How Boobs are Destroying the World

Here’s another entry for the “Most Likely to Spawn Naughty Adsense” section, surely to net me a truckload of disappointed, angry pervs who only came here because it contains the term “ginormous breasteses”  and a few dick jokes, and an email account full of angry women who will accuse me of betraying my gender and being totally full of myself.

Thing is, dear fellow women, that this rant is mostly aimed at you, anyway.  Yes, you.  

But Sandra, what the hell did I do and why are you talking to me in a blog post about boobs? 

I’m glad you asked.

Because if you’re one of those women who mumbles nasty words under your breath when another pretty woman walks into the room, or if you talk shit about your gal pal behind her back because the green eyed monster rears its ugly head and snarls radioactive loogies every time she’s around, get bent. 

If you’re not one of those women, hit me up, we can totally be friends.

Because, see, if you’re my friend and you walk into the room looking like a rock star, I’m going to tell you that you look like a rock star, and dammit, I’m going to mean it.

 

Though, not always a good thing…

There's No Age Limit on Funny

My 18 year old niece told me not too long ago that she loved hanging out with me because I acted like I was her age.

I don't know if this is a good thing or not, considering that I'm 31 29.

Sure, I don't see anything wrong with laughing at farts and making a running gag out of that one time the girl in Secret Life said "do you ever think of anything but sex" (wait for it), but there seems to be this expectation that once you reach a certain age, have kids, and can hold a steady job that doesn't involve asking people what kind of dipping sauce they'd like with their chicken nuggets, you have to be sophisticated and mature.

Butt sex.  That's the joke.  Geez, is this thing even on?

Dear Internet

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Throwback Thursday - Glamour Shots

I'm dating myself here, but if you grew up in the 90's, you'll remember the whirlwind fad that was Glamour Shots.


For those of you who are too young to remember, or who were there for this catastrophe and have developed selective memory loss to avoid thinking about it, Glamour Shots was basically you (or your mom, in most cases) paying a creepy looking guy in the mall to cake clown makeup on your face, dress you in tube tops and boas, tease and Aqua Net your hair to oblivion, and take pictures in incredibly uncomfortable positions under really bad lighting.

3 Things That are Destroying America

I'm going to apologize right off the bat, because this is a really long post -  but I figure that since I went without posting for so long, it evens out.

I have issue with all the hollering about morality being lost in America, what with the "Gays throwing their agenda in everyone's faces" and those pesky garden gnomes taking over world travel and all. 

I'm offering you good deals, but really I'm bartering for your soul.

Technical Difficulties... Again

I spent all morning writing a wicked-awesome post to make up for all the non-posting I've been doing lately... and Blogger hates me.


I'm unable to upload pictures and the page breaks aren't inserting properly, so I'm delaying posting until these issues get worked out so that you, dear readers, can experience the full, long-winded majesty that is my next post.  I know, it's soooo disappointing, but stay tuned!  More to come soon!




~Sandra  

Writer's Block. No, Really.

I’m not even going to double check the date of my last post for reference, because I already know it’s been a long time.

My world is a fickle one, where there are days I have endless motivation and inspiration, and others where I do nothing but stare blankly at a blinking cursor for hours until my eyes cross and I sigh heavily, surrendering to another day void of creativity.

I actually had several posts started, but as many of you know sometimes life steps in and ninja-daggers your brain with reality, and it sits there, festering as you try to find humor but instead long to be deep and thoughtful.  This results in lame puns and half-hearted jokes that most people would be embarrassed to post and nobody really wants to read.  I have frackjillions of thoughts scribbled down and scattered throughout my house, yet none of them seemed to want to come alive into anything substantial. 

Screw you, spellcheck, I know frackjillion isn’t a word.

So I thought, maybe if I just started typing, something would come out. 

*Sigh*

Another day goes to you, brain ninja.

Splitting Hairs, Literally - How American Schools Have Gone Insane

After reading yet another story of how a kid's big, bad hairdo threatened to undermine the sacred institution of education by - uh - being hair, I have to question why, exactly, school systems are more concerned with an interesting hairstyle than, you know, education. 

Must. Get. Flu. Shot...

I don't get sick often, so when I do, it's kind of a big thing.

I spent the last two days floating in and out of consciousness, fighting a fever that I could have sworn was in the area of 1000 degrees (but Levi assures me was only 102), and hacking so much that I actually developed a six-pack from all the abdominal work. 

Trashcan Tinklers

No, seriously.

I was perplexed a couple years ago when a sign suddenly went up in the building where I used to tan, which basically said that they knew who peed in the trashcan and that if it happened again, they'd be publicly shamed.

Wait... peed in the trashcan?

The Jennifer Lawrence Phenomenon

A disclaimer, before I start this rant:  I love Jennifer Lawrence.  She's a good actress, she seems more down-to-Earth than typical Hollywood fembot, and her reaction to a chance encounter with Jack Nicholson during a post-Oscar interview is beyond adorable: 

 

 

It's easy to see why America has fallen in love with the quintessential "girl next door," but for cripes sakes, can we lay off of her a little?

Et Tu, Blogger?

First, an apology.

If you've tried to leave comments or overheard me grumbling about ninja readers, I apologize for Blogger's stubborn, irritating habit of formatting things in the most ridiculous manner possible (just kidding, Blogger, I love you).