Christmas is a joyous event. I get to go home, my
mother feeds me food that requires actual cooking (as opposed to my usual
microwave faux sausage & biscuit meals), and I get avalanches of large,
albeit completely useless, presents. (Read: How to Ruin Christmas) Despite my
abundant fondness with all things Christmas, the issue of craptastical presents
remains ever present. (Get it? Good.) Call me a dickbag or call me honest (I
don’t really care) either way Christmas is, has, and always will be about
hoarding expensive shit that I would otherwise never purchase with my own
money.
1.
Christmas themed Christmas presents shit
In a world where ugly sweaters are the pinnacle
of hipsterdom, one would logically conclude that Christmas themed shit would be
sold year-round (for ironic purposes).
This is what sex appeal looks like
Surprisingly, not the case. The result
is Christmas themed Christmas presents shit, one of the worst and most
useless Christmas presents out there. You open it up, and have exactly 12 hours
before you shove it in the back of your closet for the next 364 days.
2.“Make
your own whatever” kits
This might very well be a me thing, but I have never been fond of
make-your-own whatever kits. My time is precious and chances are that whatever
I make will be a substantially crappier version of a product that is already
easily purchasable.
Yep. This is a thing.
Any “present” that requires effort and manual labor from my
part should be promptly incinerated with the pile of ugly Christmas sweaters.
3.
Clothes
I don’t care if you pushed me out of
your hoo-hah. I don’t care if our friendship has outlived the longest running
Danish soap opera. Don’t buy me clothes. You probably don’t know me as well as
you think you do and regardless of the item I will be inclined to hate it. I can’t
explain it. It’s just… science.
4.Outdated
Technology
I’m not talking about cool outdated technology, like a Gameboy
color with pokemon blue version. I’m specifically anti “oh-shit-it’s-christmas-and-I-forgot,-so-let-me-show-you-my-faux-appreciation-for-your-existence-with-this-dated-item-I-found-in-the-bargain-bin-at-frys-as-I-was-leaving”
kind of presents. Like a USB cooling fan, or a laser pointer/powerPoint
clicker/English to Welsh translator device. It is of no use to me, and I will
simply not stand for it.
5.
As seen on TV
My hostility against as seen on TV gifts
likely stems from my hatred of slimy misogynist douchebag, Vince “Offer” Shlomi.
You know, the skeezeball from the schticky commercials?
So this is what Satan's asshole looks like!
See? Slimy. Either way, as seen on TV
gifts always reek of senior citizens and identity fraud. If you want to keep it
classy, reserve the as seen on TV gifts for extra
special holidays, like presidents day and Tim Burton day. The only
exception? Pajama jeans. Those suckers are good for any occasion.
____
What presents do you shit bricks for?
Leave it in the comments below and you just might are certain to get a
response from me if I’m not busy with important adult people things,
because I will in all likelihood be watching gangnam style cat parodies.
There is no structure to my blogging. It's mostly made up of verbal diarrhea that I translate into written word. Wanting to add more structure to my musings, I'm going to try making a consistent weekly post.
Now I don't know much. (Read: 4 Reasons why I Didn’t (and Still Don’t) Deserve my Bachelors Degree) But I do know an absurd amount of stuff on movies. Some may call me a movie buff. Except unlike your traditional movie buff I don't waste my time with film that may be considered "classic" "timeless" or God forbid, "award winning". I am, for the most part, a simple woman of simple pleasures.
After all, what's the point of watching a film critics are raving about. When 90% of your thoughts are regurgitated bullshit you read somewhere, I find it much more interesting to find beauty in movies people generally consider to be shit.
So here goes, part one of hopefully many installments in the "Movies That Actually Don't Suck" series.
1. Space Jam
The premise: Arguably the best (and most watchable) sports movie ever made, Space Jam documents the triumphant journey of the looney tunes in beating the Nerdlucks/Monstars in a game of basketball. Long story short, the Nerdlucks/Monstars steal (through what looks like alien osmosis) the talent of some then-great basketball players. Then they challenge the Looney Tunes to a basketball game because Mister Swackhammer Danny DeVito is a dick who wants to enslave the Looney Tunes for his intergalactic theme park. The Looney Tunes freak the hell out and enlist the help of MJ to beat the shit out of the Monstars.
Why it doesn't suck: I contemplated just inserting a link to the full movie since you know, the entire movie is just that good. In all seriousness though, just take a look at the cast. Somehow, somewhere, someone convinced Michael Jordan that making a kids movie in which he's the only visible human for about 90% of it, was a good idea. But it doesn't stop at michael. The same diplomatic genius that convinced MJ to do the film also convinced Wayne Knight (as seen in some timeless pieces such as but not limited to: Pound Puppies, The Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy, and Dirty Dancing), Charles Barkley, Danny DeVito, Bill Murray (as seen in anything that was ever, even remotely, Ghostbusters related), and Larry Bird (aka: the great white hope).
What Rotten Tomatoes gave it: 35% on the tomatometer.
What I give it: (Four and a half Shalott faces)
Mostly because I feel like there could have been more use of Lola Bunny.
2. Clockstoppers
The premise: Zak Gibbs, the super cute and super misunderstood high school hot stuff (that no one seems to acknowledges as such) tries to win the love of Francesca, the MexicanNicaraguan Venezuelan (?) ambassador's daughter. He enlists the help of his quirky friend Meeker to help him with his heart winning shenanigans, all to a fantastic 1999 punk pop music montage. Shit gets real, the kids get their hands on a watch that stops time and there's an even greater montage where a dog takes a giant piss on a cop. The NSA/evil scientist/angry fuckers (this part is a tad unclear in the film) find out about the watch, and hunt the kids down. Shit gets real, more fantastic montages happen, and Zak gets the girl (who has mysteriously lost her accent by the end of the movie).
Why it doesn't suck: Did you read that description? Montages. Montages!
How can anyone hate a movie with not one but TWO Blink-182 songs. Granted there are some oopsies in the film; why does Francesca suddenly lose her accent? Where are all these kids' parents? But all in all this movie is worth its weight in soundtrack.
What Rotten Tomatoes gave it: 29% on the tomatometer
What I give it: Five Shalott faces! Despite being void of the traditional characteristics that make a movie good; decent actors, comprehensible story line, etc. there remains a soft spot in my heart for this straight to VHS cinematic masterpiece.
3. Smart House
The premise: Kid wins house. House does cool shit like make you food and wake you up to Backstreet boys music videos. House freaks the fuck out. Hilarity Ensues.
Why it doesn't suck: Anyone who thinks Ryan Merriman was a fool for taking this role is an absolute moron. Lets forget for a second, that the whole film is a giant criticism of cyborgs and may very well have been the predecesor to the comparatively inferior film I, Robot. This movie came out when I was 8 years old. Wayyyy back in the days of Skip Its and the original 150 Pokemon. If anything, the movie is a phenomenal way of remember just how absolutely shitty life was in the 90s. The house is SO smart, it even lets you be on the phone and the internet AT THE SAME TIME.
What Rotten Tomatoes gave it: They had the audacity to not rank it.
What I give it: Three Shalott faces. I realize it's shitty but it's the kind of shitty you watch over and over again for nostalgic purposes. And you know what? Thats worth ten million Shalott faces in my book.
4. Demolition Man
The premise: Sylvester Stallone is a super cop who is cryogenically frozen in 1996. He wakes up in 2032, butt naked, to an exceedingly attractive fellow-cop played by Sandra Bullock in an eerily peaceful Los Angeles. After finding out his arch nemesis, convicted fellon Wesley Snipes, has been cryogenically un-frozen, the crime fighting Stallone-Bullock duo have to save the day. Theres also a great part about wiping your ass with seashells. I've included the clip for you're viewing pleasure.
Why it doesn't suck: Oh you mean other than the fact that Sylvester Stallone, Sandra Bullock, Wesley Snipes, and Rob Schneider are in a science fiction movie together? It's funny, its smart, its quasi-prophetic. Just watch it. Trust me.
What Rotten Tomatoes gave it: 63% and certified fresh.
What I give it: Five Shalott faces! Why? Because seashells.
5. Raise Your Voice
The premise: A classic coming of age drama wrapped in angst and fried in Paula Deen's tears, this movie had the makings of oscar gold but somehow fell short. Hillary Duff is Terri Fletcher, a small town girl trying to make her way into a prestigeous singing academy to honor her brother Paul, who dies in a car crash after being at a Three Days Grace concert. She gets in, everyone hates her, she overcomes some of that classic white-girl adversity and triumphs in the end.
Why it doesn't suck: I tend to root for Hillary Duff even when she's spawning children from hockey players so it's hard for me to not think this movie is great. She sings, she cries, Oliver James is drunk on a rooftop. It just doesn't get any better. The only thing that would make this movie better is if they had somehow managed to encorporate a visit from the illustrious Paolo from the sensational pop duo 'Paolo and Isabella'. Don't know what the hell I'm talking about? Its cool. Watch this:
What Rotten Tomatoes gave it: 15%. Seriously?
What I give it: Three Shalott faces. It was originally 5 Shalotts, then I added an extra Shalott because of Oliver James. Unfortunately Three Days Grace is in the movie not one, but TWO different times, so I couldn't bring myself to give it anything higher than 3 Shalotts.
Have a movie that actually doesn't suck and you would like to see reviewed? Use your fingers, type that shit out in the comments section below, and I'll do it.
Before anyone gets their panties in a twist, let me start off by saying that I do not give two shits if you produce offspring. Go for it. Sometimes I even enjoy playing with babies.
The best part?
I get to play with them and then give them back to their parents when they take a giant green shit everywhere.
But babies scare the living shit out of me, so I don't think I'll be doing any of this in the future:
Yeah. That's a human coming out of a hoo-hah. Need more reasons? Here are seven.
1. Everything comes out of every orifice imaginable.
This is kindof a no-shit (pun fully intended) statement, but a seriously overlooked one. Holding a fellow human being and having them burp up half-digested boob milk is one thing, but once poop comes into play, I'm out. A simple google image search for "Baby Poop" yields some disgusting results that I wouldn't even wish upon my single greatest enemy. Seriously. Did you know that baby shit could be watery AND green, because I sure didn't. The worst part, aside from the fact that they spew crap literally every couple hours, is that their little butts are so extremely delicate that you have to wipe with the same level of caution as dusting the crown jewels (I'm not stopping the puns, so just stop reading now).
2. Giving birth is so painful your body has a hormone to trick you into forgetting about it.
I don't recall where I heard this and it might not be true. Or it might. Hell if I know. Regardless, someone at some point convinced me that upon releasing a human being from my over-stretched coochie, I would forget the excruciating pain to ensure my dumb ass get pregnant again. Fortunately I'm smarter than that and if I never get preggers in the first place, I don't have to deal with my hormones calling the family planning shots.
3. Their body parts fall off.
Okay that might be a tad mellow dramatic, but you get the idea. Have you ever seen a baby's belly button before it turns all cute and sealed? No? Here:
HOLY MOTHER OF GOD. No, thats not an alien pulsating through a human body. It's just the withering remains of life. Now imagine having to handle a human being who for the first couple weeks of life has that monstrosity protruding from their abdomen.
4. Angry babies will kick and punch the shit out of their pregnant mother.
They say a picture is worth a thousand words, but I think this one is worth ten million. Notice the angry "let-me-the-fuck-out" position of this baby foot.
This gives new meaning to the phrase "Oh look, the baby is kicking!" What other adorable shenanigans can your little fetus friend get into? One word: boners. Yep. Apparently the "feel good" hormones a mother releases can trigger the "feel good" boner reflex of a baby boy. Talk about oedipus complex.
5. You shit everywhere.
This seems to be a common theme of pregnancy and babies, and is also the number one reason why I don't intend on spawning. All of the 10 minutes I spent googling before I decided to write this research seems to indicate that the vast majority of ladies spill their shits right before delivering their bundle of joy. And according to pretty much anyone who has ever spawned, you have ZERO CONTROL OVER YOUR BOWEL MOVEMENTS. Again, no thank you. Very few things are worth me shitting myself over, and babies are definitely not one of them.
6. After you shit out a human being, you realize how absolutely horrible everything about life is.
"Why the fuck did I sign up for this shit?" syndrome, also known as post-partum depression, affects 20% of mothers. That means that after carrying your bundle of joy for nine months and surviving nearly mortal levels of pain, you have a 1 in 5 chance of hating everything about your life. If Amber from Teen Mom has taught me anything, it's that I am not will never be self-actualized enough to not want slaughter my child and redneck baby daddy at a moment's notice.
7. Babies turn into kids. Kids turn into assholes.
I watch obsessively faun over the shows Teen Mom and Teen Mom 2. I have no problem admitting this. In fact, I'd like to think that their struggles have helped me realize how terribly shitty raising kids is. When all the babies were..err...babies, dealing with them was limited to finding out why they were crying, and fixing it. Now as season 3 rolls around these kids are talking, walking and generally doing terrible toddler stuff. I can't wait until Teen Mom season 16, when Farah has to deal with Sophia's inevitable teenage pregnancy and crippling cocaine addiction.
If that's not enough reasons to keep your legs closed for the rest of eternity then stay tuned for part II, where I discuss 7 more reasons why babies suck.
BONUS TRIVIA: Did you know that: In this post I said shit (or a derivative of shit) 15 times. I keep it classy.
Setting: Amarillo Texas. 3 AM. It's snowing and I'm wearing
a sun dress.
Hunger pangs hitting my hollow tummy.
I decide that given the lack of food
options and a broken hotel vending machine, my options are starve, or face
"Fern" the nearly toothless 50 something year old waitress at the local Waffle House.
Time has not been good to Fern. Her face and fingers
are stained with tobacco from one too many nights of Marlboro reds, Banquet TV
dinners and prayers over this week's lotto numbers. She asks me what I would
like, inserting a variety of "huns" in between her toothless
grins.
I request water.
Salivating over the existence of a menu and the possibility
of consuming anything that remotely resembles food, I immediately begin
spouting off $40 dollars worth of sub-par side dishes.
Fern's eyes open as wide as a baby wallaby.
Like this, except not adorable.
It's undeniable that she has wished long and hard for a
20-something fatty to come into her diner at 3 AM and give her what will
undoubtedly be the largest tip of her career.
Maybe now she can afford those nice Ed Hardy air fresheners
everyone keeps talking about.
When the food arrives, my dismay floods the room like a
tsunami of shattered dreams. As I immediately question once more whether
starving is still an option, I decide that there are likely far worse things
than eating canned mushrooms smothered in velveeta (maybe) and chow down. Nearly
filled to the brim, I swiftly move to the pièce de rèsistance... Cheese
smothered hash browns.
Reluctant, but still hungry, I begin to inspect my food. As I lift the seemingly crunchy portion of the hash browns,
I notice a dark blob peeking out from under my food.
"What? What the fuck is this shit?" I think
to myself as I choose to further investigate.
As it turns out, a vital component of "Hash browns with
delux cheese sauce" is short order cook cigarette ashes.
I pay my check, tip toothless Fern, and leave behind what is
likely the saddest restaurant diner in America.
I have never been hungry enough to eat at a Waffle House again.
Due to my broke-ass-ed-ness I don’t really get to travel a
lot. Which is pretty sad, but ultimately just means I don’t have to deal with
people’s bullshit ruining my expensive vacation. Because:
1. Airport hygiene is
like beckoning AIDS to ravage you
Apparently, knowing you’ll likely never meet any of your
fellow bathroom visitors means you don’t have to give two shits about
your…um..shits.
Whereas normal potty etiquette is conducive to toilet
flushing, hand washing, and no farting goodness, airport toilet etiquette is
more of an “anything goes” deal-io. In fact, chances are that 7 out of every 10
airport bathroom encounters will leave you so grossed out you won’t even need
to “go” anymore.
I learned this at an early age.
One time when I was six I held my pee from when we left my
grandma’s house in Rome to when we got to Mexico City. If that’s not the mark
of a gifted child, I don’t know what is.
2. There is a serious
lack of outlets
I see you there little Asian businessman, guarding the only
outlet in a 3 terminal radius with your life. And you know what? Despite having
no intention of paying for the airport wifi, I will more than likely steal your
spot when you get up. Airports are no place for manners and this sister needs
an outlet.
3. Airport stores are
highway robbery
The whole “go past this point and I’m going to have to frisk
you again when you try to come in” thing airports are known for ends up acting
as a great deterrent for people who enjoy shopping at competitive prices.
Unfortunately, since airports are exactly like a North
Korean labor camp (except with food) they’re accustomed to locking you in and
deciding everything for you. Even the fast food stores in airports have zero
incentive to have a dollar menu because as it turns out, Mr. Fatshitz
and his family of seven will still order sixteen burgers despite them costing
$19.99 each.
For me, that means either forking over $4.99 for a soft
pretzel or starving to death. Talk about being stuck between a rock and a hard
place.
4. Airport chairs are
designed to make you grope your chair neighbor
I’m not sure if this is just me, but I absolutely loathe
friendly bullshit interactions with strangers. Contrary to popular belief, just
because we’re sharing the monumental experience of waiting for the same
airplane does not mean we just became airplane buddies.
Most of the time this can be avoided by reading an Avril
Lavigne autobiography and picking at arm scabs, but when you’re sitting down at
a gate, there’s only so much you can do.
This is applicable to pretty much anywhere there is a large
group of people and a ridiculously small quantity of uncomfortable chairs but
is especially tragic when you’re enduring the world’s longest layover. Why?
Well because airplane seating is designed like this:
You don't realize how bad old people smell until their IBS acts up 12 inches from your face.
5. Screw you TSA, I’m
not taking my damn flip flops off
I’m all for safety. In fact, nothing pleases me more than
getting from point A to point B sans terrorist hijacking. Having said that I do think TSA might be going over the top
with their safety measures.
One time, many moons ago, I had the audacity of going
through the virtual cavity search machine (or whatever that thing is called)
with my flip-flops on. My logic being “hey, if they can see my lady-tater,
chances are they can also tell my flip flops aren’t concealing some Iranian
made high grade explosive”.
Unfortunately, I seriously overestimated TSAs intelligence
and was greeted on the other side of the body scanner by a 300lb beluga
whale-woman ready to frisk my rights away.
6. Unprepared Ursula
and her family of 12
Traveling with children can be stressful. I don’t really
know this from experience because I’m smarter than that, but I can just imagine
how terribly shittastic it is.
Because I can somewhat understand how inconveniencing it is
to have to drag little crying people everywhere you go, I’m usually nice enough
to overlook the crying monsters.
But I draw the line at unprepared people traveling with
children.
I’m sorry, did you
just realize your child is incapable of going through security by
itself? Could it perhaps be because the little one is TWO YEARS OLD?!
It’s not cute when you make your two-year-old carry their
own luggage through security checks. In fact, not only is borderline child
abuse, it’s a colossal waste of my time. Because you insisted little Timmy be a
big boy and do everything himself, I’m now stuck at security for an extra 20
minutes. Thanks ass.
7. Restrictions on my
right to say stupid shit
Tell someone to look away because you’re changing clothes
and what’s the first thing they do? Turn around and look directly at you.
Because that’s true for pretty much any person who has ever
existed, I and many others like me, have a really hard time adhering to the
whole ‘watch what you say’ airport protocol.
The more TSA reminds me that they have the right to kick me
out of the airport if they catch me saying dumb shit, the higher the chance of
phrases such as “I got the anthrax baby, it’s the BOMB!” coming out of my
mouth.
Let me begin with an excerpt from Dr. Douchebaggles
McHappyturd, president of every university ever created, during his annual
welcome note to the sea of incoming freshmen that he will likely never actually
interact with:
“Hello, my
name is Dr. Douchebaggles McHappyturd, and I would like to personally welcome
you, the class of *FILL IN YEAR*, to this exciting new school year at *SCHOOL
NAME*. Like in every movie ever created, you will attend ridiculous parties on
yachts, make unbreakable life long friendships, and come out with a badass
fulfilling job in the end.”
Except absolutely no part of that is true.
1.TAs are Nazis
For the most part, the purpose of a TA is to
assist a professor with the shaping of young minds. In reality, all they end up
doing is patrolling the aisles of the classroom to make sure you aren’t on
Facebook. This marginal sense of importance often goes to their head and
results in some of the most hilarious and embarrassing TA-students interactions
of all time.
2.Getting sick is like plummeting into the
bowels of hell
You will never realize how miserable and
lonesome your existence is until the first time you get sick and are completely
on your own. Aside from the crippling depression that will befall you from
realizing how lonely you are, being sick and having to take care of yourself
requires both money (off brand Tylenol costs HOW much?), and time (“Dr. Turdypants, I promise, I really am about to die this time. Please let me reschedule the test!”), two luxuries you really can’t afford.
3.Parties are never as good in real life as
they are in film
I’m not sure what it is about Hollywood
that manages to make everything seem substantially cooler than its reality
counterpart, perhaps it’s the scripted dialog, perhaps the obligatory
slutty-bitch-gets-pushed-in-the-pool-in-slow-motion action; regardless, it’s never like the movies.
What actually happens at a freshman college
party:
8:00pm – Inform friends of potential party
10:00pm – Decide to go to party
11:00pm – Arrive at party
11:04pm – Be told the alcohol connection
fell through, but “it’s cool”
11:06pm - Watch a game of beer pong with
the 6 warm beers that are left
11:10pm – pronounce the party as “lame” and
leave
4. No one actually redefines who they are
There seems to be some odd understanding of
college as being the place where you can completely forget who you’ve been for
the past 18 years and invent a persona unbeknownst to your family and friends.
This usually works for about two weeks, until everyone realizes that you were a
wiener in high school and will thus, likely continue treating you like said
wiener.
5. Everyone will be better than you at
everything
In high school you may have been hot shit.
But go to college and you very quickly realize that people do some crazy shit
to get to go to college for free. My freshman year I met someone who spent a
year in Australia studying marsupials and caring for baby kangaroos. How the
hell am I supposed to compete with this:
This is what a $25,000 a year scholarship looks like.
Moral of the story, stop pretending you’re
a demigod. Because you’re not.
6.School spirit is a total bitch
The first week of freshman year is
generally dedicated to indoctrinating you with the culture of the school, and
this is just fine and dandy if the victim is a willing participant.
90% of the time, this isn’t the case.
Generally, this results in a giant group of
pathetic looking freshman being forced to chant, scream, and awkwardly do full
body motions against their will in the presence of total strangers. Because nothing says school unity like looking
stupid in unison.
Let me begin this by saying that I have absolutely no
problem with uninhibited capitalism or its presence in American malls. Not one
bit. In fact, if I can condense my lavish and unsustainable money spending
habits to a two-story building then I can pretty much die a happy woman.
And don’t get me wrong; I fully understand that a thorough
mall excursion by definition requires dealing with the thousands of little turd
people that frequent it every day. Its just part of the experience, like sandy
feet at the beach or finding little bits of hair on you two weeks after a
haircut.
However I do have
a problem when the aforementioned people decide to co-opt my shopping
extravaganza with their bullshit shenanigans. I’ve thought long and hard about
how to handle this, and most of my solutions involve blunt trauma to the head,
which is sadly not an option.
So to relinquish my fanatical hatred for the turd people I have decided to
identify each group of social perpetrators, and pit them against each other in
a classic hypothetical battle to the death a-la Hunger Games (except everyone
dies in the end).
We begin by identifying the social douchewaffles:
1. Mall walkers –
Harmless as individuals, a fortress of shape-ups yielding senior citizen power
when traveling in packs. Though most mall walkers have the dignity to engage in
their stampeding prior to sunrise, there remains the issue of the token ones
who do choose to come out during daylight. I’m not sure what propels them to
uncontrollably trample all that crosses their path, but they seem to
inexplicably grow stronger with age.
2. The “cool” 8th
graders – Though not exclusive to the mall scene, the “cool” 8th
graders are the select group of turd buckets whose inept parents have deemed
them suitable to roam public spaces unsupervised. This newfound freedom seems
to unleash a leviathan like creature that, like the mall walkers, only seems to
strengthen with numbers. These creatures can often be found in stores such as
Hot Topic and Pac Sun, trying on clothes despite having no money, and generally
destroying any semblance of peace in any given retail establishment.
3. Scenesters and hipsters – This is just
obvious. If you need to understand this, chances are you fall into this
category. As a general rule though, this includes: anyone who wears sunglasses
with a mustache already attached to them, looks like the losing end of an
Audrey Hepburn-Kat Von D battle, or knows how to play any song by The Smiths on
the ukulele.
4. Sexually charged Sue and her boy toy
Skip – One of my biggest pet peeves, this couple just cant seem to keep their
paws off each other long enough for me to keep my Auntie Anne’s pretzel down.
Often seen holding hands and making a wedding registry at Williams-Sonoma,
their complete disregard for human life (outside their perfect duo) makes these
criminals especially dangerous. When with children, beware of Sue and Skip,
as their disregard for decency in public places will likely scar your children
to no end.
5. The sleazy kiosk
salesman – Unlike the four previous categories who frequent malls across
America for fun, the sleazy kiosk salesman exists solely to annoy. While I can
often dismiss the tamer ones with a simple “no thanks”, the sleazy kiosk
salesman simply won’t take “no thanks” for an answer. Instead, he often chooses
to lure me into buying his hair straighteners by groping my head, assaulting a
chunk of my hair, and insisting I sit through his demonstration. I’m not really
sure why they think these fondling tactics will work, when all it really makes
me want to do is punch them in the sack.
Now that we've identified the perpetrators, stay tuned for part two, where I pit them against each other in an epic death match (that will likely lead to them all dying).
Amongst my many
admirable traits I am, for the most part, a congenital hoarder. Though I know
it’s useless junk, it’s my useless
junk and we just can’t seem to part ways. Besides, sorting out through piles of
stuff you didn’t know you had is almost
as good as dumpster diving at Goodwill.
During one of my
many treasure hunts (courtesy of my laundry room turned storage shed) I came
across one of these:
Now I may be a
hoarder, but I cut no corners on serious affairs like cooking pasta.
And this
reminded me of the plethora of other terrible Christmas presents I’ve been the
reluctant recipient of over the years. Lo and behold, my Christmas story was
born:
How to Ruin Christmas: A Victim’s Story
Fear grips my
heart; I take the stairs three at a time forgetting my socks and other various
articles of clothing necessary to sustain life in all thirty degrees of this
glorious wintery morning.
And there it is.
There.
As I fight my way
to the front of the room I’m forced to slam my baby brother into the living
room couch because, like Steven Seagal in Under Siege 2, this freight train waits for no
one.
Terror claws at
my stomach as I launch myself at the dozens of little packages spread out under
the tree. Weeks of patiently waiting have paid off.
Within seconds I
rip off all three layers of the frosty the snowman wrapping paper and finally
find it.
My heart skips a
beat. It’s… It’s… PAJAMAS?
My stomach
plunges. I fight back tears, seeking immediate vengeance on that fat old man who
obviously mixed up my presents with those of a middle-aged housewife.
What the hell is
a cool, composed, and mature seven year old such as myself supposed to do with
a set of CARE BEAR PAJAMAS. In fact they’re not even Care Bear pajamas, they’re
shitty Chinese knockoff “Care Bare” pajamas, a name that should have probably
raised some red flags with my parents prior to their purchase.
After that,
Christmas was never the same.
I’m not quite
sure why parents are conditioned to get you crappier presents as you age, but
I’ve conveniently drawn a pictorial representation of the slow and degenerative
path of awesomeness my Christmas presents have taken through the years:
Has your heart
been torn out and mutilated by the likes of old Saint Nick? Feel free to join
in the discussion if you yourself are a victim of such depravity.
Worst-case
scenario, it turns out to be a therapeutic experience where we all learn to
cope with our first world existential crises.
After four years of grueling work, little sleep and plenty of
hangover-induced fights with daylight, I graduated college. Though I wasn’t
particularly looking forward to announcing to the world that I was now
officially unemployed, I reluctantly pranced across a stage waving a piece of
paper to appease my parents.
And that’s it.
That was the last time my BA in Political Science was of any use to me. First
I blamed the economy. Then I blamed my major. Chances are, it was probably just
my fault.
1. It Really Belongs to Wikipedia
Let it be known to the world that I, Shalott
Cecchini, am a chronic procrastinator. And though I swear to change, every
semester ends up being exactly the same.
I start out with the best of intentions, I
really do. I read the syllabus, I buy the books, and sometimes I even show up
to the first couple weeks of class. Then as usual, I pretend I have better
stuff to do and just stop showing up.
Usually, this means that by finals week I’ve
submitted a variety of half-assed papers and know absolutely nothing about the
class.
Well, shit.
Lucky for me, Wikipedia holds the solutions to
99% of my problems. As it turns out, temporarily memorizing the entire history
of human rights violations conducted in Argentina in one night is much easier than actually reading the
books on your syllabus.
2. I Am A Dirty, Dirty Liar
Sometimes your procrastinating ways end up
biting you in the ass. Sometimes you forget to enroll for classes until the day
before the semester starts. And sometimes, that means taking a class on British
Satire with mandatory attendance at 6pm on a Friday night.
When I managed to score two tickets to a Blink
182 concert, I knew the only thing standing between me and a night of
unadulterated awesomeness was a 6pm British satire exam.
So I lied.
With perfectly calculated tears in my eyes I
proceeded to tell my professor the devastating news of my senile, albeit
favorite, grandmother’s overnight passing while vacationing in Bermuda.
Naturally, he understood that recovering the body of my newly defunct
grandmother from a foreign land was probably more important than some midterm
exam, so off to the concert I went.
3. Online Classes are Total Bullshit
To be completely honest, I’m actually quite
proud about this one.
As luck would have it, I discovered the
importance of filling your degree plan with useless online courses early on
during my stint in academia. Gone were the days of stumbling to class in my
pajamas (presuming I actually went to class). Every test was online, the
interwebz were my textbook, I was queen of the world!
4. I Know Absolutely Nothing About Anything
I wish I could pretend this wasn’t true. It’s
almost shameful. Almost. And then I
realize that though it still means I probably don’t deserve to have a degree,
this one wasn’t entirely my fault.
If the three previous examples are in any way
indicative of how alarmingly easy it is to fake it till’ you make it, then
chances are no else actually knows anything either.
Which, for the most part, makes me feel surprisingly
better about myself.
