Day #4: Beards (YES!)

I mean, not to sound crass or anything, but I’m getting way popular on the interwebs. My mother told me never to brag about my infinite amounts of awesome be humble, BUT, I’ve already had over 60 views before 11 PM… which is way more than the last 3 days! After all these views and all these great comments, I’m feeling good about this, I just hope I don’t run out of funny before you kids run out of interest. Self-doubt engage in 5…4…3…2…1…

Reason #7852 Why I Don’t Have A Boyfriend: My insatiable quest for a man with the perfect BEARD.

To me, you are perfect.

There are many things a girl learns to find attractive in her formative years, and I have absolutely no idea where any of mine came from. Ask any little Susie KindergartenPants who she wants to marry, and if she doesn’t say Miley Cyrus (one of the main things that creep me out) chances are she’ll describe a Brad Pitt/Matt Damon/Ben Affleck-esque form of Man Perfection. And more power to her, those dudes are hot and rich. Two qualities I find very attractive, but just haven’t clawed their way up to my #1. The reason? I have an unhealthy obsession with beards.

Maybe it’s because I watched a lot of Jeramiah Johnson as a child. Maybe its because I’m the spawn of a preacher-man and I spent a lot of time looking at pictures of Moses, Sampson, and other bearded Israelites. Maybe it’s because I was convinced that Karl Marx was the smartest man of all time. Somewhere, somehow, I found beards to be extremely sexy. Like, I’d rather you have a beard than be able to drive a car or kill roaches. It’s LOVE. Pure, unadulterated, bearded love.

I KNOW RIGHT?!?!?!?! Who in their right mind, in 2010, when MANSCAPING is so in, finds BEARDS to be attractive??? Me. I am the person odd enough to think that someone having LARGE AMOUNTS OF COARSE HAIR GROWING OFF OF HIS VISAGE makes someone more attractive. Its disgusting. And I love it. Like GoGurt. You know its wrong, but you just want to squeeze it/rub it on your face anyway (sorry for what THAT just sounded like).

It’s a problem. And you know what? I don’t want to solve it. But there is one major reason this is keeping me from finding a boyfriend: I won’t settle. I’ve tried. The first guy I dated in college had THE. PERFECT. BEARD. My father hated him, but the day he dumped me we broke up my blessed Dad (a beard-sporter himself) said “Well he did have one hell of a beard.” I then dated a skinny hippie with a skinny excuse for a beard… I was happier when he shaved. Dry spell…..wait for it…dry spell… Then a red-head with a pathetic excuse for a beard *CoughCough NECKBEARD CoughCough* and an even more pathetic excuse for dumping me… Dry spell…wait for it…dry spell…. wait for it… Oh, wait, still in it.

There’s something about them. They’re so manly. I hate traditional gender roles. I’m a sociology major, I’m above it… But I do expect my man to be (or at least look like) the Brawny Man. All I want is a badass personality and an even more badass beard. I would even almost consider dating someone thinner than me (giant mistake… talking to you, skinny hippie) again if he could fulfill that promise. Just FYI, I’m going to start accepting any applications from bearded bloggers/bloggers with the ability to grow a beard/ bloggers with bearded sons/ bloggers with sons who have the ability to grow a beard. For real. Shameless, I know, but this way is not working.

Let’s say I find Beardy McPerfect. It would go exactly like this. We’d go on a few dates. I’d look beautiful, giggle, and casually compliment on his beard by date #2 (you’ve got to keep them guessing, I’d be so afraid to run him off in all his bearded perfection) and he’d say, “Oh really? Well, Love, I’m 99.9% sure we’re soul mates and should get married immediately. But as a test, would you agree to marry me at the World Beard and Mustache Championships on May 11th, 2011 in Trondheim Norway?” And I’d say, “Yes, My Perfect-Bearded-Brawny-Man (who may or may not be thinner than me) I will marry you in Trondheim”… then he’d win the championship, we’d live together in a perfect house, listen to Ray LaMontagne (great beard) all the time, watch a lot of Jeramiah Johnson, read a lot of Allen Ginsberg (yeah, Jew Beards!) and then we’d have about 38490238 bearded sons to bless the women of the future-world with beards. That’s the life.

Again, Reason #7852 Why I Don’t Have A Boyfriend: My insatiable quest for a man with the perfect BEARD.

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Filed under ...Talking to you..., Beards, humor, life, lifestyle, MME (My Miserable Exes), MPM (My Perfect Man), Obsessions, Reasons I Don't Have a Boyfriend

Day #3: Hey, Life Alert… It’s time you expand your consumer base!

A little aside: Day #2 had even more readers than Day #1, a number that was for reals closer to 100 than 0! This is both thrilling and unbelievable because my luck is about as irregular as Jamie Lee Curtis before Activia. Keep up the good work, kids!

This winter break, I decided to take a break from my college town and move back to the ‘burbs with my parents for about a month. There are about 8 good things about that decision and about 238329 terrible ones, but that’s another story for another day. One of the good things is that I’ve had a lot (and I mean A LOT) of time to watch TV. And we all know who watches weekday daytime T.V.

  • People who never went to college (and probably didn’t graduate high school) and thus are led to believe they could make millions from their own living room or that going to college in their pajamas is REALLY the best way to do it,
  • Stay-at-home-Moms (housewives, homemakers, whatever the term is) who may have a minute or two of peace to catch The Doctors or something else educational and gross before their monstrous children/husbands return, and
  • Old people.
  • One commercial that is clearly targeted marketing to the 70+ crowd? LIFE ALERT. We’ve all seen Nana struggling on the floor (and probably laughed at it once or twice, whether inside or out, especially if it was pre-2000’s new marketing campaign) with a lackluster “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up.” Button? Pushed. Help? On  the way. Best present you ever decided to force upon get your elderly parents? Life Alert.

    I have a serious, serious problem with this commercial. I am in my 20s, and I have a FAR greater need for Life Alert than my Nana. This woman is like an 80 year old Chuck Norris; she has fallen and she always gets up. The lady even moves her own furniture. I however, live a lifestyle that puts me and my 3 roommates at a far greater need for Life Alert. Some reasons include (but are not limited to the following): our 100-year-old 2-story house is made of wood with no insulation and has lead-based paint which keeps the windows sealed shut, we are poor and refuse to turn the gas on so we always use space heaters, the house has caught fire before, our entire flooring is original HARDwood which has been known to leave bruises and fractures on the asses/faces of drunk people, we’ve had gas leaks, and we live in a crime-infested college town historic district. It’s a veritable hell/shit hole disguised as a Southern Historic Home. Damned place doesn’t even have a driveway… and every day and night I spend there I am facing certain death.

    Hey, Life Alert, grab your trifocals and read between the lines… YOU COULD MAKE MILLIONS IF YOU’D EXPAND YOUR MICRO-SPECIFIC CONSUMER BASE!!! You could take full advantage of stupid college girls with deep pockets who live in crappy old college houses. In fact, if you expanded your marketing base away from Nana, you could probably catch every other Cat-Lady Hermit (read, me in 40 years) who is likely to fall and be found dead, half-eaten by her cat. You could reach all those people on HOARDERS who literally get stuck in their own trash mires. All those reclusive chess players and mathmeticians they convince brilliant actors to play have near-constant panic/anxiety attacks that would bring in some major money and publicity if they had life alert.

    You seem to forget, dear Life Alert, that hermits, recluses, drunkards, clinically insane persons, and cat ladies come in all shapes, ages, and sizes; and cats don’t have opposable thumbs to dial 911. In fact, they’d probably rather you die so you’d stop dressing them up as Santa and teaching them the dance moves to Bad Romance. I guarantee Life Alert that they’d make millions if they made a commercial with a drunk college kid Life Alerting the paramedics because he’s “busted ass” and he can’t get up. Or if they showed Antoine Fisher Life Alerting after he got beaten by that wet rag. Sure, they can sleep at night just a-waitin’ for the Baby Boomers, but there’s plenty of money to be made elsewhere.

    They claim to save a life every 26 minutes… They could make that every 13 minutes if they took my advice… and probably every 7 between the hours of 12 midnight and 4 AM. But go ahead, stick with your niche market. Just don’t be mad when I say “I told you so” next time my house catches on fire.

    http://www.lifealert.com/index.html

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    Filed under Best Ideas Ever, Cat Lady, college, drinking, humor, Lazy, life, musings

    Day #2: SPANX (A love letter, essentially.)

    So before we begin, I consider Day #1 a success. I had around 40 people check me out, and considering I have no idea what I’m doing, I’m just going to round that up to 100 and feel accomplished. So, you first 100 viewers, thank you for making me feel like a RockStar. Or BlogStar. And now, for something completely different…

    To Sara Blakely, Founder of Spanx, The Greatest Invention of All Time, With Love, Gratitude, and Devotion:

    You may not know us, and most of us may not know you; but we are the ones who owe you a debt far greater than the (in my opinion, ridiculous) $35-40 you originially charged us for your wunder-vention… SPANX. In case you forgot, YOU invented the ultimate union of Physics and Fashion; underclothes that really do make people skinner. Not only did you invent WONDER-wear, you invented MAGIC.

    See, My Darling Sara (may I call you darling? I mean, you’ve been under my clothes sporadically for 6 months now) you brought self-esteem back to so many women’s lives. I, for one, know that if something bulges a little in my little dress, my SPANX will keep me flat looking and fab feeling (minus a little short on breath and circulation). And that is how it is MAGIC… I do not have to lose weight. I do not have to get my clothing altered. I do not have to wear underwear either. I just have to put a little muscle into getting them on, then poof… Skinny. You’re like a fairy godmother, but with golden locks, super-smarts, and a skinny bod (which may or may not be an illusion, but we’ll never know, so I’ll just continue to consider you the best Lady who ain’t Gaga)… THANX, SPANX!

    Celebrities who added a little juggle to their wiggle *CoughCough TYRA BANKS CoughCough* sang your praises and even showed SPANX off on the red carpet. Celebrities the size of toothpicks *CoughCough POSH SPICE CoughCough* wore your WONDER-pants because they weren’t feeling quite as waif-ish as usual. But your magic is not wasted on just crazy/vapid celebrities and lazy college students like yours truly. No, My Precious Sara (may I call you precious? I mean, I cried once when I thought my Spanx were ruined in the drier) you brought the magic back into dressing up for women every where.

    Although some ladies haven’t gotten the memo on the smoothing wonders of SPANX … I’m talking to you, Ladies (?) of the Jersey Shore… I know countless women who know that they feel better about themselves in their Spanx. You have given us courage to wear our shimmy-shimmy-shake dresses a little smaller, and to crank up the sassitude when we see our exes for the first time. Your magic is not just scientific, it’s emotional. Although nearly half of my heart wants to scream at you and applaud you for being the most brilliant and rich sado-masochist of all time; the slightly larger (and lovesick) majority of my heart wants to give everyone everywhere their own pair of SPANX.

    So, Darling Precious Sara, let me thank you again, from the bottom of my lazy/vain heart. Please, never ever stop making your WONDER-pants that will forever allow women like me to defer their dreams of real skinny; and will also provide me with the thrill of wondering when/where/how the SPANX will secretly and quickly come off, perchance Mr. RightNow decides to come over for a snuggle… as well as the thrill of knowing he’ll never know he’s been fooled.

    Love, Your Forever Friend and Lover (but only if you want to be) with Undying, Perpetual Devotion.

    ...and we thought the underwear from "Superstar" was as big as it gets for Molly.

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    Filed under ...Talking to you..., Best Ideas Ever, college, Girl-Crushes, humor, Lazy, lifestyle, MME (My Miserable Exes), Not Being Skinny, Obsessions, pop culture, Reasons I Don't Have a Boyfriend

    Day #1: The Snuggie

    Reason #38947 Why I Don’t Have A Boyfriend: The Snuggie.

    Even Al's got one.

    We all know it, we all have an opinion about it. Snuggies are the perfect fad: they come in a wide variety of sizes, patterns and colors, and are species specific… not to mention they are the most stupidly brilliant invention. Snuggies really are “The Blanket With Sleeves”. If you don’t have one (first of all, you really ARE missing out) and live in a Cambodian fishing village and have never seen one, they are a gigantic fleece blanket with two holes cut out with sleeves attached– thus, a BLANKET with SLEEVES. Sheer, unadulterated, American-Authentic, lazy-man’s brilliance.

    I am guilty into playing in to nearly every fad that has come into existence in my life, including the Snuggie. As a broke college kid, I begged my mother to buy me a Snuggie when she came to visit me at school and took me to Wal-Mart. When she told me I may have to wait till Christmas, I rattled off a list of 13 different reasons why I needed my Snuggie NOW. My generous mother, bless her heart, let me take my Snuggie home and put it on that day.

    From Day #1, it was love. I put it on and I felt a deep, visceral satisfaction I hadn’t felt since the first time I saw Purple Rain on VHS. Snuggie and I started doing everything together. We played Harry Potter (it’s remarkable how much you can look like a Wizard in The Blanket With Sleeves), we played The Knights Who Say “Nee” (Stand on the bottom steps of a staircase in your snuggie, and you’ll understand), we pretended to be John Phillip Sousa and Princess Padme. Since there’s no heat in my house, I would wear Snuggie pinned at the small of my back before I got dressed and was getting ready. I would lay in bed under the covers with Snuggie. Snuggie and I were insta-soul mates.

    Then it hit me– Snuggie is yet another reason I don’t have a boyfriend. The list is long and consistent in its mercilessness; but Snuggie had to be chalked up to the list. No man wants a woman who would choose sit around covered in a blanket specifically designed so she can hold her cat and watch Purple Rain simultaneously. Women who find joy in pretending to be Professor Dumbledore don’t exactly send out siren-calls for life partners. Although I have many other vices, Snuggie is just another brick in the wall separating me from companionship.

    I’ve had a lot of boys come and go in my life thus far; most of whom I am not sad to have seen go… but I do know that if my Snuggie were to disappear today, I’d be a hell of a lot sadder about that than most of those men. So Snuggie, I hope that you don’t let the haters get you down, I hope you don’t fade into ADD Consumer Oblivion alongside Pogs and Beanie Babies, and I hope that you keep doing what you were made to do– make it simple comfortable, and cozy for me to snuggle with my cat (who I got because I don’t have a boyfriend) while watching a movie (which will make me sad because I don’t have a boyfriend) all the while staying nice and warm and resembling Hermione Granger (who eventually gets a boyfriend).

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    Filed under Al Roker Cameos, Best Ideas Ever, Cat Lady, Harry Potter, Obsessions, Reasons I Don't Have a Boyfriend, Shameless Prince References