I recently fell asleep on the toilet.
I’m not going to say where I was or how it happened, but I will tell you I was getting paid at the time and it wasn’t an accident. While I admit I am slightly ashamed of my inappropriate slumber, overall I feel pretty okay about it. After all, some people shower with kids at their jobs. I just fell asleep. Lena – 1, Penn State Staff – 0.
Still this has me slightly concerned. Not just about my evident narcolepsy but the fact that I am so un-stimulated at my current employment that I can disappear to the bathroom for ten minutes and nap without anyone in my three-person office noticing. Really makes one feel a sense of value in the American workforce.
Nevertheless, I have decided that I can’t let this happen again. If I’m going to disappear for ten minutes, unnoticed, I’d rather it be to do something really important like read US Weekly in the bookstore or talk to Butch, the new janitor who likes to wink at me while stroking his mop. Just kidding. I stroke it for him.
Nothing in the last paragraph is true.
Anyway. Today while driving home from work I started to think, which was a strange adjustment after five hours of not thinking at all, about all of the other people in the world who are as un-stimulated by their work as I am, and wondering how they handle it. It didn’t take a great deal of brain power to determine the answer to all of life’s inevitably dull moments.
Now, everyone knows that I have a special place in my heart reserved for people who Google ridiculous things, because more often than not they end up at my blog. I’m not sure how it happens. I’m not sure how the search phrase “sometimes I feel sad and then I remember I have a nice big round ass” brings someone to my blog. But it does and it makes me happy.
So when I got home I decided to review all of the Google search terms that brought people to my blog in the past month, and much to my irrational level of happiness, I discovered that many a lost soul has reached my blog through deep, heart-wrenching, questions entered in the Google search box, only to be lost in the abyss of porn and pictures of cats that make up 96% of the content of the Internet.
Because of this, I have decided that I will take this time to respond to only the most imperative of questions my blog was formerly unable to answer. Here we go.
1. How tall is Kris Jenner?
Kris Jenner is 5 feet of unfortunate fertility and 6 inches of erectile dysfunction.
2. What are the worst things for a man to say to woman?
Woman: “Do these jeans make me look fat?”
Man: “Not as much as the ones you wore yesterday.”
Man: “It’s a lucky man that gets her pregnant.”
Woman: “That’s our daughter you’re talking about!”
3. Do Italians like skinny or curvy women?
Italians aren’t selective. They love women. All women. In fact, Italian men love women so much that by default, one gay Italian man will have more heterosexual sex in one month than four straight Jewish men will in their entire lives. I didn’t just make this up.
But realistically, every woman will have sex with at least one Italian man in her life. If she doesn’t she might be a lesbian, but is probably just a Mormon. In which case she will have lots of unsatisfying arranged sex with a much older man she is possibly related to, enough times that she will decide she hates all men, including Italians.
PS: Sorry, Mormons.
4. Why is it that that other woman has big legs?
An evolutionary defense against short Italians. And all Mormons.
5. Why is my urine very orange?
There are only three reasons urine is ever orange.
A. You have liver disease. Good luck with that
B. You eat too many carrots. F*** you.
C. You live in New Jersey. All of the above
6. Who is that tattooed man drinking coffee and wearing a pea coat?
It’s difficult to say without seeing the man in question, but nine times out of ten, it’s Taylor Lautner pretending to be straight.
7. How can I tell if a girl is wearing a butt pad?
Her butt cheeks are disproportionate to her desperation.
8. Are meth addicts proud of their addiction?
9. Why do I curse so much?
Because socially forbidden words are more satisfying to use than academically impressive ones.
And you know once you’re old it will be really funny.
10. What is it like to live alone with a pet dog?
Depressing. No one else you ever live with will love you so much they will hold their pee for 9 hours until they see you. It’s all downhill from there.
That’s all for now.
The girl with tan shoes and pink shoelaces
Sometimes I’m sad. I’m at that delicate age where my peers spend their Friday nights either snorting coke off of strangers’ genitalia in club bathrooms or reading Dr. Suess to their children before tweeting about how great their lives are. Yes, it really IS that polarizing (no, it’s not)! Needless to say I fall somewhere in between. I spend my Fridays watching Netflix and crying.
So sometimes when I’m sad, I think about all of the women who came before me, snorting coke and delivering babies, sometimes at the same time. There have been relatives, friends, and of course celebrities, who have all incited jealousy within me for one reason or another. But what never fails to halt my desire for children is the constant presence of celebrity pregnancy headlines that feature on the front of Yahoo! News in front of the election results, above Afghanistan death tolls.
So I decided that tonight, on my 6th day of consistent blogging, I would focus on a topic near and dear to the hearts of every human on the planet: Pregnant American Media Whores. Those people who use pregnancy, ie. Human life, to increase their chances of trending on Twitter. Those people whose very existence is the greatest possible promotion of Abstinence.
These people who make me want to abort myself.
The Pregnant Man
I hate the pregnant man. Almost as much as I hate those “My Daddy Works Here” construction signs telling drivers to slow down. It doesn’t make me want to slow down. It makes me want to kill your daddy and teach you how to spell. Starting over.
I hate the pregnant man.
With a blind rage.
I know it’s silly to waste my emotional energy on something so frivolous to my actual life. I can’t help it. Every time Yahoo posts another irrelevant headline about him I want to do a Rosie the Riveter fist pump. It’s not that I have a problem with transgender people. I absolutely do not. I’m all for the dismantling and installing of sexual organs! I see no problem with it and frankly don’t understand why it is even a social issue.
That being said…
I hate the pregnant man.
Here is why. He was NOT a man! I realize that in a social, emotional, self-actualized way he was, all of which I’m cool with. But let’s not pretend this was some medical discovery allowing men to carry babies. He was an anatomical woman at the time that he gave birth to his three children. This is not an example of “I think therefore I am” but rather “I have a vagina therefore I menstruate.” So unless he has a womb in his testicles and gave birth through his urethra, he was NOT a pregnant man.
This entire situation really bothers me for two reasons.
- Giving birth is a strictly female privilege/curse, though my frequent nightmares of doing such a thing lead me to the latter. So somehow calling him a “pregnant man” just bothers me from a female perspective. Should we call him the “menstruating man” and give him headlines for that? No. But that is just as female and would be just as much of a phenomenon had he male genitalia. His biological gender deserves a little more credit than the media allows.
- He’s a media whore.
Kris Jenner is a completely wretched human being. I realize that blogging about her only contributes to her wretchedness as it increases her wingspan of media whoredom, but when talking about media whores and pregnancy, it is impossible to ignore this person.
Not only has she managed to mold her various spawn into worthless pallets for manufactured personalities, but she also thinks of herself as a celebrity too. Aside from the fact that instead of taking the route of shame when her daughter Kim Kardashian’s sex tape was released, she got her family a reality show, she completely abuses the parental role she plays in all of her children’s lives, pimping them out like the cheap hookers they look like on most red carpets, for her own gain.
Though I can’t quite explain why the Kardashians are famous, I am 100% sure it has nothing to do with 56 year old Kris and her botoxed neck. Which is why I find it especially disturbing that for her son Robert’s most recent birthday she blogged (what the f*** happened to Hallmark?) this picture:
Did I already use the word wretched?
Oh yeah, twice.
There’s not much left to say about Octomom. She treats her vagina like the Lincoln Tunnel and uses the lives of 14 innocent children to keep herself relevant on TMZ. With all of the recent stir about her $500 haircut and the hairdresser’s decision to contact authorities about the welfare of big O’s children, it’s safe to say that if nothing else, Nadya Suleman got what she wanted. Not many ladies still get attention for giving birth three years after doing so and although I’m sure the concern of losing her kids has crossed her mind, she knows she can always have another litter.
Frankly, I don’t know why anyone is worried about her living conditions. Sure a tiny rental in Los Angeles is a bit tight for 14 kids, their mother, and all of the voices in her head, but I’m sure it’s more comfortable than her uterus.
I feel sufficiently better about life knowing that whenever I get pregnant, I will not us my pregnancy as a media welcome mat. But what other despicable beings have I left out? I need to know so the next time a friend announces she is pregnant or I consider kidnapping a neighbor, I can simply Google and blog.
The girl who longs to trace Octomom’s stretch marks with a marker…..Just kidding!!!! I didn’t say that…..