Category Archives: beards

“Give Me a Wink and an Abused Orphan”: A Recollection of Work Nights and Nightmares

I can’t write standing up. I’ve been trying for about 20 minutes now and it’s just not happening. I know what you must be thinking:

“Stupid bitch…”

Ok, well not that. I meant this:

I have no idea why I put this in a scroll…

 

I knew that was in there somewhere!

But despite your cruel thoughts I insist that sitting down is not an option. I am currently at the hotel, where I work front desk part time. While I do enjoy this job, I have to say I have never been winked at so many times in my life. I’m half inclined to ask our manager if there is something going on with the ventilation system, as there seems to be an abhorrent amount of eye twitching going down in this joint.

p.i.m.p

I’m all like, ““What is this? A casting call for “Tour Ettes on a Budget?”

And he’s all like, “That’s not a movie, yo.”

And I’m all like, “Oh yeah.”

I’m sorry.

That wasn’t funny.

Sigh.

Anyway. I’ve determined all of these sexually aggressive ocular spasms cannot possibly be related to air flow because that really wouldn’t explain all the times I’ve been asked if I could perform private massage services…

…or if I wanted to see the inside of a king suite

…or if I’d like to try some all-natural cocoa dusted almonds

Word must’ve gotten around that I’m a sucker for chocolate nuts.  Just a regular Wednesday.

Back to my point.

I cannot sit down because the computers are way too attached to the desk (like, totes insecure!) plus I have no chair. So yeah. I can’t sit down, so I can’t write. Not really. I mean, I can compose really poorly developed Tourettes jokes and hope you don’t unsubscribe from this blog. But that’s about it.

So in lieu of writing some super kick ass blog entry I know deep down I am capable of despite what I generally publish, I’m just going to tell you about a nightmare I had last night. Because you are reading this and by default you have to pretend to care.

SO the nightmare, or as I like to call it “Le Dream Noir” (that’s not real French), was deeply disturbing and some kind of omen I think. Here’s what went down:

I was sitting in an all-white room on a chair with a mirror in front of me. Pretty normal right? WRONG! I was wearing some sort of non-descript frock and…

my hair…

was…

cut off!!!!

The torment could have ended there and it still would have been one of the worst fictional moments of my life.  My hair is more important to me than my kidneys, so the thought of having it all choppy and gross like some abused orphan was not cool.

Google search: Orphans with bad hair

 

But then something much worse happened. I was looking closely at my face…

And my chin…

Was growing…

A beard!!!

And not a few unsightly hairs, but a full on, Spencer Pratt beard. I kept trying to yank out the beard in tufts of stubble but as soon as I would it would grow back, like Tim Allen in the Santa Clause or any Italian woman.

Soooooo, yeah. That was pretty much it. My hair chopped off and a beard growing on my face. I’ve been trying to look back and figure out what caused these cataclysmic events in my psyche and I can trace it back to one thing. This Facebook conversation with my friend, Jason:

 

I feel like my subconscious is trying to tell me something along the lines of “chillax you psychopath, beards do not make the man and emasculating men whenever you have the opportunity does not make you any more feminine!!!!!!” Or maybe I just spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about beards and this is what happens. Or maybe I feel hypocritical since, much to my dismay, very few of the men that I date ever have beards. Whatever the reason, I do think this conversation was a direct lead into that nightmare. Mystery solved. Or something.

So yeah.

I’m home now, finishing this blog entry, feeling like a fraud. Just a regular Thursday.

Love,

The girl who has a soft spot for the centipede family residing in her bathroom

Bearding Out All Over the Place: A One Woman Effort For Beard Conservation

“If it weren’t for beards I’d probably be a lesbian.”                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           -Lena aka the girl with the blog (November 2011)

Beards. What is there to say about beards that has not already been said by me in a previous blog entry? Plenty. So today I am devoting the English language and my blogging efforts to beards. Why? Because I’m bored, unemployed, and considering taking testosterone injections just to have my own to play with. Join me on a journey of love, lust, and rabid devotion to the beard; the single characteristic responsible for my checkered past of dating Republicans.

In order to prepare you, dear readers, for the stimulating voyage of beard worship, I am going to share a few of my own, creative writings about beards, featured in my upcoming self-published literary debut “Strip down, you’re rocking a beard,” available now in my imagination.

I will start with two Insightful Acronyms Marking Profound Appreciation Toward Helping Erotic Traits Indefinitely Continue (IAMPATHETIC)

I cannot hide my love for Ryan Gosling or his beard

Basic

Essential

Attributes

Rugged

Dudes

Share

Beastly

Erotic

Armor

Rousing

Dames’

Seduction

Right, right? Not even a little creepy that I wrote these…eh hem.

Just the type to score a date with me

I shall continue now with two traditional Haikus:

Whiskers in the Wind

Scratchy facial pubes

Bushy sexy jawlines please

Destroy all razors now

I’m in Stubble

Unemployed losers

Boring dates with nice goatees

Poor romantic choices

Now that I have sufficiently roused your shared passion of beards and frightened you to your core, I shall move on. Let’s take a look at:

Famously, Fabulous Beards Throughout History:

Early man rocking a beard

No one rocked a beard better than humanity’s common perception of early man. With that ravenous, facial frock, it’s no wonder cavemen and women hardly kept their clothes on.

Jesus

Jesus didn’t ‘eff around when it came to his beard. His constant access to fruity alcohol beverages wasn’t the only reason he was known as the LL Cool J of Nazarath.

(Ladies Love Cool Jesus, suckers!)

Abraham Lincoln

It wasn’t just his tall frame and “come hither” stare that drove the 1860 Electoral delegates into a passionate frenzy. It is a little known fact that after Abe’s 1865 assassination, Congress organized two memorial services in his honor; one for him, one for the beard.

George Harrison

Often referred to as”the quiet Beatle” George Harrison and his beard are the main reason I refer to him as “the sexiest Beatle.” I am so into his “Concert of Bangladesh” look, I found myself *gasp* waiting for Bob Dylan’s part to end, just to indulge on more of Georgie boy’s luscious facial locks. Myyyy Sweeeeet Lord!

Tom Hanks as Forest Gump

Tom Hanks knows how to sport a beard. He does a lot, frequently when vying for an Oscar. All I can say is this: Forest was a mentally challenged running enthusiast who scored a slutty chick like Jenny. One might question, how he could pull off such a feat? Exhibit A: Bearding out all over the place. And then we have Cast Away. Don’t know the character’s name, don’t care. What I do care about is his ability to manifest a loving relationship with an inanimate object. That takes a lot of finesse. A lot of skill. You know what else? A lot of beard.

 

 

Hope for a Bearded Future

As you can see, beards, both modest and unruly, have been a constant feature sexyifying men since the beginning of time. But as a young woman in 2011, I fear for the future of beards. With the constant feminizing of men, with chest waxing, mani-pedi specials, and bathing, I fear that men will rapidly decrease their beard harboring.  Frankly I don’t know if I want to bring my children into a world of baby-faced men, and if I can’t find an impressive enough beard, I probably won’t have the opportunity to!

So as a last stitch effort to promote the importance of beards, I ask all of you readers, who support my unhealthy obsession, to stand up now. If we are going to put an end to the fading popularity of the beard, everyone needs to chip in. Start by sharing this blog post with all of the non-believers of the world, promoting the conservation of the beard. If you know beardless men, particularly young ones in their 20’s, belittle their bare-face until they cry, followed by mockery of their tears and the reassurance that only growing a beard can secure their manhood once again. Do your part. I will do mine. And we can ring in 2012 with hairy faces and happy hearts.

Love,

The girl in need of psychiatric evaluation

Reason #49 why I will always be alone: No man in his 20’s can satisfy my facial hair needs

So apparently, Panera Bread attracts a large population of well-bearded men. All but one of the five men in my line of sight have beautiful, manly, tuggable beards that I want to play with until the wee hours of dawn.

Sitting on a laptop, hoping no one has noticed that I am drinking a coffee from somewhere else and never actually made a PB purchase, I can’t help but wonder why I am always being confronted by these sightings of manly beards that will never be mine to enjoy. I also have to wonder why all of these men are always at a minimum of ten years older than me, and when I will see a man in my dating age bracket that will satisfy my facial hair needs.

Probably never.

This is the #49 reason I will always be alone.

I’m pretty sure #48 has something to do with the fact that I am a 22 year old woman, picking my gingerbread man scab in the corner of a food service location.

Bring on the cats.

F*** that. I want an iguana.

Love,

The girl with a translucent farmer’s tan

Six Characteristics of My Future Ex-Husband

At 22 years old with one ex husband and several appalling attempts at romance under my love handles, I have decided my pursuits for happiness need to be better focused. For that reason I have concocted a list of the six characteristics necessary in my next semi-serious, emotionally sadistic relationship.

Because I am incapable of committing to anything other than my credit union, I think it wise to look at this list not so much as a guide to eternal happiness, but as a guide to the brief happiness I will experience when I foolishly divulge in a relationship that will most definitely end up in the shitter.

I digress. Here we go.

 1. Crazy beard – There are two physical characteristics that make me want to give up wearing underwear entirely: nice eyes and a wild, unruly beard. Since my preference in male eye color changes more often than my love/hate relationship with Anne Hathaway, I am going to count my fetish for excessive facial hair as my one physical requirement. Some (lesbian) women hate facial hair of any kind. I however am a facial hair enthusiast. I am not happy unless a man has an unmanageable, unkempt, mountain man, beard. Beards are sexy in a “I’m too busy hunting grizzlies and chopping firewood to shave my chiseled jaw” kind of way. I want it. I need it.

Moving on.

2. He needs to have his priorities straight. A sample list should look something like this:

1. Bob Dylan

2. Me

3. Gas station cappuccinos

My next miserably, drawn out relationship should begin with our mutual obsession with Bob Dylan and fulfilling our sick need to bring him up at least seven times a day. I want him to cancel plans with me because he is going to the same Bob Dylan show he didn’t realize I already had tickets for. I want him to use Bob Dylan lyrics in conversation more often than his own thoughts, because if he’s truly a Bob Dylan fan, he knows that no matter what he wants to say, Bob Dylan has said it better.

After Bob Dylan I am flexible.

J/k. Obviously myself and caffeinated beverages need to come before his family, friends, and dignity.

 3. A varied vocabulary: I want him to use words like “vestibule,” “sanctimonious” and “pronk” in daily conversation, and preferably in the same sentence.

Example. The Neo Nazi prayer group that met in the dusty cobweb strewn    vestibule inspired sanctimonious feelings in the pronks and dregs in attendance.

Bam. Schooled. Just like that.

 4. A wide collection of plaid shirts – I’m not sure where the current trends of graphic tees and argile sweater vests came from or why anyone finds it appealing, but I do know one thing for sure. Nothing gets my non-steely thighs to open faster than a guy in plaid. Plaid is hot. A guy in plaid can hike for four days without a shower and still look delicious.  Plaid is sexy. Plaid will get you laid by this chick, delusional about the powers of patterned clothing.

5. The ability to identify countries like Cameroon and Tajikistan on a map:

Why? Because I can’t and he needs to bring something to the relationship.

Hahahahhaha, J/K, I can. I’m very familiar with South American geography.

6. An appreciation for my translucent skin tone, bloated physique and misusage of the word “intense”:

I am a pasty, borderline albino, with a tendency to misuse words that begin with vowels. My permanent water retention, best depicted in my pants size, needs to be cherished and appreciated. I need a Cappuccino-drinking, plaid-wearing, well-spoken, Bob Dylan fan, with an excellent sense of direction and a disorderly beard, who is attracted to the type of girl that could live six weeks off of nothing but her own body fat and her uncanny ability to entertain herself.

So…yeah. There you have it.

If any of you reading know of a man that meets these requirements, please let him know that I am single and anxious to enter into a parasitic romance that will no doubt result in a costly divorce and a mutual, life-long loathing for one another and all members of the opposite gender.

Love,

The girl with high expectations and overgrown eyebrows.