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Little People Circus

13 Aug

 

On Saturday night, my friend, her boyfriend and I went to a little people circus in Harrisburg, PA.

I imagined that they would do typical circus things, but it turned out not really being  that kind of circus. First of all, the tall, round, ringmaster spent the evening pretending that his penis was an elephant and that it made elephant sounds. Weird. Then there was a tiny Elvis impersonator who later juggled with fire. Fun.

My favorite acts, however, included the talents of Jordanna James and Nik Sin.

Nik Sin, who has a bit of Marilyn Manson style (and has played mini Marilyn Manson), came out in clown makeup and a red nose and deep-throated a balloon, which is a fine magic trick, indeed. As far as a small clowns with tattoos deep-throating things goes, I think this performance takes the cake. He returned later in the show and escaped from a small straight jacket while hanging upside down. I suggest looking him up if you have time.

 

Nik Sin

 

Jordanna James came out in the same cheetah costume that I wore for Halloween when I 9, except she stripped out of it. I didn’t remove mine in any sort of sexual fashion. She also danced with a whip to Circus by Britney Spears and rode around on the ringmaster’s back. I liked her weave.

 

Jordanna James

 

It was a fun evening and I recommend checking them out if they’re ever in town.

I  uploaded the picture above to Facebook and on my way home that night, I received questionable messages from two different men.  Enjoy.

 

Guy 1: Can you get the number of the blonde little person please?

Me: I already left… are you serious?

Guy 1: When you’re horny, why not? My belief is my penis will be bigger to her and I’ve always wanted to feel like a black guy.

Me: Fair enough.

______________

Guy 2: I want to have a threesome with you and the blonde little person, is that wrong?

Me: To each his own. I don’t do threesomes, but thank you for including me in your fantasy.

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10 Aug

This girl has wicked skills, and happens to have touched me today.

Reasons Men Exist

9 Aug

After 10 months of focused research, I have finally created a comprehensive list of the main reasons that men exist. Please let me know if I’ve left any out.

 


My results show that men exist to:

– Grill amazing things

– Remove bugs

– Zip up my dress

– Fasten my bracelet

– Check if food is too hot before I take a bite

– Find out what that sound was downstairs

– Remind me that I live in a land of make-believe

– Reach high places

– Hold *this* for a second while I look for/do *that*

– Make me laugh

– Pick which shoes I should wear after I’ve narrowed it down

– Fix the toilet

– Tell me when there’s something wrong with my car

– Teach me about something that I didn’t originally find interesting,
such as space or different types of screwdrivers

– Remind me that farts exist and that they are hilarious

– Accidentally say something stupid while trying to compliment me

– Remind me that so many other women are hotter than I am

– Fix my electronics

– Practice impregnating me

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Ginger and Big Tweety

8 Aug

Four years ago, when I first moved to Baltimore City, I lived in Butcher’s Hill with my best friend, Kelli. There were a number of characters in our neighborhood, but my two favorite white trash locals were named Ginger and Big Tweety. Those two were always out causing some kind of trouble. Sometimes when I walked by I would throw a fake gang sign and if they said it wasn’t a real gang sign I would be like, “It is too. It’s for a new gang I made up–you guys can be in it if you want. Girls only.” They always shook their heads at me, unsure if I was being serious.

One morning at 4:15 am,  I walked a friend to his car that was parked five blocks away (god forbid anyone ever find parking anywhere in this city).

When I returned to my street there were two seedy figures frantically scratching at the lamppost in front of my house. I was nervous until I realized it was just my neighbor Ginger and her girl Big Tweety. Tweety’s real name was Trina, but she was hefty and regularly sported a gorgeous stonewashed denim jacket with Tweety Bird on the back and a Tweety Bird denim bowling bag as her purse–so naturally, Ginger called her Big Tweety.

This is what used to be written on the pole:

Ginger ♥s Jamaal
Fuck All Bitches and Niggas. I Love him 4EVEr Always.

 

While Big Tweety worked diligently to cover this expression of true love, Ginger was writing something else. I got bold (was wicked drunk) and asked, “What happened to Jamaal?” and Big Tweety calmly replied, “He dead.”

Ginger said nothing.

I felt really bad about it. “Oh, oh my god, I’m so sorry,” I kept apologizing to her, but soon realized she didn’t care all that much because she was writing this:

 

Ginger ♥2 david
(Looks like someone got a little excited and wrote that ‘s’ backwards)

 

Four years later, we remember Jamaal and all he did for the neighborhood, including the time he lit a bag of poop on fire and chased a kid with it and that other time he went door-to-door asking if “anybody got any weed.”

Rest in peace, Jamaal. We hardly knew ye.

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Karen, My Alter Ego

6 Aug

While I am usually a very sweet person, every few months I get overwhelmed by life and my crazy alter ego takes over and all she wants to do is yell at people, take off her clothes, shut off her brain and eat a quart of mint chocolate chip ice cream while watching some chick movies. If someone tries to stop her, she becomes a fiery, snappy bitch who has no problem cracking the skulls of those who get in her way.

This has happened ever since I was a child (except back then I would take off my clothes, demand a cookie and then go talk to my imaginary friends, a turtle and a mermaid, who lived in the sewer). My dad says that it happens when I reach my “threshold of stimulation” and he actually finds it quite funny because my whole personality changes. Here is a photograph that captures this phenomena:

 

 

He emailed me recently to say that while he was watching a Bridezillas marathon (I didn’t ask why that would even be happening), he found the woman who possesses me when I reach that threshold. Her name is Karen and she’s a crazy Italian from New York.

I would get mad and deny it, but he’s right. Hey, at least it isn’t the demon that possessed Regan MacNeill in “The Exorcist.” Here’s a taste of my alter ego, Karen, in action:

 

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August 3, 2011

3 Aug

On August 3, 2011, Dane and I went to the beach and it was a lot of fucking fun (he hated it when I said ‘fuck’ because a “little lady in pearls shouldn’t have such a dirty little sailor mouth”).

Fuckity, fuck fuck fuck. I say it all the time now to see if he will come haunt-scold me just so we can hang out for a little bit. So far, I have had zero luck with this plan, but I do get to say ‘fuck’ a lot, so, I have that going for me.

 

 

One hour after I took this photo, we got in the water and a wave knocked me off my ass and took me down. Dane said I disappeared for a minute and when he saw me, I was rolling up the beach with seaweed in my hair and my boobs hanging out. Both of them. And what did he do? He pointed and laughed, drawing attention of other people who then all saw my heaving, washed-up bosom covered in sand. If ever there was a hearty laugh that came out of that man, it was on that day.

That night, we played Pirate themed mini golf and he said he “tried” letting me win because of the whole wave incident, but I was just that terrible at mini golf. Whatever, I was just having an off day. Afterward, we went out for dinner and drinks and I had the best scallops I have ever had in my life.

Then we got more drinks and I did the Carmen Electra Booty Shake for a group of people and then I danced to classic rock with old white trash guys while Dane laughed and then I had “just one more” and he ended up having to carry me to the car.

I guess I am telling you this because August 3, 2011 was the beginning of a great week with my best friend. It was certainly better than what I’m doing now, which is sitting on my couch with ice on my ankle because I fell under a streetlight while running last night and my shorts half fell off, revealing a single butt cheek, and then two guys laughed at me. I cried and limped myself a mile back to an empty house.

I must admit, there are few things after a good cry that are better than ice cream.

Anyway, that’s what I was doing a year ago. If you love someone, hug that person nice and tight and have a good weekend. (Dane, if you’re reading this, I don’t want to be haunt-scolded for saying ‘fuck’. You know ghosts terrify me. Miss you.)

 

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My Classy Friend

30 Jul

I have a classy, single friend who lives alone (it isn’t me) who got drunk on Saturday afternoon at the Liverpool FC vs. Tottenham Hotspur match, went home and took a booze nap in the middle of the afternoon and then woke up with a sunburn and remained buzzed for the rest of the evening. In the middle of the night, she sent an email to a few of her friends that said this:

“I’m laying in bed wide awake. I know I didn’t put that booger on the wall because I don’t pick my nose, but I live alone. Now I’m worried that I pick my nose in my sleep, which makes ‘waking self up with fart’ seem sophisticated (which is why I’m awake right now, by the way).”

Like I said, she’s a classy girl. She can’t control what happens in her sleep, so stop judging her about it. That same friend is at work right now and it’s extremely hot in her office and she’s tired and that sunburn from Saturday is killing her body. I hope she can get in a nap before her date tonight with a guy who has a Napoleon complex and I hope she can find her halter dress so she doesn’t have to wear a bra (even though her mom said you shouldn’t wear a halter dress on a first date with an Italian boy because he might think you’re a “strumpet”). Whatever, mom, you’re the strumpet and I hate you for setting me up with a short Italian. That’s what I told her to say to her mom.

 

 

 

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Boys Mostly

27 Jul

I found my diary from when I was 12-17 years old. I have to say that I enjoyed reading every embarrassing (sometimes heartbreaking) moment. I also enjoyed my young teen angst poetry (yikes).

My favorite part of the diary was at the beginning, when I had a wicked crush on Jeff Goldblum (click to enlarge photos).

A few days after that second entry, I wrote Jeff Goldblum a letter because he didn’t respond to my email. My mom always said, “He’s too old for you!” so I had to hide the fact that I was sending a letter. The day I sent it, I called the post office to ask how many stamps a letter needed to get to California and I was very nervous my dad was going to notice one of his stamps missing, so I said a prayer. When I “went outside to ride my bike” that morning, I sprinted to the mailbox and triumphantly put up the flag. I was so excited and nervous about what Jeff Goldblum’s response would be. I am not positive as to the exact wording of what went out in the final letter, but I know it was something like this pervy draft I found:

____________________
6/8/97

Dear Mr. Goldblum,

My name is Lauren and I am 12 years old (13 on October 1st)! I like all your movies and watched Jurassic Park again today, actually. I have seen it 15 times.

I thought you were funny on Saturday Night Live, my favorite was your skit with Mary Katherine Gallagher when she is a Catholic schoolgirl and you are her teacher and you dance together to “Last Dance.” Just like Mary Katherine Gallagher, I wear a Catholic school uniform at school and I would like you to be my teacher and dance with me like that, too. I would lick you head to toe like she did because I think you are a very attractive man! It was funny in the skit. I hope that was not too forward of me to say.

I know I am only 12 and you are 44, but I promise I am mature for my age.

Anyway, I hope to hear from you. My address is on the second page.

Love,

Lauren
____________________

 

I remember putting my school photo in the envelope and truly believing that he was going to adore me. Needless to say, Jeff Goldblum never wrote me back.

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A penguin walks into the bar…

23 Jul

Hi folks. I just wanted to say thank you to the 600 people who now follow this blog (for some reason). I am grateful for your support, witty comments and all the laughs we have shared together. I want everyone to smile. Now, since penguins are my favorite animal and the bar is my favorite place to go….

 

 

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Best Questions Men Have Asked Me (Since I Started This Ridiculous Blog)

23 Jul

I have received some very important, thought-provoking questions from my male readers. I found the following questions to be the most captivating and thought it would be a disservice to you all not to share them. Enjoy.

 

1. Q: Do you have standards when choosing a man to sleep with?

A: Really? What an odd question. Wow. Yes. I absolutely have standards.

 

2. Q: If we fly you to the south of France, will you have sex with my wife and I on our anniversary? It would be in 2013.

A: Love is a beautiful thing, no? So sorry though, I’m pretty busy that year.

 

3. Q: Did you really find out how many licks it takes to get to the tootsie roll center of a tootsie pop?

A: Yes, and they sent me a certificate. I was 10 years old. Are you still turned on?

 

4. Q: Do you want to have a threesome with my wife and I? I’m not going to fly you to Florida, but I can take you to Disney World.

A: OH BOY, DISNEY WORLD! I need to find my autograph book!

 

5. Q: Would you be freaked out if I came to Baltimore to look for you without telling you I was coming?

A: Yes… and just so you know, I have mace and I bite.

 

6. Q: I read your interview on Crazy Chicks Club. Regarding the question, “what would you do if you were a man for a day,” do you really think all men don’t make their beds, fart a lot, walk around without shirts and impregnate every girl they know?

A: That’s just what I would do if I were a man for a day. “I have a penis,” I’d say, “I’ll do as I please” and then I’d saunter around and flex my muscles. Oh, and I’d call everyone “brah” and wear my sunglasses like I own the joint. It would be great.

 

7. Q: Do you have any Greek in you?

A: No.

Q: Do you want some?

A: No.

 

8. Q: Will you send me a picture of your ass? I’m an ass man.

A: The set up for that seems kind of ridiculous, don’t you think? I don’t have a timer on my camera and I refuse to google “How to take a picture of my own ass.” It all seems a bit time-consuming. Just saying.

Reply: It only takes a couple of minutes. See? Here’s mine: (he sent a picture of his ass).

 

9. Q: Did you really show your boobs to get ice cream at an ice cream truck?

A: Listen, guy. It was hot outside, I really wanted a Nutty Buddy and I didn’t have cash. There’s nothing further to discuss here.

 

I have yet to receive a #10 worthy of the spot. I will let you know when that guy steps up to the plate and we can all bask in the glory of him together.

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