Crate and Barrel

So Crate and Barrel, your email asks me if I would like to know “What’s new in the kitchen”. I’m sure you aren’t shocked to find out that I truly do not care. Oh, you have this fabulous new trash can that’s stainless steel and opens with the tap of a peddle? That’s amazing! Unfortunately for you, Target has one of those too…and its not $159.99. I love that. $159.99 for something you are going to put GARBAGE in. Unless that trash can has a little gnome in it that cleans my room, reminds me to take a birth control pill, and then tells me if ‘The Office’ is new this week, I do not believe it is worth it. Last winter, I woke up and my snowboot was stuck to my plastic trash can with melted cheese after a drunken, late night, cooking experiment gone awray. If I had a trash can that costs more than my monthly student loan payment, I might be forced to re-evaluate my life decisions… God knows I’m not ready to do that.

I actually looked this trash can up on the the internet and found a review from a college student talking about how great it was for eliminating kitchen odors. That's awesome. Does vomit containing whiskey, Keystone Light, and 2 slices of $1 pizza count as "kitchen odor"? If so I know a couple of frat houses that would be very interested...size would be an issue though.

I will end this blog with my normal "its ok if you like/do this" note. If Crate and Barrel is your thing, then that's just lovely. To my many friends that have regsitered at Crate and Barrel for their weddings, I promise not to get too reckless around your garbage cans. To those of you that are in college and have priorities that include eliminating kitchen odor and reviewing garbage cans online...I'm really glad we aren't friends.

You Wouldn't Like Her When She's Angry...

In this post I will be talking about retards and using the word "retard" in numerous variations and contexts.

Tonight, I will be discussing a much speculated topic: Retard Strength. Most people have witnessed the phenomenon that is "Old Man Strength" but few have been a party to the retard version...and many may think it is a myth. I am here to tell you, first hand, that it is not. I have seen My Retarded Aunt Joanie break chairs, smash glasses and punch through windows. God help you if you are in a 5 foot range and happen to say the words "foot doctor" or "lightening". There is a story that the first time my dad came over to take my mom on a date, Joanie hurled a Dorito at him with such force that it drew blood. Think about that..."Hey, what happened to your head?" "Oh I upset my girlfriend's retarded sister and she nailed me with a nacho chip...because sometimes that happens."

Another thing that would set Joanie off was any kind of yelling or fighting. I think even our dog knew to stay away from her if there was any sort of offensive noises occuring. Below you will find the account of an incident during which Joanie's Retard Strength was unleashed like Sisquo's dragon.

It was snowing outside and my little sister and I were in the den watching some sort of Olsen Twin Adventure movie. Nana was getting her hair done and my parents had taken the dog out for one of their epically long walks to Buhl Park. The mood was very tense in the den this winter's afternoon. My sister knew I hated the Olsen Twins yet she would always turn them on and use the "I was here first" rule to force them on me. I knew I couldn't complain because I invented that rule. So I sat, irritated and bored, watching Mary Kate and Ashley run away from home...again. We exchanged insults for the duration of the film until, finally, the it ended and it was my turn. As I happily started my "Batman Returns" viewing, Joanie began feuling the battle that would end in my sister's demise.

For some reason, Joanie enjoyed randomly walking into the den and turning the TV off while you were watching it and then running away. Usually it didn't bother me that much, but today was different. The first time Joanie did it, I got up, turned it back on and went to sit down again. However, as I turned from the TV, I noticed my sister sitting there smiling. I knew she was secretly happy Joanie was messing up my show. She sat there with her gross, yellow blankey laughing everytime Joanie did it. Mom had told us, MANY TIMES, that laughing at Joanie encourages her and my sister was doing it on purpose. If you know me, you are aware that patience is not one of my strong suits. It only took 3 times of "TV OFF" for me to lose it completely.

It started with me hurling the remote. My sister retaliated by smacking me in the legs with her blankey. After an intense tug of rope with blankey, I used it to whip her into the blinds. She threw herself back on the couch and started pedaling her legs in the air. This was a classic little sister defense move which I wouldn't attempt to counter unless I had something to use as a blocking mechanism. When she didn't let up, I went back to verbal combat and throwing random objects in her general direction. You never wanted to leave a mark because we both knew if we had evidence of an injury, the other would be grounded...and it was usually me who was grounded. We ran into the living room screaming. My sister's back was to the stair case and out of the corner of my eye I could see Joanie slowly descending.

At first it wasn't threatening. She layed on the steps and just let out a couple of random squawks as we screamed back and forth. I kept bellowing "SHUT UP!!!!!!!" at the top of my lungs, adding fuel to Joanie's fire. That's when my sister made an epic mistake. She turned around and yelled "Joanie! It's ok, don't cry!" Bad idea. You never address Joanie when you are being verbally aggressive. Joanie doesn't understand what you are saying, but she knows her name. For all we know she thought my sister was saying "Joanie! I hate you and I kill kittens!". Joanie liked kittens. Odds are at the time of this battle she was wearing some sort of over-sized pajama t-shirt with a picture of a kitten sitting in a sneaker on it.

The screaming continued as Joanie acknowledged her involvement in our scuffle. My sister was oblivious and kept coming at me with her classic attacks like telling me I had witch hair...a stab at my widow's peak. For as large as Joanie is, she is equally as sneaky. As I told my sister that her blankey smelled like pee, not french fries as she claimed, I watched Joanie move to the couch and pick up a small throw pillow. In a swift motion, she wound up and clubbed my sister in the back with such force that I literally thought her head snapped off.

Fight over. 10 points Joanie.

Although the blow my sister suffered was a devasating one, we have to remember that it was entirely our fault. This wasn't the first time it had happened. We were well aware what the consequences of fighting in front of Joanie would be. Some may say the incident was my fault, as I was the first one to make physical contact. Others firmly hold that my sister was the instigator by encouraging Joanie to push me to the edge of reason. I, on the other hand, place full blame on the Olsen Twins. I hate you Olsen Twins...for pissing off my Retarded Aunt Joanie and beating my sister with a couch cushion.

Maybe I Shouldn't...but I Will Anyway...

Ines Sainz. You are the reason I dress like a lesbian at work. If you are going to stroll into a MEN'S FOOTBALL PRACTICE in @$$ hugging jeans and an "appropriate", skin tight, button down shirt, you have to be slightly retarded to think you'll be taken seriously...and I do know a thing or two about retards. Do they not have straight men in Mexico? I'm fairly certain they do considering the disgusting things that the Mexican window cleaners say to me while I'm walking to work in the morning. When you took the topless picture in the "skin jersey" was it meant just for girls and maybe boys who enjoy the artistic craft of Bedazzling?



I'm not the girliest girl in the world but I'm well aware of the below 2 facts:



1- Girls sometimes do things to impress other girls such as wearing an expensive watch, carrying an over-priced purse or getting fancy highlights that dudes won't notice or care about.



2- Girls try to attract boys by wearing low-cut shirts, anything that shows a lot of skin or anything that shows a lot of @$$. For example, my lower back tattoo has nothing to do with wanting girls to think I'm impressive. Nothing.



I would be willing to bet money that when this chick tried on these jeans someone (probably another girl who was well aware of what her job is) said "ooo those make your @$$ look elcaliente for all the gringos"- Or something along those lines...I took french give me a break. The point is, she didn't buy them because they are comfortable or because she wanted compliments on how classy they make her look.



This specifically pisses me off because I am in a very male-dominated business as well. I interviewed a girl a couple years ago who wore a hot pink blazer and talked about where she got her shoes for 10 minutes. You know how I referred to her during the rest of the interview process? Bubble Yum. And Bubble Yum didn't get the job. She wasn't explicitly stupid or anything, there were just people who approached the interview process more seriously than we felt she did. In other words, they didn't wear freaking hot pink. Sure, I complimented her shoes as an ice breaker because she looked like a nervous wreck...probably because she had no business being there. Her shoes were cute but I actually haven't had time to get to the "super cute boutique in SoHo with the weird hours" because I'm busy working and doing something useful. I'm no butched out tomboy, but anyone with basic social reasoning could deduce I'm not into chatting about fashionable heels...especially when I'm trying to hire an accountant.



I'm aware that I just made all the feminists really upset by that last paragraph. Well I'm really sorry feminists, but f*ck you. When you get a job and you can hire people I'll send you Bubble Yum's resume and you can both wallow in your stupidity together. You are going to whine and whine about your glass ceiling and then back up people like BY, Sainz, and the "I got fired for being sexy" girl who are pretty much making your ceiling bullet proof. I would say cement, as opposed to bullet proof, but that would inhibit the people above us from looking down our shirts and laughing.



My dad always says: If you mess with the bull, you'll get the horns. Ines flaunted her @$$ like a torero in a red cape. The result? Everyone wants to plow her. Dad is right again and Sainz should be banned from interviewing anyone but reality tv stars. Slutty ones. Or the Philadelphia Eagles. No one likes them anyways.

The Evil Life of Grimace.

Sweet Jesus. Really? Really Grimace? You have to be the scariest character of all time. I would like to put this to the McDonald's franchise: WTF are you thinking? I took the above picture at my local Mcdonald's. If I could add a soundtrack to this picture it would be the blood-curdling screams of the kids of the East Village. If this thing came running at me with his arms open at a fast food restaurant, my first thought would NOT be that he wanted a hug...I would think he had mistaken me for a Big Mac and was going straight for my jugular.

I googled "Grimace- McDonalds" and this is what came up:

"Grimace is a large, purple character who was first introduced in November 1971 as "The Evil Grimace". In his first two appearances, he was depicted with two pairs of arms with which to steal milkshakes and sodas."

HOLY $HIT. There it is. The Evil Grimace. He steals milkshakes, sodas and probably your small children. The Wikipedia entry goes on to say that "Evil" was eventually dropped from his name and he was re-introduced as one of the good guys. Hm. That works I guess. Just drop the "Evil" and everything is fine. Let's ignore the fact that not only is he a giant, purple, MONSTER...but his name is still GRIMACE. Want to know what comes up when you google "Grimace"?

"A sharp contortion of the face expressive of pain, contempt or disgust."

Yup. That still sounds pretty awful even without the evil.

My Retarded Aunt Joanie Has More Fun Than You

Odds are, if you are reading this, you have heard some of the fantastic tales that star My Retarded Aunt Joanie. There is also a 97% chance you have asked me to recount one of these tales to someone I don't know. I am going to start this post out the same way I start out all the My Retarded Aunt Joanie stories...

REFRAIN FROM BEING OFFENDED. This is how I grew up. We used the word retarded openly because she is, in fact, SO retarded that she has no idea how retarded she actually is. I truly feel for those people in the world that suffer from retardation and I appreciate advocates that like to bitch about how offensive this may be. Good thing we live in America and if Lady Gaga can exist then I can talk openly about retards.

Now that the politics are out of the way, I'll start with a little background. Aunt Joanie was born in like 1950-something and is retarded do to some kind of birth complications. I'm not a doctor but I'm fairly sure they used some kind of pliers to pull her out...I don't know nor is it relevant. She has cerebral palsy (very different from our friends with downs syndrome). I haven't looked into the medical aspects but I can brake down her symptoms:

- She has no idea what's going on...none. For real. She only understands tones. For instance, you could say "Joanie! Look at how retarded you are!!!" in the same tone that you would tell some one "Sam! Look at how pretty you are!!!" and she would clap her hands and love it.

- She can walk and occassionally enjoys getting down to Beatles records.

- She has retard strength like you would not believe.

- Her speech range consists of various animal noises.

- She fake cries a lot.

- She is ALWAYS trying to steal glasses. For as retarded as she is, she is equally as sneaky.

- She loves beer...or anything in glass bottles that she thinks is beer.

I'm not sure if all the points above would be in a medical dictionary under "What people with Cerebral Palsy do"...but that's my Aunt Joanie in a nut shell.

The doctor apparently told my Nana (RIP Nanny, Pour out that PIMMS) that she would have the mental capacity of a 2 year old for the rest of her life. To be honest, if I ever had to be retarded, I would want to be like my Aunt Joanie. Blissfully unaware and forever stuck at age 2. Joanie gets away with everything. If I had a dollar for ever time she punched out the living room window I would be loaded. It would be a wonderful world if the only thing it took to make me happy was a little "I Wanna Hold Your Hand" on the radio and a package of frozen hot dogs to eat. Yes, Joanie once took down an entire package of frozen hot dogs. In one sitting.

The other great thing about being at Joanie's level of retardation is the toys. Soooooo many awesome toys. Every year for Christmas Joanie gets the coolest stuff. Mini-keyboards, puzzles, fake cash registers...everything. She cleans up at Christmas.

Everyone always says "it's the little things that make life so great". I kind of disagree. I truly think I would be happier if I had a bigger apartment...a bigger pay check...a C-cup...but maybe I'm being too literal. Joanie was the personification of this saying. I would come home from playing in the summer sometimes to see my dad sitting on the stoop in the back yard, drinking a Bud, and spraying Joanie with the hose. She LOVES that sh*t. My dad also has a song entitled "Joanie Bologna" during which he just repeats that phrase over and over and plays drums on the kitchen table. She loves that even more.

Alas, there are some things that she did not love. For example, if you were bold enough to say the words "lightening" or "foot doctor" around her...you better be vert fast or at least wearing some sort of protective gear. Joan also hates any kind of yelling. During one of me and my sister's epic screaming battles, my sis was stupid enough to turn her back to Joanie. Faster than the speed of lightening (ah!) Joanie snatched a couch cushion and cracked my sister across the back so hard with it I seriously thought her head fell off. Fight over. 10 points Joanie.

Another thing she really didn't like was people using the bathroom. This was really difficult quirk to handle. My Nana (Joanie's and my mom's mother) lived in a big old house with no working locks. All of the doors had these old glass doorknobs and if you wanted to lock anything, you needed a key...which I heard we lost around 1972. Anyways, let me describe the bathroom scenario as I remember it from my youth...

My sister and I are in Nana's back yard. I had spent all day coming up with some scheme to make apple sauce using nothing but a crab apple tree and a fertilizer spreader when the urge to pee hit. I tell my sister I will be right back. As I run up the stairs to the back door, I pause for a moment to check my surroundings. Nana is in the den watching some weird English soap opera and Joanie is occupied in the kitchen shoveling Cool Whip into her mouth. Perfect. I sneak up the stairs as quietly as the old house would allow. I turn to the left to head to the bathroom, but on my way walk into the first bedroom as a diversion. Thinking I had gone about this as stealthly as possible, I walk into the bathroom, carefree and confident. As I am finishing up (I had been holding it for a while) I hear a creak outside the door. My instincts tell my body to freeze. Don't make any noise and she will go away. Deep down, I know this isn't true. The door is shut. She knows someone is in here. I stare hard at the old glass door knob. I know that I can't get to it quick enough to hold it shut and it would be no use if I could. My 60 pound body is no match for her retard strength. Slowly the glass knob starts to turn. Then, faster than you can imagine, Joanie flings the door open and lets out a scream that anyone in a 5 mile radius could hear. She slams the door. Quickly, I try to recover by scrambling off the toilet. She flings the door again and lets out another screech. It was like a terrifying, over-sized, jack in the box. Luckily, I have my bearings now and am able to jump past her and hit the stairs running. When I get to the back yard my sister doesn't look surprised or worried. All she offers is a simple "You shouldn't have flushed while you were still on the toilet," and continues loading crab apples into the fertilizer spreader.

And that is a sample of life with My Retarded Aunt Joanie. I plan to share a lot about her in the future, as she is a very prominent figure in my life. These days all I'm worried about is how much money I'm making...if I'm exercising enough...if I'm getting fat...if I'm ever going to pay off my freaking student loans. I long for the day that the most upsetting occurence of the week was that I caught Wangsta (one of my awesome roommates) in the bathroom. In fact, I think I might disable the lock on the bathroom just to try it out and see how it feels to scream at someone on the toilet. Perhaps we all should. People let out stress in different ways...clearly yoga doesn't do sh*t. I ask that you all take a lesson from My Retarded Aunt Joanie. Next time you feel like life's a little too much, scream at someone on a toilet. You never know.

Stupid Things Girls Say

"I really want to know why he doesn't like me."

Um. No. I don't think you do. Let's dissect that for a moment. If someone doesn't like you, why in the hell would you want to hear them list the reasons why? That sounds like an awful idea. It also sounds like you are a tad deluded and think you are so wonderful that there is no way a boy could come up with a logical reason to not be interested. Did Hitler have a logical reason to not like the Jews? Nope. Perhaps you should watch Inglorious Bastards instead of Pretty Woman. In real life, no one likes hookers...especially not rich people. Hitler probably didn't like hookers either.

Anyways, I'm going to be harsh about this one because its pretty much the whole reason I started writing this blog. I really hope that you girls are only saying this to your friends just so you can hear them respond with "You are too pretty for him. He is obviously retarded and threatened by how skinny and successful you are". I have laid out the below scenario for those idiots who decide to request a description of why they are terrible from their love interest . Maybe this dialogue of what could actually happen will stop you:

You: Mike, I am an awesome person, my friends tell me how great I am and I haven't refused you anything sexually...why don't you like me?

Mike: Um, this is weird...I don't think we need to get into it...

You: Honestly, I have low self esteem because my mother did an awful job of teaching me how to handle boys. I really need you to explain what I did wrong.

Mike: You are kind of doing it right now...listen...we stopped talking a month ago. It's not a big deal. Some stuff just came up and...

You: You stopped calling me!!!! All my friends said I shouldn't call you and that I should wait for you to call but then you didn't and I need to know why. What happened!??!?!?

Mike: I don't know. Nothing really. It's not a big deal. I didn't want to get too serious and I have a lot of stuff going on at work...

You: JUST TELL ME WHAT I DID

Mike: Wow. Alright. Fine. I'm going to tell you. Remember when you slept over and put your jeans back on in the morning and they were way too tight? You were like "ew gross I totally have a muffin top! I'm going on a diet." Well right after that you asked me if I wanted to go to brunch. When we got there, you ordered a fruit medley and I ordered pancakes. You proceeded to throw down your entire medley in under 26 seconds along with 2/3 of my pancakes. Then you tried to sneakily unbutton the top of your jeans at the table. Perhaps you should stop bitching about muffin tops and just buy bigger pants.

Oh and how about the weekend we went to my friend from home's birthday party? You got blackout drunk on Sprite and Raspberry vodka and then asked all the girls there if they hooked up with me. Then you puked all night in my bathroom and binge-ate my roommate's entire 48-pack of PopTarts that he got from Costco. I had to pay $30 to buy replacements at the Duane Reade.

Another thing that's awful is you insisting I sleep over at your apartment during weekdays. I have to wear slacks and a f*cking button down shirt to work. Girls pretty much wear whatever they want, ironed or not. If you want to "have a sleepover" throw your $hit in your ginormous, overpriced purse and come to my apartment. It's not my fault that my roommate makes you feel awkward...you took an entire box of his PopTarts to the face.

Finally, no matter how many times you ask, I am not going to yoga, pilates, the new Twilight movie, or a Dashboard concert with you. Every other girl in the world wants to go to all of those things...why do you feel the need to force it on me? And you can't used the excuse "But I went to that Rangers game with you..." because I would have rather gone with my brother to that game and you pretty much invited yourself.

There. Is that what you needed? Trust me, I was being nice. You don't want some d-bag telling you exactly why he didn't want to talk to you anymore. That's why I'm here.

"I know he has a girlfriend but he said he's going to break up with her."

Really? He told you that? No $hit. I'm sure he's totally willing to cause a huge scene with his girlfriend of 8 years and start dating you. There's no way you aren't just a drunk mistake or the whore on the side who will do all the freaky stuff his current girlfriend won't do. Ugh.

Let me first target the friends of the girl who is saying this. How are you responding? If its with anything except a slap across the face you are the worst friends ever.

If some dude with a girlfriend falls deeply in love with you, the girlfriend will be gone. If she's still around and you are kept on the down low then you are just as big of an idiot as he is. I love this one because girls will always be like "yeah but he's sooooo nice when we are together, you don't get it!" Ohhh ok. I don't get it? Let me explain why he is so nice...

With you, my skanky friend, he has no worry of any long term commitment issues. He's been open about having a girlfriend and you put yourself in the situation willingly. He also doesn't need to be on guard for questions like "My mom wants to know if we should be expecting you at my Aunt's 85th Birthday" or "I called the other night at 10:30 and it went to voicemail, where were you?". You can't say anything of these things because you are the awesome chick that tempted him into cheating on his girlfriend. Your side of the relationship is supposed to be sneaky and fun. If you can handle that then fine...if not, shut the hell up.

Let me guess, he called you at 11:30pm and said plans fell through with his friends and asked you to come over?

In actuality, he already went out to dinner with his gf and her parents, but she had to get up early for work. When she decided to just stay at her place after dropping her parents off at the train, he realized the perfect booty call opportunity. All he needs to do is shoot you a quick, easily deletable, text and its on.

Of course you will play hard to get and respond with something like "I really like you but I don't know if this is a good idea..." and he will say "You don't have to do anything you don't want to do." You will be over there by 11:37 all showered, shaved and decked out in a sexy nurse outfit.

Your friends might tell you to talk to him about it, but if you have any self respect...just don't say anything and cut it off. Here is a list of exactly what you should do:

1) Stop responding to calls/texts/Facebook/myspace or anything along those lines. Odds are he won't try that hard to contact you...

2) Enter into a written document with a friend who isn't an idiot and will agree to physically intervene if you decide to do this again. I will offer to perform this service for a negotiated price.

3) Give yourself one night to drink wine by yourself and cry, however, DO NOT watch a romantic movie. Watch "Marley and Me" or "Homeward Bound" or some other movie where cute animals die. Get your crying going without wanting to kill yourself...

4) The next day, go to the gym, clean your room, and go shopping. However, do NOT buy bigger pants. That's why I said "go to the gym". Muffin tops are gross...

"I just called because I'm walking down the street and wanted to say hi!"

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. Stop it. Right now. Hang up. I just got annoyed typing that sentence.

This is so freaking awful. I once dated a guy (yes a guy) who called me and said this. I hated him immediately. Why are you calling me if you have nothing to tell me? Are you trying to give me brain cancer?

I don't get why girls have such a difficult time walking down the street alone. Lots of people do it everyday. No one thinks less of you for doing it. There was a girl at my gym that would actually talk on the phone while doing the hip abduction machine and climbing the Stair Master. Honestly, I think she was faking it and talking to herself.

I am going to get a little philosophical and say that this comes from girls who are afraid to be alone. Yup, I'm talking to you serial daters. Its ok for you to go to lunch by yourself or go to a show alone. I seriously paid for at least 2 months of anti-depressants for Kristen Stewart with the amount of times I saw "Twilight" by myself in the theater.

If you have problems walking down the street alone, buy an ipod. If you are simply looking for an excuse to contact your lovah...use these:

1- Hi- would you mind running those reports for the entire quarter and emailing them to me? I'm going to work from home.

This is a good one because when he says "umm I think you have the wrong number" you can be like "OMG I dialed the wrong Chris! I'm sorry...I can't talk right now bc I'm super busy but we should hang out or something. See ya!" You will sound really busy and important. If you still need to talk on the phone, call one of your friends and tell her how great it worked. Don't call him back and repeat that phrase or anything close to it. He will probably catch on...

2- Random question, you aren't in the Hollywood Tans on Broadway are you?

When he (hopefully) answers no, you can say "Wow, there is a guy that I saw walk in there that looked JUST like you. I'm really glad I was wrong.." then continue the conversation. This can be modified by saying "in the salon by the Petco getting a pedicure" or "at the Sanrio store in the mall" or anything along those lines. On a side note...boys that go tanning are usually weird. Just something to think about.

I am only going to give you 2 excuses because if you need more you should probably stop calling him. Call your mom and have her tell you how special you are. That will help...

"I really thought I meant something more to him..."

Again, why would you ever want to say this out loud? This is one of those phrases that is acceptable to ponder to yourself and maybe say out loud once to your close friends...but after that, shut the eff up.

If you were dumped then move on. Clearly, you didn't mean much or you would still be dating. To reinforce what I said before, why would you dwell on someone who is over you?

The best is when the girl says this to one of the guy's friends. WTF. I'm sorry sweetheart, but that guy definitely went back to you ex-boy toy, high-fived him, and then talked about what a pathetic loser you are. I have seen it happen first hand. The girls in the room will say something like "aww that's not cool, don't say that..." but we all think it's funny too. This usually happens when the girl is younger and all googley-eyed for an older man. Or, even worse, a virgin...

Ah virgins. They loooooove this question. Handing the V-card out (especially to someone older and more experienced) is like going straight to the black belt test in karate. You better be one tough, badass. Girls are always weirdly obsessed with the first person they do it with and, to be honest, I'm not sure why. Unless you gave it up to Zac Efron, in Jay-Z's penthouse, surrounded by caged jungle cats while Aerosmith preformed "Don't Wanna Miss a Thing"...I'm really not that interested. If you are a virgin...stick with other virgins. That way you will stay disease free and have something to hold over his head if he does screw you over.

That concludes my lecture for this evening. I hope everyone understands that I am not trying to make fun of anyone or make light of anything that Hitler did. I just want to open the eyes of girls and make them a little less stupid. If you are in love then that's just effing lovely...just please remember that in real life crap happens. Boys can be d-bags, Julia Roberts got divorced, and Serendipity is for tourists. God Bless America.

Why I Suck at Yoga

Yoga, to most people, helps them relax and unwind after a stressful day. Being a former cheerleader and ballerina, you would think that yoga would be the perfect activity for me to participate in. Below are the reasons why that assumption is horribly wrong.

1- I have raging ADHD

All day I am sitting at a desk, or sitting in a meeting, or sitting on the phone...the only time I'm standing is if I'm waiting behind the fat chick in line at Dunkin Donuts who is pointing out her 2 dozen assortment specifications. All in all, my day isn't exactly that stimulating. Keeping that in mind, what's the first thing you do in yoga? YUP. Effing sit there. Depending on the teacher, this can last up to five minutes. You are supposed to "be still and focus on your breath". However, while everyone else is picturing beautiful, blowing fields of grass, I am picturing myself sprinting through that grass like a mad woman. Perhaps participating in some kind of relay race or competition. Maybe I will be picturing myself in an intense foam dance party...the possibilities are endless.

After the sitting and breathing sh*t is over I'm usually ok until the very end. Yeah. You know what I'm talking about. The "dead body pose" or "svasana" or "lie on your back and don't move" or, what I like to call it, "be forced to remain motionless and stuck in a room longer when the class is freaking over, Family Guy starts in 15 minutes, and you have a wedgie". This is awful. You know what's more awful? If you are lucky enough to get one of those hands on teachers that comes around and tries to force your shoulders or your face to relax. Sorry, but I'm not interested in being forced to relax...nor am I too into you touching my face after you just had your hands on some other person's sweaty back. Sick.

2- I have absolutely no good intentions when I'm working out.

This is apparently a yoga philosophy. They are forever telling us to have good intentions and let go of negative feelings or thoughts. Let's bring back that field imagery again. If I picture a beautiful field on a gorgeous day, do you know what pops into my head? Get tan and day drink. On the other hand, when I think of that beyotch a couple cubicles over who is always judging me when I order Chipotle delivery, a different message pops up: work out harder and get skinnier than her.

At this point I am not working out to achieve some sort of spiritualness or whatever. I'm pretty sure that God would still like me even if I was a fat@$$ considering that's kind of his job. I am working out because I want to have a hot body that will make other girls jealous so they stay the f*ck away from my boyfriend.

3- Hip Stretching

This is very yoga specific, but it has also been an issue for me ever since my ballerina days...NO FREAKING HIP STRETCHES. Having "open" hips does nothing for anyone except for maybe make it easier for you to cowgirl ride a fat guy.

Speaking of fatties at yoga class, I think this is the time to incorporate them. The fatties always looooove the hip stretches. Wanna know why? Its because they have all this extra blubber that pushes their joints apart and more weight on top to push them down. I'm not a doctor or anything but that sounds like it makes wayyyyy too much sense to not be true. I'm sorry this one REALLY makes me mad. They will be like "OMG Darcy this feels soooo good" while I'm in the front with my hip sockets on fire. Yeah. I bet you and Darcy love this pose. That's great. You know what else you should love? Running 4 miles a day...because sitting in a hip stretch isn't doing anything but improving your non-existant sex life.

4- Michael Scott's "That's what she said!" and me being too immature to control myself.

The other week my semi-cute yoga instructor was leaning over me with one hand on my hip and one hand on my inner thigh pushing me into a stretch (yes a HIP stretch. vomit). What does he say when he's inches away from my face and pretty much on top of me? "Let me know if this gets too intense for you and I'll stop." GOOD. LORD. How can I be expected to keep a straight face during that?

Not only that but yoga is full of descriptions like "now slowly thrust your hips upward" and "you should feel some pressure but if its painful don't go as deep". Combinations of this stuff can be enough to push someone like me over the edge. More than twice I have had to fake coughing fits and remove myself because I couldn't stop laughing.

After months of trying, I have decided that yoga just isn't for me. I'm sure a lot, if not all, of the stuff I have written in the above list doesn't bother most people...and that's fine. This blog isn't about you, its about me. Just be wary that plopping your fat@$$ into pigeon pose can be offensive to others.