I was on my way to work when I saw something that entered my orbital nerves, kicked its way around my brain, and then settled, never to be released.
I saw a license plate holder that said this:
“Sex is like credit”
“Not everyone gets some.”
Using logic, I deduced that the woman driver saw this license plate holder and liked it so much that she purchased it with money earned through a profession. Then, having brought it home, she took it from her shopping bag and still enjoyed the “wit” of the holder; there was no regret.
“Sex is like credit. Not everyone gets some.” Like credit, you see. Credit.
It’s not even a joke. It’s just, like, a fact. Or not even a fact. It’s just a statement. A phrase. A sentence that dribbled out from someone’s pen and was stamped into tin.
Ahem, moving on.
The woman removed said holder from its packaging, chortled, and then proceeded to take it outside to her vehicle. Then, she knowingly and deliberately took a screwdriver and unscrewed the four screws holding on her current license plate holder. (I can only assume it said, “I brake for cars.”) She then took the new holder, held it up, and screwed into on her car. She did all this of her own volition.
She had but one message to send to the world. And this was it:
“Sex is like credit. Not everyone gets some.”
You can understand now why I’m forever changed.
Tyra Banks kicked off the season of her horrific talk show by manufacturing a “Real Hair Day” and showing off her real tresses (she usually wears wigs or weaves) on the premiere episode.
A woman who has been paid because she is extraordinarily beautiful is telling us norms that we should embrace our natural selves? And we’re supposed to applaud her “bravery” during this ridiculous publicity stunt? Bite me, Ty-Ty, you egocentric monster.
I bet cancer patients would love to have access to the quality wigs you do, Ms. Tyra. I bet poor women would love to have the nutritionist, stylists, hairdressers, makeup artists, personal trainers, etc. that you have. But Ms. Sensitive didn’t think of that when she was telling us to “love ourselves.”
Thank God we have Tyra Banks to show us that we should ignore all of her ads, catalogs, and runway shows that made us feel crappy about our looks in the first place. Thank you, Tyra, for making money on the backs of our misery and then turning around and lecturing us about “inner beauty.” And thank you for not realizing that it’s easy to talk about loving your beauty when you are a 5’10” supermodel.
(After all, remember that Tyra has flaws, too! Why, sometimes she has bad breath in the morning!)
Oh Tyra, you truly are a gift. An arrogant, condescending, self-important gift.
I have to get a TB test done, and I’ve been to the clinic twice. Both times, I’ve magically come at the “wrong time.” Grrrrr…
I can’t get health insurance. If you read this blog even semi-regularly, you’d know that. I currently pay $475+ for COBRA.
The problem is is that I now know the drill. It seems that no matter how crappy the coverage, they ask the same questions on the application.
In the last ten years, have you had any of the following? What date did you start treatment? What date did you end treatment? What was the treatment? What percentage have you recovered?
Are you kidding me? Am I supposed to remember the details of sinusitis that I had 10 years ago? Am I supposed to quantify what percentage “recovered” I am from my GERD? My allergies? Should I have kept a record of all the prescription medicine that I received in the last two years… cuz I didn’t. But they want all this information, and woe to you if you screw up because they can retroactively cancel your coverage. Yep, and then you have to pay them back.
The kicker is that they want to know if you’ve already been denied coverage. Well, of course I have. Because I’ve actually been to the doctor in the past ten years! I’m actually on prescription medication right now. I actually have been sick and injured through no fault of my own. The sad thing is, is that I’m a healthy [age redacted]-year-old, and I can’t get health insurance. Yay for the private sector!
So I go to fill out the applications, and it’s just so fruitless. I’ve started and stopped twice in the past two days. It’s so dumb because I don’t know how to answer their questions, and I know I’ll be denied regardless. So for now, it’s $475/month for sucky coverage. I just paid $50 for ear drops on Thursday. Thank God for health insurance. Whatever would I do without it?
I had my Second City class show today (it was totally awesome), and of course, the only person to show up for me was Joe. I totally understand it because it was Mother’s Day, but the lack of support for LA theater in general (and for friends’ shows in particular) just annoys the beejeezus out of me. My last show ran for six weeks (12 shows), and only 4 people I know showed up (and I had comps!). I realize that’s a short run, but come on! Don’t these people want to be actors, to network, to see live theater? There’s no real community out here.
I’m at the supermarket with a sizeable load of perishables. I’m at the front of the line, placing my items on the conveyor belt, and the prune-lady behind me takes a divider and begins putting her stuff on the belt at the same time. Of course, I still have a ton of stuff to go, but her impatience forces me to continually push her stuff back (the darn thing is constantly moving). Listen woman, stop sucking lemons for two seconds and wait your turn!
Blogger, on its home page, touts its “most amazing year ever!” HA! My archives are all screwed up since Google has revamped the site. It’s hit or miss if it even publishes, let alone publishes correctly. I have pages missing, links missing, it’s a complete and utter mess. Screw you, Google, because now I have to learn WordPress.
Stupid Blogger has really been messing up in publishing ever since Google took over. It’s driving me insane.
I’ve decided that the best thing about being rich and famous is the personal assistant, i.e., someone who pays my bills for me.
I’ve become increasingly annoyed at the physical act of paying bills. Remembering when the bill is due, getting the statement out, writing the check, addressing the envelope, stamping it, etc., etc. It’s gotten incredibly cumbersome. I resent that this menial, annoying task invades my life at all. Hey, if you want your money, why don’t you come get it? I shouldn’t have to do your work for you, you danged hippies.
I think people have gotten meaner. The Internet gives people the anonymous license to be uncivil, uncouth, and inconsiderate.
Look at the way Americans treat celebrities. They nitpick every little detail from looks to behavior to talent to style. Our put-everyone-down culture is out of control.
Like Perez Hilton. That glommer-on makes his living calling attractive people ugly, closeted (or straight) people gay, and talented people hacks. Gosh now, who’s the real hack? It’s a sad commentary that people eat that crap up likes its rocky road ice cream.
You people have made me feel sorry for Nicole Ritchie. For shame.