Tuesday, November 27, 2012

No, Shave November

There's only one part of No Shave November that I agree with: NO.  Just no.  No, non, nein.

Now don't get me wrong, I like beards.  If you are a bearded, flannel-wearing man with an appreciation for horses, making fun of other people, and hiking then we may have some talking to do.  But the difference between people who have beards all year round versus people who have beards only during November is that the former looks respectable, while the latter looks like those boys in middle school that have awkward patches but haven't been told to shave yet.  You know who you are.

I'd like to slap the person that came up with this.  Did you know that the unemployment rate spikes every November?  It does, and it's because all the men in the job market look like they've taken up residence in a rain gutter.  

Now like I said, I'm not anti-beard by any means.  If you haven't lost your "baby fat" and look like you're still sixteen then by all means, sport a little scruff.  But No Shave November plants false ideas in the minds of boys and men everywhere that they would look good with facial hair.  ALERT THE MEDIA, you probably don't look good with a chinstrap, especially because yours grows in patchy, and also because no one looks good with a chinstrap.

What I hate the most about No Shave November is the attitude of its participants.  Once these fellows get it in their head that they're going to try their luck at the world of beards (and by try their luck I mean "become too lazy to shave"), there's no stopping them.  It's like they see it as their duty to humanity to become an icon of manliness.  In reality, they look like this:

Most of these No Shave participants have no idea about the charitable roots (pun intended) this movement grew out of.  Movember (moustache + November) is a month-long event designed to raise awareness (and, not to mention, money) for prostate cancer.  For how many of you is this the reason behind your beard?  I'm guessing not a lot, because Movember seems to have morphed into Brovember, a month-long event designed to act like a douche because you have a five o'clock shadow.  It's going too far, I say!  There are whole websites and blogs about this pheNOmenon.  People live tweet the progress of their beards!  

Luckily though, November is one of those months with only 30 days, and I can see the light at the end of this hairy, hairy tunnel.

Friday, November 23, 2012

Instagram: #NoFilter

Everyone needs a creative outlet.  It's part of our innate being, a creative fiber woven into us, right between the reproductive fiber and needing-food fiber.  What's that?  You don't think cavewomen sat around the fire exchanging marinade recipes or DIY bearskin loincloth instructions as they gnawed on saber tooth tiger leg?  Well then you probably think the world was created in seven days and Santa Claus is more real than global warming.  Anyway, there's a few things that biddies do to keep themselves feeling creative and inspired.  By "a few" I mean two, and since one of them is Pinterest, which I've already discussed, today I'm going to talk about Instagram.

Instagram is one of those new social media outlet things, exclusively designed to share photos.  Like many other social media outlets you have stalkers (excuse me, followers), and stalk others.  Here's how you do it: be a biddie, take a picture, pick a filter, and instantaneously upload your picture for the whole world to see.  Remember film cameras?  No?  Me neither.  Anyway, there are really only seven pictures that ever go up on Instagram.

Pictures of Food
Not just any food.  It's either a mediocre looking dinner they just cooked, a decadent cheesecake dessert, or a disturbing amount of fast food at 2 a.m.  Exceptions are for barrels of apples at the farmer's market and that's it.  Captions usually include #nomnomnom or a statement about how fat they are, which I am invariably tempted to reply with "eat a salad then."

Rainy sky with a puddle on the street, a countryside in the afternoon, or a sunset with the caption #nofilter (this clarifies that the sunset is beautiful because of her photography skills, not some cheap digital enhancement or the automatic aperture on her iPhone).

These are pictures that pertain to whatever season is occurring, and also includes national holidays and events.  During the fall it's all about pictures of your pumpkin spice latte and leaves in the background, the summer it's all about the pair of shorts you painted to look like the American flag.  Be prepared for a lot of Christmas decorations coming up.

Throwback Thursday
Every Thursday, you're supposed to post a picture from your past.  Usually these are pictures that were taken two weeks ago, or else when you were still at that age when you were cute (a narrow window between two and six).  For my followers' disgust I like to post pictures of myself in middle school because that was just heinous.

Pet Pictures
Literally today I just wished I had a pet for the sole reason of posting close-ups of its face on Instagram.  Captions are usually something "witty" about how Dog is the only snuggle buddy I need.  I've also found a somewhat scientific correlation between how many pictures of your cat you post and how single you are.

Significant Others
But if you're not single, it's your right to let the world know and post eight pictures of you and your boyf at a winery or on your back porch.  <3s required.

Friend Pics
These come in a variety of packages: sometimes it is a collage of all your friend groups with a caption talking about how much you love all the people in your life, sometimes it is a mirror pic of you and your "bestie since freshman year" at a party, sometimes it is of all your betches lined up in formation with perfect leg pops and skinny arms.  This category also includes screen shots of text conversations you and your friend had that are in no way funny to the public but illustrates how close the two of you are.  Also, I'm pretty sure the only reason biddies do Color Runs is so they can Instagram pictures of themselves afterward.

I love Instagram, because I like pictures and reading is hard and Twitter is like definitely the new Facebook now.  But,  I do think it's slightly ironic that a tool that is supposed to generate and facilitate creativity has got all of our pictures looking the same...

Thursday, November 15, 2012

Stuff My Mom Says

There's few women I admire more than Mama from Berenstain Bears and Amelia Earhart, but my mom definitely takes the cake.  She's always supportive, a wonderful cook, not to mention she raised my three tyrannical brothers and is responsible for turning me into the upstanding young lady I am today.  (My dad is responsible for my love of bathroom humor and knock-knock jokes...daddy issues, I guess.)  Well, my mom grew up in Richmond, and if you know anything about Richmond you know it's a city that is still fighting the Civil War, and by that I mean it's real southern, y'all.  I'm not positive but I think this accounts for some of her more colorful catchphrases.  Here are a few of my personal favorites...

"Bless your little heart."  This is what my mom says after she says something offensive.  Back when I had really bad acne, she used to look at me this heartbreakingly sympathetic look and say "Your poor, poor face.  I hope you don't have scars.  Bless your little heart."  Despite the huge blow to my self-esteem and the hour of angsty sobbing this afforded, somehow it made it a little bit better since my heart was, after all, being blessed.

Noun + ies.  The number of times my mom reminds me to put on my "glovies" when I go out in the snow (still happens...I don't live at home anymore) or asked if I would like to take a "baggie" of cookies with me on the road...  She used to sing us this song when we were going to sleep that called us "buggy-wuggy-wugs."  She definitely made it up, and we loved it.

"Going to hell in a handbasket."  WHAT?  Just what.  What could that possibly mean.  Is it good or bad?  Hell is off-putting but surely handbaskets don't connote anything threatening?  Then again, what the hell is a handbasket?

"You scared the living daylights out of me!"  I wonder if it hurts when that happens...

"Can you call me...I have a question for you."  This is the only voicemail my mother ever leaves, I think because she knows it can mean anything she wants it to.  It could be something trivial, like where I left her glovies, or it could mean you are in big freaking trouble  Someone could have died, or she might have just forgotten if you were going to be home for dinner.  Either way, I have a heart attack every time I get one of these.

"If you can fog a mirror you can get into name of whatever college Virginia Tech is playing in football that week."  Talk about a major burn.  (It means you don't have to be that smart to go there.)

"Quit queering off!"  Now, don't get the wrong idea about this one.  I know it sounds overtly offensive, but my mom is definitely not a homophobe.  In fact, I'm pretty sure she's way for the gays.  She thinks they're cute, and like any other biddie likes to have them as friends so she can gossip with them.  But this is what she used to tell my brothers (who are, in her defense, pretty queer) to get them to stop horseplaying.  I think you know what I mean by horseplay.  If you don't...I mean wrestling and starting fires in our basement.

"If I had a brain I'd be dangerous."  This is for when she forgets to do something, like send me a Flag Day card or buy chocolates at the grocery store to fill up the candy jars that are literally in every room of our house.

As I write all of these thing, I realize that I say ALL OF THEM.  It really is true...I'm turning into my mother.  I'm not complaining.

Friday, November 9, 2012

Annoying People Friday: Girls at Football Games

We've all seen them.  Sometimes they're on the internet shrouded in lies, sometimes they are in real life, disguised yet unmistakable.  No, not sasquatches, girls who pretend to like football.

Which is pretty much every girl ever.  Unless you grew up with 15 brothers or you are the little girl in Remember the Titans then you do not like football.  If you say you do, you are lying.  Oh, what's that?  You disagree?  Let me tell you what you really like, which is either a) tailgating (read: mimosas and hot dogs) or b) the feeling that some guy is attracted to you because of your fake allegiance to a team your dad loves but you can't name three players on.  There's nothing wrong with that, but neither of those things are football.

BTW, did you guys know this is Hayden Panetierre?  I did not.
Yet, biddies still post statuses about game day wooooooo, put on their most spirited sundresses and bows and head to the stadium to sit through either half or three quarters of a game.  (How long they stay is directly correlated to how many mimosas were consumed on the way in to the game.)  They might clap a few times or yell "go defense" as the offense converts on a third down.  But here is mostly what they do.

They take pictures of themselves.  Not one, but 30, because inevitably it was someone's bad side or the wind was blowing or in reality they're just ugly.  These photos are promptly Instagrammed with some silly-ass filter reminiscent of when Piknik was popular then uploaded to the Internet so everyone can see how much they love football.  If you see this, it's best to try and discreetly photobomb as many as possible, such as a double chin with drool or picking your nose.

This girl knows.
Then they start to get the drunchies.  If you are a fan in the vicinity of these girls, this is both a nightmare and a dream come true.  It's a nightmare because you have to listen to them talk about how they're hungry for literally a quarter of the game, but the result is magical.  First they have to discuss how much they already ate and how they shouldn't be hungry but they are, so weird, and then they have to decide what they all want to eat, which would be awesome if they were zombies because then they could just eat each other's brains.  I digress.  Anyway after that intense deliberation they go on a manic search for cheese-stuffed soft pretzels with extra salt or Waffle House.  

Either way, they're not coming back.  On your way out you may encounter one of these scenarios:
  1. One of the girls is getting arrested (hilarious, and unfortunate, yet still hilarious),
  2. One of the girls is throwing up in the bathroom (gross, and unfortunate),
  3. One of the girls is crying because she lost her phone/her friend ditched her/her crush didn't save her a seat, or
  4. They're back in the parking lot in full tailgating mode, ready to drink everyone else's beer and eat everyone else's cheese puffs.
I guess my point is that if you're a girl, it's much more respectable to just be straight up.  Don't waste everybody's time pretending to know things that you don't.  You'll enjoy yourself more, and so will everyone else because they won't have to explain that a tight end is NOT how number 88's pants fit.  

Saturday, November 3, 2012

Take a Walk on the Wild Side

I, like my father, and my father's father, and my father's father's father, am a creature of a habit.  I live by a set routine, and my sense of adventure is limited to the teacup ride at the fair that comes to the mall parking lot twice a year.  I've made the same amount of coffee with the same flavor of creamer every day for three years, and if I don't get my usual elliptical at the gym I won't work out.  Pretty much the only thing that changes in my life are my moods and the type of shampoo I buy because I like to switch that up (you know, keep my hair follicles on their...roots).  A lot of people complain that your life gets boring when you get older, but I don't have to worry about this.  I know what I'm going to be like when I'm older: exactly the same as I am now.  Every once in awhile, though, I take a walk on the wild side...

For example, sometimes I sleep on the other side of the bed.

Once I got into Costco without a membership card.

I jaywalk on occasion, but you can bet I scream my head off as I run flailing across the [totally empty] street.

I don't repeat after I lather and rinse, because I strongly believe once was enough.  Don't exploit me, Tresemme.

Sometimes I pay for dates (okay, that one's not true...but I thought about it one time).

One time I drove through a stop light because I thought it was a stop sign.

I don't always wait 30 minutes after eating before swimming, and I rarely wait after I put on sunscreen, which results in painful stinging of the eyes for, ironically, 30 minutes.

My parents wouldn't let me watch Spice World when I was younger but one time I did at a sleepover.

I tell my eye doctor I use Renu contact solution, but I actually use the Walmart brand.

Speaking of the eye doctor, when I go in for exams I look at the letter sheet on the wall real quick before I sit down and memorize the bottom row.  He thinks my eye sight is getting better, sucker.

Usually I send my rent in the day it's due, but I always put the date as day before so it looks like the postal system was late, not me.  I don't think my landlord buys it, but he's pretty chill.

Some days I drink more than eight glasses of water.

I shaved my legs for the first time without telling my mom, then I got scared so I let my hair grow back out.

I told the hostess at Fuddrucker's that my name was Bon Qui Qui.  It's not.

Oh, and one time I committed a hit and run.

Just kidding.

Or am I.