trying to sleep. They’re arrogant, and I don’t like that they formed a gang with the other neighborhood wind chimes. The main objective of this gang? To vandalize my precious patterns of slumber. Dicks.

I need sleep. Everyone needs sleep. Do you wear earplugs every night or something? Are you hard of hearing? Is it that you were hired to slowly drive me insane?

If so, it’s working.

Sometimes I stand on my porch and stare at your wind chimes, hoping they’ll burst into flames, but instead they just continue to hang there and chinkle away, talking loudly and all at once, yet never actually saying anything.

Tink. Jingle. Chatter. Ching.

They’re mocking me, aren’t they? They’re mocking us all.

Owners of wind chimes, it’s time to take action! Your wind chimes are acting like assholes. I heard they’re even bullying children at school, sexually harassing women in the workplace, robbing men at gunpoint and irresponsibly texting while driving. No one is safe!

My best friend recently met wind chimes at the bar and they acted like they were totally into her but after they slept together, they never even called her again. Wasn’t that so immature of wind chimes? Ugh, and they’re all the same.

You know, I wasn’t even going to have this chat with you, but I saw on the news last night that your wind chimes are rumored to be harboring missiles and were seen hanging out with Robin Thicke for the last 3 weekends in a row. This, my friend, is where I drew the line.

I care for you and I don’t want you to be associated with terrorism and misogyny, you know? You’re better than this. We both know it.

So, I think you know what to do next. Your reputation and my sanity are on the line.

Thank you.

Love,

Lauren

The Horror! The Horror!

30 Oct

This morning on Facebook, as part of her contribution to Halloween, a girl posted her “favorite poem by Edgar Allan Poe.” Before continuing, please reread that with a valley girl accent. Do it. So, like, imagine it reading like, “Oh my god, like, this is my favorite poem by Edgar Allan Poe!” followed by lots of giggles and shit.

Got it? Did you imagine the giggles? Good.

When I read that she was reading something besides “50 Shades of Grey,” I became intrigued (because that’s all she talks about). So I took a sip of coffee, sat back in my chair and read:

 

“Come little children
I’ll take thee away, into a land
of Enchantment

Come little children
the time’s come to play
here in my garden
of Shadows

Follow sweet children
I’ll show thee the way
through all the pain and
the Sorrows

Weep not poor children 
for life is this way
murdering beauty and
Passions

Hush now dear children
it must be this way
to weary of life and
Deceptions

Rest now my children
for soon we’ll away
into the calm and
the Quiet

Come little children
I’ll take thee away, into a land
of Enchantment

Come little children
the time’s come to play
here in my garden of Shadows”

 

Um, if this girl was trying to horrify me, she succeeded.  My jaw is actually aching from all that sitting on the ground it did after reading that.

However, because she’s 34 and her costume this Halloween is “sexy pizza,” I’ll assume she had no clue that the poem is definitely not by Edgar Allan Poe.

I mean, I’m not a Poe scholar or anything, but his writing is far more sophisticated and darker than that.  If the above poem ended with a monomaniac pulling the teeth of all the children and had something about them being buried alive, I might think differently. If you aren’t familiar with his work, please visit this page and read “Berenice” to understand what I mean.

So, what is the poem she posted, then? I recognized it immediately. It’s the song Sarah Jessica Parker sang as Sarah, the bimbo witch in the 1993 film Hocus Pocus. I’m not proud that I knew that, but hey, it’s a personal favorite (mostly because when I was 9 I had a major crush on pretty much every boy ever, and Omri Katz, who played Max Dennison in the movie, was one of the those lucky fellas).

Also, if anyone is wondering if perhaps Disney borrowed Poe’s poem for the movie, my answer to you comes from the Disney Song Encyclopedia:

 

sarahstheme

 

I don’t know how this mistake happened, but I don’t want to think too hard about it because my head will probably explode.

I hope this horrifying tale serves as a reminder to everyone that there are dark corners of the internet with false information, and if you’re going to dress up as sexy pizza for Halloween, it’s important to have your facts straight if you want anyone to take you seriously as the sexy piece of pizza you were born to be. Now get out there and show ‘em what you’ve got.

 

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Also, if you need me, I’ll be in the corner of the bar dressed as sexy zombie Snow White (the one with the brains, of course).

 

 

My Tight Spiral

8 Oct

The other day my boyfriend was teaching me how to throw a football so it does that spirally thing. I don’t know why I wanted it to do the thing, I just wanted it to do the thing.

I also wanted to get more power behind the throw, so he told me to use my torso to rotate my shoulders and blah blah blah long story short, I eventually threw it as perfectly as anyone could with all the spirals and sparkles and everything, but when I did, what do you think happened?

 

Was it:

A. I fell on my face

B. I ripped a colossal fart 

C. I pulled a muscle

or

D. All of the above 

 

Wouldn’t that suck and be super embarrassing if it was D? Well guess what, it was totally D. Of course it was D. Go big or go home, I always say.

From across the yard my boyfriend yelled, “Ohhhhh nooooooo!” in what I swear was slow motion as my dog ran over to assess the unfortunate situation. I guess I’m just sad no one got it on camera so we could win $10,000 on America’s Funniest Videos. Is that show still on? I still don’t have cable.

Sigh. Stay tuned as I continue to cultivate awkward seeds in my ever-expanding garden of gracelessness.

 

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At least I got a cute picture out of it

 

 

Doin’ Da Butt

7 Aug

I was a shy, lonely child who had two imaginary friends, a mermaid named Adonna and a turtle named Turtle. They lived in the sewer. Every day during the summer, I would ride down our suburban street in my hot pink helmet on my little hot pink bike to the sewer drain and call down to them. I never actually saw them because it was dark in there, but we definitely chatted and sang songs (and don’t worry, you guys–when I finally made real friends, I helped Adonna and Turtle get back to the ocean. They’re wild and deserve to be free, after all).

When I got home from seeing them, I’d grab a snack and head to the basement to play school with stuffed animals or listen to music on my brother’s record player. I didn’t own many records, but I did have a few. One of best was “Mickey Mousercise,” which was basically Disney characters singing and doing aerobics for kids. It came with lyrics and silly moves you could do, such as the Tweedledee and Tweedledum example below.

 

mousercise

 

Another I enjoyed was a collection of songs for children. It included one song with the lyrics, “Nobody likes me, everybody hates me, guess I’ll go eat worms. Big fat juicy ones, itty bitty slimy ones, oh how they wiggle and squirm.” Appropriate for any awkward child to sing, no?

 

2012-08-04_14-06-48_511

Guess I’ll go eat worms…

 

As much as I loved mousercising and singing about being a loser, neither of those records took precedence over my ultimate favorite, the single “Da Butt” by EU. I’m not sure how I even acquired it, but once I did, that song was played over and over and the kid you see above was doin’ da butt until a state of exhaustion…or bath time, whichever came first.  It’s an amazing song AND they say the word “butt,” which was funny as shit because I was a kid.

Okay…maybe it’s still funny. Yeah, it’s funny. Butts are funny.

So anyway, I revisited the song today and it performed magic upon mine ears and hindquarters, just as it did back then. I needed to share, of course.

Now, go ahead and allow yourself to fall under the spell of “Da Butt.”

You’re welcome.

 

Ode to a Stray Hair

31 Jul

At first I was like, “Is this my life now? Should I really publish a poem about a stray hair?” and then I remembered that I published a poem about a squeaky bra and also that this is my place to play with poesy and post photos and do what I please. So there.

____________________________________

A stray chin hair after the storm

A stray chin hair after the storm

 

O, stray hair! An insult
to time, thou art most unwelcome
upon mine chin or stomach or ample bosom
or wherever you decide to pop up next.

You are at your worst when coarse,
dark in shade,
and when my boyfriend is first
to recognize your sneaky, hideous violation.

Be gone, darkling, I beg!
Dissolve into the forest dim,
for I have enough hair, already experience
plenty of awkwardness–

and need not your further assistance.

Lorie the Lesbian

11 Jun

Once upon a time there lived six lesbian artists in the pink townhouse down the street from me.

I was invited over for a birthday party, which also happened to be a clothing swap and a potluck of foods made only with beets because they were all on a beet diet.

It was a hot, humid day and their air conditioning and shower were both broken, so upon entering the house one was immediately slapped in the face by a putrid scent that I can only describe as “men’s locker room.” I wasn’t there to judge anyone for being stinky, though. I was there to celebrate a birthday and sweat while eating a beet cake.

The birthday girl, Lorie, wore a superman shirt, bike shorts and red sparkly pumps that matched the color of her hair.

For her birthday, she received a tandem bike, a hat and a painting of her own vagina. The painting was given to her by a roommate who had a mustache and wore thick glasses, yellow pants and rainbow suspenders. Now knowing what Lorie looked like under those bike shorts, I wished I had purchased her a gift certificate for a wax. Then again, all the ladies there were quite hairy in general and I, the hairless Sphynx of the room, was the outcast.

The only reason I was invited to the party was because she and my boyfriend at the time were great friends. There was a portrait of her that hung above our bed that she drew of herself, which I found quite odd. When we first moved in together I asked him to take it down, but he said I was being silly. “It’s just art,” he said.

About a month later, I found hidden, recent photos of her in lingerie. Apparently those were “just art,” too. Whatever they were, I ended up burning them at a beach bonfire and told him it was for “artistic purposes.” He didn’t find that very funny.

We broke up a couple of months later, I guess due to artistic differences, and soon I bought my own house.

Two years later, I was sitting on my front porch when the pair rode by my house on the tandem bike she got for her birthday. When they saw me they waved in unison and she dinged the little bike bell with wild abandon. I waved back sarcastically and spent the rest of the day with the below song in my head. I often wonder where she hung that painting of her own vagina.

 

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