Worst Beards of the World Series

Jon Hamm

Mike Napoli & Dustin Pedroia

Jonny Gomes

Please, just shave, everyone. 

Lady Lair vs. Man Cave = Mega Lamesauce

You know what’s lame?  Boudoirs.  They sound ridiculously cool.  And classy.  And magical.  And like a place you really want to be.  All in all, a desirable place of envy and awesome-tude. 

But, let’s take a moment.  I recently (during a stint of watching What Women Want on TV) looked up* the word “boudoir” after Helen Hunt raved about hers.  The results pissed me off.  A lot.

According to the ever credible Wiki, “boudoir” comes from the French verb, bouder, literally meaning “to sulk” or “to swell or protrude the lip.”   Therefore, a boudoir is a sitting room or dressing room for the ladies… to brood.  Because, ya know, those are the only things women do: dress, sit, and sulk…primarily with their lips protruded like a bratty 11-year-old.  Duh.

Basically, this makes me think of a place to retreat to during the death-pains of my period.  In other words, the worst time ever.  

Yes, how did you know?!?!  Please, please give me a room solely devoted to dealing with my feminine wild out of control emotions and sob-fests. 

Sounds like an absolute blast. 

On the other hand, Man caves, or Cabinets as they were once known, are for lack of a better description, the best.

Also according to Wiki, these library-like havens were dedicated to study and intelligence and intrigue and total rad-ness.  (Somewhere where you could wear a smoking jacket and solve the world’s problems with prowess and peace-and-fucking-quiet…unless you want to rock out and that’s fucking cool there, too).  


Jealous?  Hell yes, I am.  Men get Man Caves where they can indulge in their interests and hobbies while women get a place where they can go cry?  Fuck that.  My Lady Lair is gonna have an old school Ms. Packman and pinball machine.

 ::Drops tampon::  Allison OUT.

* Nerd alert.

Generation of Assholes: An Ode to Mainstream Society

What’s with everyone being an asshole these days?  Patience seems to have flown out the window along with common courtesy.  Politeness.  This used to be a thing.  Nay, a common thing.

I can’t say for sure to what this can attributed, but I have an idea:  Smart phones—our mobile technology driven society.  I have an ongoing love affair with my iPhone don’t get me wrong.  It’s like crack.  I am on it all the time and carry it with me everywhere.  Not that I didn’t carry my old dumb phone everywhere.  Wait, I occasionally didn’t.  And it didn’t matter

Having a tiny computer in my hand at all times is phenomenal…and a menace.  One of my greatest skills is getting lost.  I’m like a man who won’t ask for directions, but infinitely worse—I will call you at one AM crying because I’m lost in the ghetto unsure of how I got there, which direction I’m going or how to escape (and with the added pressure of having the “Empty” fuel warning light on for the last 20 miles.  Sorry Mom…).

It’s best for everyone that I have Google Maps at my disposal constantly. 

Also, never having to plan ahead is a spectacularly freeing sensation.   I can be anywhere and not know where I’m going next, or the address of the store I want to visit and it doesn’t matter.  My phone will tell me in a matter of seconds.  This mindset, however, also breeds massive irresponsibility and lack of accountability with and to everyone.  I’m not sure this is best for the advancement of society.  Of course it’s convenient and wonderful and frankly, yes, amazing.  We didn’t have the world at our fingertips a few years ago.

It’s not that I don’t praise technology.  Technology, by definition, is bomb.  It’s the culture I’m worried about; the human-to-human contact that seems to be dwindling at a steady and rapid rate.

Today I was in line at a coffee shop.  I got pushed out of the way three times in three minutes by people scooting past me without saying “Excuse me” or even looking me in the eye to let me know they were so rudely going to plow through me.  It was then I realized this was normal to them.  People are so much in this bubble of not interacting with humans that they’ve become completely oblivious to life around them.  Or at least ENJOYING life around them—making life BETTER around them. 

That’s what politeness is—not being a fucking dick for the betterment of human society.  Having common courtesy brings people together.  It makes us realize that we don’t need to sweat the small stuff and that other people actually have souls.  Plus, doesn’t recognizing other people’s existence just make you happy?  You feel alive, wanted, understood.  That is what people need on a daily basis—reinforcement that they are alive.

I’d go as far as to say it’s our basic human right to feel alive.  Camaraderie: know it, use it, love it.

People these days think it’s weird to strike up a conversation with someone you don’t know.  And if they don’t think it’s weird, they most certainly don’t think it’s commonplace.  IT IS WERID THAT YOU THINK THIS IS WEIRD.

I plead to my peers (::cringe:: I hate this word, but it applies here. Be happy I didn’t say ‘peer group’) to pay attention.  I’m not saying don’t use your iPhone.  Just, please.  Stop being an asshole.  

…And start becoming an interesting person within the context of the place where you physically are, at the time you are there.

I thank you.

The Best Conversation I’ve Ever Had

Meghan: yo daaaaawg
11:06 AM something hilarious is happening right next to me right now
 me: WHAT
11:07 AM Meghan: haha
  there are these two girls who i’m guessing don’t really know each other
 me: WHAT.
 Meghan: but are somehow, at this coffee shot right now, realizing that they are dating the same dude
 Meghan: “I think we should both text him right now”
11:08 AM Meghan: uh, ok
 Meghan: maybe just end it
 Meghan: they are both sleepign with him currently
 Meghan: one is crying now
 Meghan: supposedly
 me: OMG
 Meghan: hahaha
 Meghan: you have no idea
 me: OMG
 Meghan: so many tears
 Meghan: he texted one girl “you’re the best girlfriend ever. i want you to meet my family over spring break”
 Meghan: uh oh, sharing texts now
11:09 AM i have no clue
  it just suddenly happened
 me: OMG
  they should BOTH dump him
  he’s a scumbag
 Meghan: uh oh, CALLING HIM NOW
 me: OMG
 Meghan: “i just want you to know that i’m sitting in Buzz Cafe and Olivia is sitting right next to me”
 me: OMG
 Meghan: “you guys hung out the day before yesterday”
11:10 AM "you promised you would not hurt me. you promised me you would not do this to me:
 me: OMG
 Meghan: I’m supposed to be writing a paper, but this is too amazing to miss
 Meghan: i feel bad for laughing at them
 Meghan: it really is
11:11 AM Meghan: thats what i’m saying
  real life. real time. RIGHT NOW
  he promised both of them separately that he had broken up with the other
  big bag of LIES
11:12 AM Names: Hannah (blonde crying girl) Olivia (stoic brunette) Carlos (giant asshole)
  Olivia is telling Hannah that he’s a scumbag and she needs to end it
11:13 AM Olivia is not upset in the same way Hannah is upset
  ok, that’s your soap opera drama for today
  i’m back to writing now
11:14 AM oh dear, a random girl now came over to give crying girl a hug
  i don’t think she knows her
 me: OMG
 Meghan: she also seems to be russian
 me: Which one was crying?
 Meghan: or of some eastern european decent
  hannah, blond one
 me: which one isn’t that upset? the one who’s been dating him longer?
 Meghan: can’t tell that many details
 me: man
  this is so incredible
 Meghan: i know

7 minutes
11:22 AM me: omg
  i can’t believe this just hapened in front of you
11:23 AM Meghan: its awesome
  it was the perfect distraction
  so terrible, but i need to write another 3-4 pages still.
  how’s your day?
 me: HAHA
  it’s arlight
  this has made it like OMG so awesome though
11:24 AM Meghan: here’s something more awesome: I think they are becoming friends
 Meghan: bonding over the incredible douchery of this dude
 Meghan: there is a lot of crying though
  so much crying
 Meghan: yeah he is
 me: Carlos: dirtbag extreme.
 Meghan: indeeeeeed
11:25 AM me: Hi my name’s Carlos. I’m the man of your nightmares
  Carlos, here. I’ll fuck your shit uuuuup
  But you might make a friend out of it.
11:26 AM So really, am I THAT bad of a guy?
 Meghan: haha
 Meghan: now carlos is texting the brunette
 me: OMG NO
 Meghan: “That was a bitch move”
 Meghan: and then some stuff i couldn’t hear
11:27 AM me: oh no he DIDN’T
 Meghan: cause he’s definitely the one who should be upset…
 me: Such a fucking asshole
 Meghan: they are now going through texts
 me: Oh my god
 Meghan: alright, i gotta go to class
  sadly i won’t see how this ends
 me: NO
 Meghan: but i’ll talk to you ater
 me: NO
 Meghan: haha
 Meghan: YES YOU DO
11:28 AM but not only for this ridiculous
 me: SEE meg, things happen in eugene
 Meghan: apparently
 me: HA
 Meghan: alright man, i’m off to class
 me: have fun
  go find carlos, go on a date

Be Still My Beating Heart

Thank God the Rapture didn’t happen…because I really wanted to attend the Renaissance Faire on the Sunday following.  Although, a zombie-apocalypse might make the Faire more realistic (I imagine that everyone in medieval times was caked in dirt and possibly blood and/or other bodily fluids at all times).

I’d never been to any renaissance faire prior to this one, but I’d secretly always wanted to go.  Scratch that, not even secretly.  However, I think waiting until now may have been fate.  Had I gone earlier, I wouldn’t have done it right.  Before now, I may not have dressed up.  Or at least not well.  ”Faire,” as it’s known to the regulars, is one of those things where you go big, or go home.  Like Vegas.  Or shoe shopping.

For reasons completely unknown to the modern woman, the corset has gone out of style.*  Honestly though, who isn’t on board with the greatest pushup bra ever made that also gives you better posture and a smaller waist?  Genius.  They’re surprisingly comfortable as well—no jabbing underwire.  Unless you’re going for a run, in which case, I would recommend a garment that promotes breathing.

But, breathing at the Renaissance Faire is overrated.  As long as you can walk, look fabulous, and are able drink a beer, you’re golden.  In fact, you’re winning RenFaire (yeah, I’m all down with the lingo. Jealous?). 

A friend of mine invited me to go, as I expressed frighteningly intense enthusiasm when she mentioned she had gone to “Faire” for about a decade. Then she offered me something that made me damn near shit my pants—her friend is a costume designer and would let me borrow something from her collection. DONE. It was on. Like a thong.****

As you enter the gates into the Renaissance Faire (and yes, there are literally gates), it is unclear whether the giant smile across your face is from giddiness or sheer confusion. 

You ask yourself, “Why is this magical lady telling me about her basket of several different types of eggs?…Wait, I don’t care, whatever is happening right now is incredible.” 

Faire, if you’ve never been, looks basically like the Robin Hood themed portion of Six Flags (minus the rides) except it’s everywhere.  And cool.** 

This amalgamation of trinket and jewelry selling, musical acts, beer drinking, enactments with the queen,*** archery, swings, beer drinking, sword fights, turkey leg eating, parades, and beer drinking attracts an amazingly diverse group of people.

There are your loners, seasoned regulars, musicians with no reservations about drunkenly showing their private parts during a rowdy drinking song, vendors, crafties, groups of good-looking young people who were clearly the late bloomers in high school who have now blossomed, but in the way of medieval rebirthing beauty with some residual oddball-ness, furries, sluts, those with a complete lack of fashion sense, families, those people who got dragged there by a curious friend, the non-dressed up, men who like to wield swords, men who wield large (cough::stuffed::cough) what can only be described as ‘crotch-pockets’. 

But they all come together for one glorious need—to be part of a Renaissance. To be vulgar, rude, obnoxious, drink heavily, sing, dress like a fairy tale character, and to experience the feeling of not being judged by anyone and just love everything.

Like a family reunion—but fun and jovial. 



*CUT TO all of the hippies rolling their eyes.

**Yes, cool.  Or awesome.  Either is fine.

***Yes, there is a Faire queen.  Someone gave her a butter sculpture. Yes, a sculpture made out of butter. It was AMAZING.

****No, that is not an actual saying. What of it?

That Christmas Feeling…is…self medication?

Was Bing Crosby on acid or just a lush during his Christmas album recording?

This is a legitimate question if you listen closely to Bing Crosby’s That Christmas Feeling album (as well you should because it is a Christmas staple!  What is wrong with you?).

EXHIBIT A)  Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer.

Rudolph has a cameo. Rudolph SINGS. ABOUT HIMSELF. It’s creepy and high pitched. It’s quite possibly one of the creepiest voices I’ve ever heard. (I like to believe the voice is Bing’s.)

At the end of the song when Bing names off “On Dasher, on Dancer…” and so forth, he ends it with “on Donner, on SOMETHIN’.”  He downright forgets Blitzen’s name.  ”On somethin’” is right. Ludicrous.

EXHIBIT B)  He has a song entitled, “Is Christmas Only A Tree?”.  This sounds like drunken-philosophical talk, Bing…or perhaps stoned philosophical talk.  Either way, it’s flat out the lamest topic ever.   

EXHIBIT C)  O Fir Tree Dark.

I feel as though I’m walking through a psychedelic forest of madness and unstoppable melancholy. 

EXHIBIT D)  The album starts off light and fun, but slowly melts into a dark, depressing almost demonic shell of a holiday album (much like a trip gone awry or a long night o’ drinkin’?). 

Tales From a Candy Cane Coma

I harbor an intense love for Folgers Coffee commercials.  It’s a love that began early in my childhood, and has grown into a very bizarre joy…or perhaps just a disturbing character trait. 

Whenever I see a Folgers commercial I stop everything to watch it.  I could be performing open heart surgery, and if I heard that little ditty “the best part of waking up…” well, my patient would just bite the dust.  (I think it’s for the best I’ve chosen an artistic career path).  

There is nothing more comforting in my opinion, than a Folgers commercial.  And an old Folgers commercial at that.  Preferably one from the 80s or very early 90s (have they even made any new Folgers commercials since then?).  All is right in the world for 30 blissful seconds when a you see that coffee being brewed, poured, and the family waking up to the comforting aroma of those instant coffee crystals…it’s simply heaven. 

I’m fairly certain my memories of these delicious coffee moments stem from the days when we taped The Wizard of Oz and Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer off the TV.  Those VHS tapes are a gold mine for old school commercials (Campbell’s comms are an incredibly close second in favorites).  

 Cheers, holiday season!  I look forward to more of your nostalgic gifts.