This evening I need to address a phenomenon that irks the innermost part of my soul. It incites rage violent enough to motivate the kicking of puppies and other similar assorted adorable things. It's completely unavoidable, and what's worse is that it seems to easy to combat but every attempt brings certain failure. What phenomenon is this? The event in which the conditioner ALWAYS runs out before the shampoo. WHY?!
Agreed? Completely unavoidable. I've had hair for almost 22 years now. (I was pretty much bald till I was 3. My mom had to scotch tape a bow to my head so people would know I was a girl. I spent the first three years of my life looking like a Christmas gift.) No matter how many times I try, the conditioner runs out before the shampoo does. It can't be stopped. But it MUST be stopped. This is a vicious injustice. I've tried everything. I ration the conditioner as if it were fuel in 1942. I splurge on shampoo to try and even things out. I am an expert at the putting water in the conditioner bottle and shaking it like crazy to get every last drop out. It has never worked. I have never run out of both products at the same time. Not once. I am convinced that the tooth fairy has moved from exchanging money for teeth to sneaking into bathrooms and siphoning conditioner out of the bottle. I have half a mind to booby trap my shower and catch the little slore in action. I have beef with the tooth fairy. My brother and I must have been contracted by two different tooth fairies. My teeth gathered a dollar per piece on average. My brother received a minimum of three dollars for each tooth, and I distinctly remember his right bicuspid fetching five whole dollars. We are 3 years and 7 months apart, and being an economics major, I know for absolute fact that the inflation rate in the mid-90s was not between 300 and 500 percent. I'm pretty sure my brother's tooth fairy was Barack Obama. It was very difficult for me to watch him buy 3-5 times the candy I could buy and even harder to watch him toothlessly chomp away at whatever would rot the next tooth and bring in another outrageously high tooth subsidy. A politics lesson at an early age. And you wonder why I vote red.
Back to the conditioner. As my own silent protest, I like to quit using the shampoo when the conditioner runs out and refuse to buy the same brand again. I'm not one to fall to big brother shampoo company's scheme to get us to buy another round of S&C. I know they know it's a problem. But do they make the bottles two different sizes to compensate? Absolutely not, because they're supercalifragilisticexpialiDOUCHES. As a sad little consequence of my protest, I have 18 bottles of shampoo, 1/3 full sitting in my bathroom. What am I supposed to do now?! Wash the dishes? My plates could use some strength, moisture and shine. And I'm sure that the silverware wouldn't mind smelling like Redken. I checked, and consignment stores do carry shampoo. eBay? I can't be the only one with this problem. If only I could find someone with the opposite problem: a shampoo overuser. Now that would be something. Worthy of being the subject of a child's nursery rhyme. Or a Lifetime Network Original Movie.
Bottom line, there has got to be a solution. I'll catch that deviant tooth fairy eventually, but until then, please keep all puppies away from my right foot.
Moving on.
I'm 24, I live on my own, and as such I exercise rights that I did not have when living at home with my parents. These include, but are not limited to: jumping on the bed whenever I want, eating cookies for breakfast, sitting too close to the TV, and most of all -- not making my bed every morning. I see no point in it. I am going to sleep in it the next night, so why bother? It takes quite a bit of very tactical tossing and turning to get my covers twisted into the position that satisfies me. I owe it to myself to not make extra work for myself every night by starting the tangling process all over again. To this, my dad would reply: "You wipe your butt every day, but you're going to poop again, so make your bed." I can't tell you how many times I have heard him say this. First of all Dad, EW. Second, these are two completely different things. It's like comparing apples and extended cab diesel pickup trucks.
My bed does not itch if I don't make it. Nor does it start to develop unpleasant odor, or leave streaks in my underwear. See, completely different things.
And that is why I do not make my bed.
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Charlie was cute. You, sir, are not.
This might be one of the most adorable things on the planet:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_OBlgSz8sSM&NR=1&feature=fvwp
Who doesn't love teeny tiny English children? They're precious. When I have kids, I think I might send them away to boarding toddler school for a year or two just so they come back talking with a cute little accent. I'll even help them retain it by sitting through a Hugh Grant movie or two. And I'll pronounce words like "shhhedule" and I'll call my fries chips, and I'll forget to brush my teeth once or twice. It will all be worth it because maybe, just maybe my kids will be that cute.
Not a bad idea, right?
This was at least my mentality until I encountered something that would make me regret the words I wrote above.
The Charlie Bit Me REMAKES.
Honestly. Don't you people have anything better to do than humililiate yourselves with some poorly reproduced spoof starring oversized, fully grown American people possessing three quarters of an ounce of talent?
Take this one, for example:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WaeuzeIWfUY&feature=related
I don't even know where to start, the baby talk from a fully grown male, the atrocious attempt at an accent, or the sheer lack or creativity of the copycat. I can't imagine any excuse for being that bored. You're in college, boys. It's called beer. Try it sometime.
At least those guys had the decency to do their own audio, unlike these kids:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MJG_LiN6heM&feature=related
It's like a Britney Spears concert gone wrong. I never thought I would see lip syncing come to such extremes. Someone needs to buy these boys a ball, kick them out of the house, and only let them come back inside when someone has a black eye. And make the front kid get a haircut, he looks like an ugly little girl.
There are more remakes than I care to think about. Please don't honor them with a hit on their video to investigate for yourself. Just take my word for it. They're dumber than a blond trying to smell a scratch and sniff sticker at the bottom of a pool.
I guess we can't really blame these YouTube users. They've been subjected to remakes for their whole lives. Was 90210 really good enough to need a 2nd run? I don't think so. And don't even get me started on when the Saved By The Bell kids went to college. And the only thing that saved Boy Meets World in the post high school years was eye candy by way of Matthew Lawrence, and of course...good 'ol Feeney staying along for the ride.
If you really want to get me going, just bring up unnecessary sequels. I know you didn't ask, but you're reading my blog, so I'm gonna bet you're interested in what I have to say. If not, well then go watch some more Charlie copycats. Trust me, you're better off here.
In many cases, I prefer when the lack of sequel leaves the future of the characters up to the imagination of the viewer. I'm sorry, but I don't need to know the life story of the Little Mermaid's grand-daughter. I didn't really care what you did last summer, and I still don't care again this summer. Not only can golden retrievers not play basketball, but they sure as hell cannot ALSO play football. Talking pigs are cute when they're saving sheep on the farm, but I have no need to see that same talking pig tour the Statue of Liberty. And Elle Woods, your dog's mother probably wasn't harmed by the shampoo that spooky lab tested on her. And the amount of pink you wore in your second film toed the line of socially acceptable.
Not all sequels are bad. Some are truly amazing. But know when to quit, Mike Myers.
However, even if you're watching the first of a series, the pleasure of it can still be ruined by the other audience members at the theater. No, I'm not talking about the catty girls to the right that pop bubbles the entire time while clicking away on their cell phones. I'm talking about the giraffe that sits right in front of me. I'm the shortest person in the theater, and you've got a neck longer than a hockey stick. SERIOUSLY? Did you have to sit directly in front of me? I paid to see the screen, not to see the light dance about your bald spot. Sit somewhere else.
I have little use for tall people. They look down at me, taunting me, bragging about how fresh the air is up there, and how they can reach the spice cabinet without assistance. Whatever, Stilts, I feel the rain last, and I can still go in the ball pit at Chuck E. Cheese.
Speaking of disproportionate bodies, what's the deal with Barbie? Do you honestly believe that Kelly and Skipper are her sisters? No. Ken didn't wrap it. Twice. And how many career changes has this woman had? If Barbie lived in the real world, her student loans would outweigh all the money she could ever earn. And this doesn't even take into account her athletic training, plastic surgery, and wardrobe costs. And somehow, somewhere, she's had the time to pop out two equally overachieving daughters. They're the type of people you love to hate. I always thought Mattel should come out with Divorce Barbie: she comes with Ken's car, Ken's house, Ken's boat, Ken's motorhome, Ken's beach house in Maui.....sigh. It's an old joke, but it still cracks me up every time.
I think I'll take some of my own advice and quit while I'm ahead. Until something else is worth ranting, whatever. I'm getting cheesefries.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_OBlgSz8sSM&NR=1&feature=fvwp
Who doesn't love teeny tiny English children? They're precious. When I have kids, I think I might send them away to boarding toddler school for a year or two just so they come back talking with a cute little accent. I'll even help them retain it by sitting through a Hugh Grant movie or two. And I'll pronounce words like "shhhedule" and I'll call my fries chips, and I'll forget to brush my teeth once or twice. It will all be worth it because maybe, just maybe my kids will be that cute.
Not a bad idea, right?
This was at least my mentality until I encountered something that would make me regret the words I wrote above.
The Charlie Bit Me REMAKES.
Honestly. Don't you people have anything better to do than humililiate yourselves with some poorly reproduced spoof starring oversized, fully grown American people possessing three quarters of an ounce of talent?
Take this one, for example:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WaeuzeIWfUY&feature=related
I don't even know where to start, the baby talk from a fully grown male, the atrocious attempt at an accent, or the sheer lack or creativity of the copycat. I can't imagine any excuse for being that bored. You're in college, boys. It's called beer. Try it sometime.
At least those guys had the decency to do their own audio, unlike these kids:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MJG_LiN6heM&feature=related
It's like a Britney Spears concert gone wrong. I never thought I would see lip syncing come to such extremes. Someone needs to buy these boys a ball, kick them out of the house, and only let them come back inside when someone has a black eye. And make the front kid get a haircut, he looks like an ugly little girl.
There are more remakes than I care to think about. Please don't honor them with a hit on their video to investigate for yourself. Just take my word for it. They're dumber than a blond trying to smell a scratch and sniff sticker at the bottom of a pool.
I guess we can't really blame these YouTube users. They've been subjected to remakes for their whole lives. Was 90210 really good enough to need a 2nd run? I don't think so. And don't even get me started on when the Saved By The Bell kids went to college. And the only thing that saved Boy Meets World in the post high school years was eye candy by way of Matthew Lawrence, and of course...good 'ol Feeney staying along for the ride.
If you really want to get me going, just bring up unnecessary sequels. I know you didn't ask, but you're reading my blog, so I'm gonna bet you're interested in what I have to say. If not, well then go watch some more Charlie copycats. Trust me, you're better off here.
In many cases, I prefer when the lack of sequel leaves the future of the characters up to the imagination of the viewer. I'm sorry, but I don't need to know the life story of the Little Mermaid's grand-daughter. I didn't really care what you did last summer, and I still don't care again this summer. Not only can golden retrievers not play basketball, but they sure as hell cannot ALSO play football. Talking pigs are cute when they're saving sheep on the farm, but I have no need to see that same talking pig tour the Statue of Liberty. And Elle Woods, your dog's mother probably wasn't harmed by the shampoo that spooky lab tested on her. And the amount of pink you wore in your second film toed the line of socially acceptable.
Not all sequels are bad. Some are truly amazing. But know when to quit, Mike Myers.
However, even if you're watching the first of a series, the pleasure of it can still be ruined by the other audience members at the theater. No, I'm not talking about the catty girls to the right that pop bubbles the entire time while clicking away on their cell phones. I'm talking about the giraffe that sits right in front of me. I'm the shortest person in the theater, and you've got a neck longer than a hockey stick. SERIOUSLY? Did you have to sit directly in front of me? I paid to see the screen, not to see the light dance about your bald spot. Sit somewhere else.
I have little use for tall people. They look down at me, taunting me, bragging about how fresh the air is up there, and how they can reach the spice cabinet without assistance. Whatever, Stilts, I feel the rain last, and I can still go in the ball pit at Chuck E. Cheese.
Speaking of disproportionate bodies, what's the deal with Barbie? Do you honestly believe that Kelly and Skipper are her sisters? No. Ken didn't wrap it. Twice. And how many career changes has this woman had? If Barbie lived in the real world, her student loans would outweigh all the money she could ever earn. And this doesn't even take into account her athletic training, plastic surgery, and wardrobe costs. And somehow, somewhere, she's had the time to pop out two equally overachieving daughters. They're the type of people you love to hate. I always thought Mattel should come out with Divorce Barbie: she comes with Ken's car, Ken's house, Ken's boat, Ken's motorhome, Ken's beach house in Maui.....sigh. It's an old joke, but it still cracks me up every time.
I think I'll take some of my own advice and quit while I'm ahead. Until something else is worth ranting, whatever. I'm getting cheesefries.
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