The Curse of The Sweaterpuppies

Gooooooood Morning ! Hope your Holiday festivities were lovely, and that your New Years Plans are fun and don't involve you throwing up in a bathroom or wandering Downtown alone looking for a cab that will never come. Remember: safety in numbers. My New Years Resolutions are to not miss a Friday posting, and to not eat fast food more than once a month. Both of these resolutions will most likely be broken within 6 weeks. So it goes. Good luck to you on your Resolutions, hopefully you can last longer than my inevitable failures.

Alright so this posting is going to be about Boobs. Specifically my own boobs. There will be actual photo graphical evidence as well. I'm warning you now so that you can stop reading if it offends you, or so that if you are into boobs you can send the link to this posting to everyone you know. Either way, I understand.

For those not aware, I'm a towering 5 foot 2 inches tall. And at the present moment am sporting a set of 32 D's. These, while at first glance may seem awesome, are in actuality a giant pain in my ass for a number of reason, and have been since graduating from high school. If you'd like to find out why, keep reading. Shall we begin? We shall.

Reasons Why Having Big Boobs Isn't That Awesome


1) I'm 5'2. Having a Big Chest makes me look like a Carmel Apple on a Stick.
Models and Actresses and Porn Stars that are 5'6 or taller can get away with having big tits. The length of their torsos and waists balance it all out so they don't appear too top heavy. I on the other hand have a torso the length of a stick of gum, and thus look like I'm going to fall over if there's a slight breeze. 2) There are certain clothes I can't wear without looking like a prostitute.
For my smaller chested sisters, the following items of clothing all look super cute and fun and flirty on a warm summers day: Tube tops. Camis. Triangle Bikini Tops. Halter Tops. Strapless Dresses. Low Cut Dresses. Any Item of Clothing that requires you to Not Wear a Bra. For me, if I try buying something cute and fun to wear in the summer, I end up looking like I just got off the early morning shift at the Vu. Why? Because having big boobs is automatically equated with being hyper sexual. I can wear the exact same shirt as a friend with a B Cup and look 75% more slutty than she does. 3) Everyone Thinks They're Fake
Everyone. If I received a dollar for every time a now good friend told me that when they first met me they were 100% sure I had fake boobs, I would have $7. It's not so much that I care that people think they are fake-which in a backwards way is kind of a compliment-but rather that people don't believe me when they finally get around to asking if they are or not. I had a random man-stranger in a bar tell me that I needed to get over myself and just be proud of my obvious surgical enhancements-but in a less articulate way and more along the lines of "those tits are so fake, wear em proud girl!" This was as I was walking out of the bar. He didn't know me at all. We didn't do the awkward standing in line waiting for a drink convo. He just felt it was necessary to shout this at me as I was leaving. The 47 other people exiting the building all turned to verify if my tits were indeed fake. Fun times!

4) Golfing is impossible.
I'm serious. Look at any famous female golfer....I think there's like 2 or something. Neither of them is packing anything higher than a B. Why? Try having a good golf swing when you have to place your arms on top of an extra foot and a half of chestiscle. It doesn't work. I found this out at a driving range sophomore year of high school and was instantly pissed off. Driving ranges are supposed to be fun and easy and relaxing. For me they are filled with frustration, embarrassment and shame.

5) Exercising requires me to wear 15 bras.
Do I have to wear this many? Of course not. I do it so that I don't look like a Baywatch commercial. Contrary to popular belief, I actually don't like drawing attention to myself through how I physically look. I'd rather you think I was funny or kind of intelligent. So to keep gawking down to a minimum while exercising, I wear a regular bra with underwire on bottom, an elastic sports bra over that, and then either a sports tank with a built in bra, or a wife beater with a t-shirt on top of everything. As one can imagine, my chest doesn't move. Its like they're frozen in time. It is glorious and makes me feel less self conscience. I could probably take a bullet and not feel a thing.
6) Nice Bras are fucking pricey
I already hear you saying I don't have to buy a $65 bra at Victoria Secret and to stop my bitching. The thing is, I do have to buy that bra because its the only one that will successfully rein in the monsters. I once bought a bra at Target. **Side Note** for the record I actually love Target and get 60% of my clothes there. Just not bras anymore. See next sentence for details. So I bought this Target bra because I was tired of spending so much money at VS. And it seemed nice and good enough. It was light green which reminded me of moss and summertime and I think that's what really sold me on it. So I wore this bra to a Horseback Riding class I took for my PE credit in college--I know I'm the coolest. After about 15 minutes of trotting, I notice the left side of my shirt seemed a little loose. A few more minutes of trotting and I realized that my left bra strap had broken under the strain of containing my boob while bouncing vigorously over an extended amount of time, and that my left can was flying freely about my shirt like a flock of doves released at a wedding. I finished the class with as much dignity as I could muster and vowed to never again purchase a bra from anywhere but VS.

7) I have to work really hard to prevent saggage
Its just science. Gravity and whatnot. I very rarely go without a bra, because I am determined to not end up like my 4ft 7in grandma whose chest reaches the waistband of her jeans. I have been told by every women age 35 or older that this is inevitable and that after you have a kid, they turn into flapjacks. I disagree. I think I can fight this through the close to constant usage of a bra with an underwire and positive thought. Only time will tell. The bigger they are, the longer they have to grow. You just remember that ladies when you are bitching about not having any cleavage. In 15 years your chest will still resemble a body part and not a sock full of quarters, so be thankful.

8) The Dreaded Side Boob
I have heard that this happens only if you have a bra that doesn't fit properly. I don't know if that's true or not, but most dresses, tanks, and swimsuits that I own produce it. And it looks weird. And vaguely skanky. Celebrities can get away with this, but when your average woman has it, it just looks like your clothes shrunk or that you are too cheap to buy clothes that fit properly. Which in my case is probably true, but still.
9) Big Boobs make you look Fatter than you actually are
This is 100% true. I watched a Show on MTV Called True Life: I'm getting plastic surgery, and there was this one chick on there that was getting a reduction of her triple D's. She was not over weight and had a nice figure other than her large chest. After her reduction which brought her down to a big B, everyone interviewed that knew her before the surgery just assumed she lost weight. Not one of them guessed she had a reduction. So unless you are 95 lbs and over 5'5, your large chest is going to make you appear candy coated, even if you aren't. My height and combined chest size make me appear to have a BMI of around 37. I'm not really overweight, but at first glance you might think otherwise. Its like a mirage.

10) They are distracting
Both men and women will stare at my chest because they are there and they are perky and because you don't expect either of those things from someone of my stature. And then I watch them trying not to stare, which is awkward because then I have to pretend that I don't notice them trying not to stare and the whole ordeal makes me feel very weird and uncomfortable. And on top of that, if I'm saying something even remotely interesting, I better not have any cleve showing because it's going to distract you and I'm going to notice your eyes flick downwards quick and then that's going to throw me off, and make me lose my train of thought, and then I'm going to get pissed that your inability to sustain eye contact with me has now caused me to appear inarticulate and flustered. And I might cry. Not really, but it does make me uncomfortable.


So there you have it folks. Big Boobies aren't all they are cracked up to be, no matter what you hear or see on the Internet or television. Smaller Chested Ladies: be proud of what you've got. Bigger Chested Ladies: invest in some strong supportive underwires and hope for the best. Surgically Enhanced Ladies: Yours will always be perky, just be careful not to pop them.

Happy New Year!!!!!!!!

Love,
Maria

Magazine Interview: A Dateline Exclusive...except not really, I dont want to get sued

Happy Friday Everyone! I recently realized that there is a little thing called a Stats tab on here and that the information in there is very interesting. Apparently people in 13 different countries read the crap that comes out of my head on a regular basis, which is amazing to me. Granted, I have friends abroad currently, which accounts for about 5 of those countries, but lets be honest, we all know I have no friends in Canada, and there seem to be 5-6 people there that somehow found this site, so to them I say, thank you! And to anyone in any of those other countries that I don't actually know, thank you as well. I hope the things I write on this page will make you dislike America less, hooray! PS-Canadians, I was just teasing. I have no friends in Canada only because I have like 3 1/2 friends total in the entire North American Continent.

Alright so I was at the store picking up groceries and I was waiting in the check out line and started looking at the magazines lining the check out counter. And I was confused as to when all magazines morphed into varying versions of the National Inquirer, and why I wasn't ever consulted about this. I honestly don't remember it being this bad ever before in my existence. There used to be like one or two trashbag magazines that no self respecting cultured person would purchase but everyone nonchalantly glanced through in line. Now, there are like one or two self respecting magazines, and the rest are all complete fucking garbage. See?:

*Side Note** There is an unusually large space at this top of this particular MS Paint image because I used screen shot and forgot to cut out the top of my browser window which showcased all my Favorited sites as well as my personal email info, so haha, lucky for me, too bad for you, I caught that before posting this publicly. Maria FTW.

Anyways, as you can see, useless, sensationalized, irrelevant bullshit about famous people who could care less about whether or not you care about their lives is what sells apparently. And overall, this doesn't surprise me, but it does make me sad. Now I'm sure there are some of you out there getting offended at the fact that I seem to be insinuating you are stupid for purchasing these types of items as reading material, and on the one hand, you would be correct. But on the other, bigger hand, I do know that everyone has a weakness for things that aren't particularly good for them, or especially mentally stimulating, and that's ok. What I have a problem with, is if this type of publication is the only thing you read, or the only information you care to know about the world outside your doorstep. Because guess what? There's some crazy shit going on all over the world and it would behoove you to pay attention.

So, I decided I would take a few moments today to ask these Magazines some questions about current affairs, since they have taken on lives of their own, and are more than willing to be interviewed by a humble blogger such as myself. Begin.

First up, we Have In Touch September 2010:

September 2010: "Well Maria, I'm so glad you asked! This issue is one that is very near and dear to my heart. I think it's pretty clear to everyone who knows anything about anything, that America's financial problems would all magically disappear if celebrities would just stop leaving the house without any makeup on. I mean, no one wants to see Sarah Jessica Parker without foundation or mascara. Shes hard enough to look at as it is. My theory is that the uglier our celebrities appear, the less likely other countries will be willing to loan us money to help pay off our insurmountable debt, so duh, the solution is pretty simple. Plus the more makeup people buy, the more stimulation our economy receives, so its really a win win all around! Ha, and I thought you were going to ask me a hard question!"
Me: " Alrighty then. Thank you for that thought filled reply"


Next Up, Star May 2010:

May 2010: "wOOOHOOO!!! Im just so stoked to be here!!! Allllrighhhhhhttt" "Wait what was the question again?"
Me: "How do you feel about the new Healthcare Bill?"
May 2010: "I think it stinks"
Me: "Can you expand on that thought a little further?"
May 2010: "Well everyone knows that the Obama's home life is really shitty, so I think he was probably in a pretty messed up place when he came up with all that stuff. Plus J-Lo is beating up Marc Anthony and I'll be damned if my hard earned tax dollars go towards his ER visits. Plus I heard hes probably illegal, and I work too hard to be paying for people gettin in here illegally."
Me: "Have you actually looked at what is proposed in the Bill at all?"
May 2010: "Hell no, I don't have time for that shit, but hey, guess what did you hear Jen finally got a ring? I feel so bad for that little lady, always playin second fiddle to some big boobed floozy like Angelina Jolie. Its downright shameful"
Me: "Ok, any closing thought on this topic?"
May 2010: "Yeah, ROCK OUT WITH YOUR COCK OUT WOOOHOOO"


Now presenting, Cosmopolitan, November 2010:

November 2010: "What Oil Spill?"
Me: "There was a huge Oil Spill that started back in April of this year. Hundreds of thousands of gallons of oil poured into the Gulf of Mexico for months unchecked. The fishing and shrimping industries in the surrounding areas were devastated, not to mention the physical damage done to Oceanic and Coastal Wildlife across the world. It was a pretty big deal. You didn't hear about it?"
November 2010: "No. I was probably busy doing one of the hundreds of things that I know how to do to please a man. Sexually. I'm talking about sex."
Me: "Ok. Well, that's interesting, but now that you know about the spill, whats your first reaction to it?"
November 2010: "I would have sex with it."
Me: "You would have sex with the oil spill."
November 2010: "Yes. Sex solves everything. Pleasing your man is the most important thing in the world. Being fun and flirty and sexy and uninhibited drives men wild. It makes your life worth living."
Me: "But the oil spill isn't a man. Its a man made disaster. You cant please it sexually or otherwise."
November 2010:" HA! That's just because you don't know all the ways to please an oil spill. I do. I'm Cosmo. I'll please that oil spill so good it wont ever forget the name Cosmopolitan November 2010!!"
Me: "I think we're done here."


And finally, Star July 2010:

July 2010: "Weapons of Mass Destruction huh? There's a few Weapons of Mass Destruction on my cover page if you know what I'm saying"
Me: "Right. Anyways, does it concern you to know that North Korea's leaders have less than friendly feelings towards the United States during a time when they are suspected of creating vast amounts of nuclear warheads?"
July 2010: "Wait, so you're saying that people think North Korea might nuke us at some point?"
Me: "Well that's the fear, yes."
July 2010: "Would this nuke kill all of the fat celebrities?"
Me: "Ummm, yeah. It would kill millions of people if detonated in a highly populated area."
July 2010: "But the fat ones will for sure die too?"
Me: "Yes."
July 2010: "Well then I really don't see what the big problem is here. No one likes fat celebrities. They're gross. And probably smell. In fact we should be thanking North Korea for being willing to use one of their missiles on our fat celebrities so that we don't have to waste any of our own. Its actually really thoughtful of them."
Me: "You do in fact understand that potentially hundreds of thousands of people could die, and millions more would be affected by the radiation fallout that these bombs leave in their wake."
July 2010: "Are you deaf? If it kills fat celebrities I'm for it. End of discussion."
Me: "Thank you for your time."


In conclusion, read these terrible wastes of paper if you must, but please at least turn on the BBC every once in a while or type in Current World Events on Google to see whats going on outside your sphere of existence. Thank you.

Have a super weekend players.

~Maria

Winter and stuff

Morning lovely people of the world. Lets get going since Ive been bad the last 3 weeks.

Most of you are probably aware that it is Winter in the Midwest. Which means that there are a ton of things you have to remember to do to ensure that you don't freeze to death. As of the last 7 days, the average temperature in the Twin Cities has been around 15 degrees. And if you are from Florida or Sri Lanka or something and have never experienced what 15 degrees or less feels like, it feels like this:
You turn into a fucking zombie. Its like you have lost all body hair and fat and your limbs don't want to move correctly, and your face feels like its about to fall off. Every breath you take in makes your lungs burn and all you can think about is how to get to wherever you are going faster. Its not very pleasant. And every year you wonder aloud to friends, neighbors and random strangers in the elevator why you are living in this god forsaken state. And yet, here we are again.

So.

I have devised a list of things to do to survive the next 5 months. Because really, no one wants to die of exposure. It's not a very pretty way to go, plus I heard once on Law & Order that the last stage of Hypothermia involves you believing that you are super hot so you take off all of your clothes and die naked frozen to a tree or something. Which is just depressing on so many levels. So don't let that be you. Because I have enough stuff to worry about without trying to fit your naked frozen funeral into the mix. Begin.

1) Dress in Layers. If you don't look at least 50 lbs overweight in your clothing, than you aren't dressed warm enough. If you are going to be outside for an extended amount of time i.e., over 5 minutes, you should look like this when you leave the house:
You should appear to be bald, overweight and sexually ambiguous. Really, in weather this cold, no one is going to be checking you out outside anyways, so don't let vanity be the reason you had to get 4 blackened toes removed.

2) Kicking off the snow/ice buildup from behind the back of your tires has been statistically proven to decrease the likelihood of you getting into an accident.
Not really. I just really really really like doing this. It brings me a satisfaction I cant quite explain. Remember how Holden wanted to be the Catcher in the Rye? I want to be the Kicker of the Snow. Like, if I could get paid to go around and kick all the snow off of people's cars, I think my happiness quotient would raise at least 60%. **Side Note** I just looked up the word quotient and the definition has to do with math so I'm fairly certain I didn't use it correctly here. Sometimes I just pick words that sound cool. You'll learn that. In conclusion, if you need your tires removed of snow, give me a jingle.

3) Don't park in a snowbank. Even if its closer to your end destination.
This is a tricky one, because on the one hand, parking closer to wherever you are going seems like a better way to ensure that you wont freeze to death en route. This is a fallacy. If you park in a snowbank, you will get stuck. There is a reason that meter spot next to the bar was yet unclaimed when you pulled up at 12:23: because no one wants to be the asshole trying to get their car unstuck after bar close.....like me last weekend. If it weren't for a few good friends that waited to see if I could get out before driving away, and the kindness of a very large stranger that didn't demand sexual favors for helping my dumbass at 2 in the morning, I would have died right there in that spot. So find a place to park that is free and clear of snow. Its safer in the long run.

4) You should have an Ice Scraper in your trunk year round.
Really. Because sometimes it snows in May. And it sucks to have to try and wipe snow off with your hands, and then if you are a midget like me, you get snow all over your coat when you have to lean across the car to reach the middle of the windshield, and then when you go to sit down in the car, snow gets all over your seat and you are not only sitting in a freezing car, but are now privy to wet pants as well. And scraping ice with a credit card is both impossible and looks ridiculous. So knock that shit off. I don't even feel bad for you.

5) Putting plastic on your windows helps...even though it is a giant pain in the ass.
If you have nice new windows that seal tightly, please disregard this one. The windows in my home look as if they were made sometime in 1972. And the genius who laid out the floor plan in this house decided that every single vent should be positioned directly next to a outlying window or door. I'm serious. It's so ridiculous it makes me cry. So every year we go through the fun process of putting up plastic. No big surprise here, I'm terrible at this. I despise measuring anything, and my arms aren't long enough to stretch the plastic all the way across the windows.
Just because I'm bad at this doesn't mean that you should be too. It does make the room like 10 degrees warmer. So just do it already. Plus you will save on your heating bill and mother earth will thank you for slowing down the process of draining away all her valuable resources.

6) Invest in some good slippers. Its socially acceptable to bring them with you to people's homes. I don't care how many pairs of socks I have on, my feet will still be fucking ice cold during the winter unless I'm wearing slippers. Maybe its psychological or an early warning sign of my poor circulation which may result in heart disease later in life. Either way, I need those bastards on my feet to feel even remotely comfortable when its really cold out. Feel free to purchase slippers you enjoy. Icetoners are bunk. I myself prefer straight up white bunny slippers. Its like having a friend on your feet at all times.

7) The colder it gets, the lazier you will get. That's ok. Embrace it.
Even animals put on weight and only want to sleep when its cold outside. Its science. So if the fact that the sun goes down before you're even walking out to your car in a 17 below windchill makes you want to eat 5 papa Murphy's pizzas and then sleep until April , don't feel bad. It happens to me too. And all those assholes that you see running outside or biking in this weather will get theirs. Mark my words. They will get theirs when I finally muster up enough energy to throw a snowball at the back of their heads. Take that. And look, the very act of me throwing a snowball was the most movement I participated in in the last 4 hours. So really, its a win/win.
So that's it. I'm sure there are more, but I just got really sleepy and am contemplating going to pick up Applebee's carside to go, so 7 is all you get. In conclusion, stay safe, stay warm, and always have faith that spring will come again.

Love and kisses

~Maria

Why is there a deer hanging in my garage

Hellllllllllllo friends! Its been a while. I missed you, I really did. I hope you all had lovely holidays. I learned this week that it's not PC to say 'I hope you had a good Thanksgiving', and instead you are supposed to say 'If you chose to celebrate it, I hope your Thanksgiving was nice'. Apparently Angelina Jolie is boycotting Thanksgiving because it is a holiday that celebrates the decimation of Native Americans and it is impolite to assume that everyone celebrates it. She doesn't. And I say this to her: You cant boycott a holiday that centers around eating. You just cant. Also, I took a Native American philosophies class in college and my professor was Seminole and never once said anything about Thanksgiving offending him, so I will continue to celebrate it and apologize to Native Americans for destroying their culture and taking their land the other 364 days of the year. Because I really love eating and don't want to give that day up. Sorry.

Alright so 2 weekends ago my husband went deer hunting. He ended up shooting a pretty big doe. And unlike last year, it wasn't stolen out of the back of the truck while he was in the casino, so I was lucky enough to come home to a dead animal lying on the floor of my garage. Normally he would let his dad take it back and have a butcher take care of it for us and we would get brats and jerky and crap. But because my husband is awesome, and because he knows I'm a freak and really think shit is going to go down in the next few years and there will be some kind of crazy ass Armageddon Marshall law type shit happening, he brought it home so we could learn how to butcher it ourselves. Your significant other buys you flowers. Mine knows I'm insane and brings me dead animals so that when the world is ending, we will be eating fresh stew while you fight over the last can of creamed corn in your cupboard. Booyah.

This is what a dead deer looks like:

After helping my husband hang this creature from our garage rafters, I was able to get a better look at it. I haven't ever seen a deer up close before, and I had no idea they were so huge. Like, if you've ever seen that YouTube video of the dude being attacked by a buck, I seriously have no idea how he didn't die. Deers are fucking monsters. **Side Note**I'm aware you don't need to pluralize the word deer. But I like to for some reason.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wnJSwBkcJ4Q

I decided to take a gander at this animal for a while, and I then proceeded to get kind of attached. Because she was in his trunk the entire ride back, she hadn't gone all hard yet, and so when you touched her, she was still soft, which was weird and made me kind of sad. So I named her Christina. And I pet her and poked her eyeball to see what it felt like and told her I was sorry she got shot.

To make a long story less long, we did our best at butchering Christina and I found myself alternating between disgust and genuine interest at learning how to prepare food that I could actually eat. Then my ADHD kicked in and after 25 minutes I was bored and annoyed to be hanging out in a freezing ass garage surrounded by blood and bones and stinky ass meat. Deer meat fucking stinks. Like, I'm fairly certain deers eat baby diapers on a regular basis.
Which doesn't make sense to me because Ive eaten free range chicken and cow and buffalo and their meat doesn't smell like an asshole and they are eating stuff out in the wild, so I really don't know what the hell deer are doing differently. Anyways, this deer butchering process took waaaay longer than I expected and stretched out over 2 days culminating in my husband bringing in bags of hunks of Christina over a 3 hours period into our kitchen to be washed and cut down and bagged and labeled all while I have 75 panic attacks at the fact that there is deer blood and bones and hair all over my counter and sink. I think I used an entire bottle of Lysol 4 in 1, and annoyed the shit out of my husband by insisting on spraying the counter and wiping the gore away every 7 minutes.

In conclusion. We learned how to butcher a deer, which is actually a pretty good skill to have. And I again confirmed that I really am the laziest pile of crap ever.

Have a lovely Tuesday. See you bastards on Friday again.

The 2011 Toyota Highlander Kid is a Major Douche

Morning you crazy sons of bitches. Im pretty fired up today. So lets just dive right in, shall we? We shall.

I'm sure you have seen Toyota's new line of commercials advertising the 2011 Highlander. If you haven't here is an example:

http://broadbandsports.com/node/40410


It's not the actual commercials I have beef with--People still say I have beef, shut your face. Its the fact that Toyota is trying to get grown ass people to buy new cars based on whether or not an 8 year old child thinks you are cool or not. Which is absolutely ridiculous.



I am of the school of thought that believes 100% that children are created for the purpose of being embarrassed by their parents. Sure, you teach them crap, you feed them, you build up their little self esteems, but you also get to embarrass them in front of their friends by dancing to "Thong Song" or wearing Zubas to parent/teacher conferences. You get to do those things because being weird and embarrassing your children is your reward for giving up so much of your own life to care for another human being. You just get to. Its the rules.

So you can understand why this line of commercials showcasing a too cool for school 8 year old with a bomber jacket, skinny jeans, converse sneakers, and super cool mussed up hair telling me that "just because you're a parent, doesn't mean you have to be lame"makes me want to slap the shit out of someone.

So. Here are the things I would say to the 2011 Toyota Highlander Kid if he were a real child, and friends with one of my children--because there is no way in hell I would allow my future kids to become such major dick weeds at the tender age of 8--Begin:

1) What are you wearing? John Mayer called and he wants his look back. You are 8. You are still supposed to be into Spiderman and Pokemons and Transformers. You aren't suppose to care about what you are wearing when you are in 3rd grade. No self respecting 8 year old boy would wear skinny jeans because newsflash, they are uncomfortable as hell. You should be requesting loose fitting clothing so you can climb trees and ride bikes and junk, not, as you currently appear to be dressed for, heading over to an on campus coffee house to discuss vague emo bands and browse on your Ipad.

2) Why don't you realize how lucky you are? You should be thankful your parents love you enough to drive you to school every day instead of making you take the bus like normal kids. Have you ever been on a school bus? They don't even have seat belts. And when the bus driver slams on the breaks, you fly into the seat in front of you which has a giant metal bar in it for some reason. Its not very fun or cool to walk into school with a chipped tooth. Lucky for you, you get to watch fucking cartoons and sit on your climate controlled leather seat every morning and afternoon.

3) Your parents aren't losers. Not all Parents are dorks. Its just that when we were your age different music and trends were cool, and we have a hard time understanding how you can watch The Jonas Brothers for 90 minutes straight without wanting to throw up. Sorry if you don't get us. We don't get you either. But we are trying at least. Do the parents a favor and do the same.

4) Was it really necessary to fold down that seat to throw your backpack in? Answer: No. No it wasn't. You look like an asshole. Knock it off. Your mom is already running late and doesn't have time to deal with your attention seeking behavior.

5) Guess What? No adult actually cares if an 8 year old thinks they are cool or not. We don't. Sorry. Unlike you, we have already been through middle school and high school and are over caring what other people think. Most of us anyway. I can tell you right now, the lamer you think I am, and the more vocal you are about it, the more I am going to embarrass the shit out of you every chance I get. Because really, your attitude needs to be adjusted and me & Cody's father will pick you up from school on a tandem bike in neon bike shorts on the days we drive carpool. It will happen if things don't change. Don't think I wont do it. I already have the bike. Its in the garage next to my 2003 Corolla. I bet that Corollas looking pretty pretty good now isn't it?

6) You are a Douche. Stop it. I'm telling you this because you are still young enough to de-douchify yourself before its too late. Really Highlander kid. You don't have to try so hard all the time. Stop caring so much what people think. Life is a whole lot more fun if you just do and wear and say what makes you happy and not worry about being cool. The coolest people I have ever met are the ones that don't give a crap about being cool. So yeah. Just let your guard down. Relax a little. At least wait until high school to start being such an asshole to your parents. You can get away with it then. But yeah. Hang in there. I know you have it in you to just be yourself. And get a haircut. Because your head is going to be really hot in the summer if you don't.

In conclusion, Toyota, your Ad Campaign has not only made me not want to buy your vehicle, it has also made me hate children. I hope for your sake, that you dont have any more recalls.

The Year of the Mice

Good Morning Readers! I have seriously missed you. Thank you for being cool with giving me a few weeks off. But I'm back, hollla.

Let's dive right in since I'm so excited. PS-I switch back and forth between tenses during this entire posting so just go with it. I tried to fix it but then I got tired and said fuck it.

Last week I woke up and walked into my kitchen only to discover what looked specks of tiny black rice in various places on my counter.
My first thought was that my husband spilled some seasoning when he was grilling the night before. Upon further inspection, I was horrified to realize that what I mistook for food product was in fact shit. Tiny tiny shit. That comes out of something with a tiny tiny butt. I immediately freaked out. **Side Note: I was raised in a household of neat freaks. Like, I wasn't allowed to hug a stuff animal when wearing my church clothes because it might get lint on my outfit. So realizing that I am now living in a home with some type of vermin induced a mild stroke.

I ran upstairs and started googling rat, roach, and mice poop. I was surprised and annoyed that google images failed me on this one, and only showed like 3 actual pictures of vermin shit, and even then its far away and kind of blurry and the rest of what came up are all random things that people have labeled as mice or rat poop which depressed me to no end since there are some pics of people and even one of 2 hot chicks and The Burger King, which really made no sense at all. I came to the conclusion that we must have roaches since the 3 decent pics of mice poop all made whatever I had on my counter look way smaller than your average mice droppings.

My husband remained surprisingly calm as I screamed at him that we need to go get some kind of trap ASAP because its fucking gross that we have rats or mice or roaches and what the hell is wrong with us why are we so gross and dirty and I clean the damn counter every day what the fuck how does this even happen??

3 Days and 7 panic attacks, and 57 more tiny shits on the counter later...

The Husband finally stopped by Lowes on the way home from work and talked to some old dude about what we might have in our kitchen. Before he can even finish the sentence "so we woke up to these little black specs" the old dude interrupts and goes "Mice. You've got Mice." He goes on to explain that for some reason, the Mice population in MN has exploded this fall, and that they have been selling 10x the normal amount of traps this season. This made me feel better. Sweet, we aren't just dirt balls!

That evening, we set the 4 traps by smearing peanut butter on them, which apparently Mice like better than cheese....so every cartoon you have ever seen is a lie. The traps are these scary looking white plastic things that are all teeth and snap shut so fast they fly 4 inches off the counter when they detonate. After baiting and positioning these machines of death, I started to feel a little bad. I know this is douchey and hippy-ish of me but keep your pants on. I just don't particularly like killing things is all. Its not that Im sad for the Mouse's soul or for his family, it's just that if I was born a mouse, and it was getting cold out and harder to find food, you can bet your ass I would be sneaking into some one's kitchen every night to pick at their leftover poptarts and tap dance on their bread. Because really, this is what I picture the Mice do at night when we are asleep:
So yeah. I kind of feel bad about killing them.

Through the course of the night, I hear 3 of the 4 traps go off. And each time it happens I wake up and cringe. In fact after the 3rd trap wakes me up, I proceed to dream the rest of the night about waking up to find 4 huge white rats in the traps and none of them are dead, they are just stuck and squealing and moving around the counter and I keep thinking in my head holy shit how long do I have to wait until these sons of bitches die because there is no way in hell I'm going down there.

So when the alarm goes off at 4:30, need less to say, I'm hesitant about going down there to see what we will see. Turns out, the Mice we have are the teenseiest little things you've ever seen. They are so small in fact, that the only thing sticking out of the trap are their teensy mice feet & tail. This is why I thought we had roaches. Because Quinn Mice are so small their shit looks like roach poop. And did you know mice have cute white bellies? Well they do. This is what a Quinn Mouse looks like in a trap:
We disposed of the small bodies and went about our business as usual. So far the death toll is up to 4.

Another trap went off last night. I wanted to write this post in memory of the Mice we have killed and continue to kill as long as they keep shitting on our counters.

Mice: I'm sorry. I know you are just trying to survive. If you were ugly like rats or roaches, this wouldn't be so difficult for me. But really, it has to be done. Because I don't go into your mouse nest and shit all over your food piles. I hope your death is quick and painless. There's no blood on the counter so I'm guessing your little neck snaps and you don't even know whats happening as you lick delicious peanut butter off your tiny paws. I'm glad your last memory is of eating something tasty. Its actually a pretty good way to die. In conclusion, I'm sorry, and I hope you understand.

Love,
Maria

Rest in Peace Mom

I don't really know how to begin this. Sorry if it makes you uncomfortable.

I know this story isn't unique or special. Not writing this for sympathy or attention. I'm writing this to let others out there know that they aren't alone. Because I felt and still do feel so alone in this pain. But I'm trying very hard to remember that death is something we all have in common. All of us will experience it. Some of us will lose everyone we love. Some of us only a few. Some of us will be the ones whose lives are cut short, and we will be the ones being missed. But all of us will have to deal with death eventually.

My mom Holly Marie Stadnik died on Wednesday October 22nd 2008. She had been living in Abbott hospital in Minneapolis, MN waiting for over 2 months for a heart transplant that didn't come in time. My mom honest to god, was 100% my best friend. I went to her for everything. Cared about her opinion the most. She was funny & smart & pretty & an awesome cook & people loved her, even if she didn't realize those things about herself. She had a really difficult life. But she always kept going. Always kept trying. Always found humor in everything. The hole her death has left in my life is hard to describe. I've had people ask me "how do you move forward, how do you keep going after losing your mom?" My answer is simply, you just do. It doesn't mean you do it particularly gracefully or honorably or anything. My answer is, you do it because what else can you do? Losing someone so close rips out this huge part of you. And you can either keep moving forward, or you can crawl in a hole and never come out again. There are many days I wish I would have crawled in the hole.

I don't know where my mom is right now. I don't know if she can hear me when I talk to her. People say she can, and as much as I want to believe that, I just don't know if she really can, or if me wanting her to be able to is all that there is to that. I don't know if the people we love that are gone can see us, see what we are doing with our lives, or if they even care. I don't know if when we die we just stop, and everything goes black, or if we float down this tunnel of light to this awesome place where all of our friends and family and pets and things we love are waiting for us. I don't know.

Sometimes I dream about her. Sometimes I think I feel her around me. Sometimes I get this buzzing in my ears which I heard can mean there is energy around you. My ears have been buzzing since last night. But I cant tell you conclusively if any of those things are verification that whatever form of my mom is around me. I cant. But I do hope that its her.

Take today to count your blessings. That sounds corny, but really, do it. No one really knows why we are here, what happens when we die, if there is anything more than this life. People think they know and that's fine. Some say faith or religion or science tell them the answers to these questions but when it comes down to it, none of us really know. In the last few years I have decided that the purpose of my life anyway is to make connections. That's what its about. So be happy & grateful today that you got to wake up this morning. Be thankful that you have at least one person in your life that loves you. Be happy that you have gotten to experience so many cool things. Be happy you've gotten to experience really shitty things too. They make you more appreciative of the cool stuff.

And if you have a minute, say hi to my mom Holly. I don't know if she can hear you. But do it for me. It makes me happy knowing there are others out there thinking about her, remembering her. Feels like it keeps part of her alive if other people don't forget her either.


Rest in Peace Mom. I love you & miss you.

Holly Marie Stadnik

June 12th 1957--October 22nd 2008

26 years of living with hair: A Photo Anthology

Morning readers. Hope your day is going well. This is out early because I wrote it last night. Sometimes I cheat.


I was born with hair. It didnt start out curly, but it eventually got there. Im a firm believer that society places women with curly hair in the following categories: insane, hippie-ish, ugly, unfashionable, wild, and flighty. In scary movies/psychological thrillers where the female lead is being portrayed as insane, there is 75% she will have curly hair. Dont question me. In televison shows--ex Ugly Betty--Betty is seen as unfashonable and is often shown with frizzy, not smooth locks, and when tranformed into something pretty, her hair magically straightens. One time I watched American Idol and there was this chick singing with super curly hair. I think she had made it through the first few rounds. She was gorgeous. And had a hot body. But the fist thing they told her to do was relax her hair, make it straighter. I threw my Roundy's White grape juice container--we are classy and often drink right out of the bottle in Q town-- right at the screen. One time in 8th grade, Mickey Cease told me that I would be hot if I straightened my hair and dyed it blond. Gah.

Needless to say, but I will anyway, over these past 26 years I have developed a complex about my hair that Im just finally getting over. There are still days it bugs me, but it no longer makes me feel like a piece of shit on a regular basis. To help illustrate the reason why my hair has played such a big role in my life, I have decided to share some home photos with you fine people.
Begin.

I was born pretty much bald...and with a really big head. My hair didnt pose much of a problem for me in these early days. I did however enjoy lilacs and relaxing on faux fur blankets. I still do:

A year in and I had a splendid growth on my head. What better way to celebrate your infant daughter no longer being bald then to make her look like a bastard child of one of the Monkees. Note the creepy molester car over my left shoulder watching me play in my front yard:

Your eyes aren't deceiving you. Thats 100% genuine mullet. Old ladies would say "Oh what a handsome little boy" to me even when I had a dress on. Im serious.



Alright, mullet got old, how about we try some flip action. The only problem is, at this point my hair was already beginning its descent into curliness, so the thickness made my flip look like a wig. It wasnt a wig. I woke up with that shit every morning. Also, every girl child under the age of 16 had that fucking teal & pink Huffy:

2nd grade and mom decided Big Bows and perfectly styled bangs are the answer. Aww I actually look cute in this one. PS-This begins the Saga of Prints. This probably has a lot to do with the reason I wear almost nothing but solid colors now as an adult:


Alright! 3th or 4th grade and we are lucky enough to witness the infamous side pony with giant bow and poof bangs. Why Im dressed like a Mime and have a terrifying mask pin attached to my shirt, we may never know. That pin seriously scared me. Also, please note this was the year I realized the giant gap between my front teeth wasn't socially acceptable and is the reason my smile looks like Im hiding my teeth. Because I was:


Enter 6th grade and the year I believe I am old enough to do my own hair. Mom was nice enough to let me try. And the result:
Troy Polamalu's son wearing a jester cap. I dont understand it either. Oh & sweet overalls:

So middle school is in full swing and I realize simply combing my hair out after it dries and letting it just do its thing isnt as gorgeous as I first hoped it would be. Here is the year I start trying hair products to tame the beast. Gel. No one should ever use gel. This is take your daughter to work day by the way. I look like a fucking cocker spaniel:

This picture showcases my overuse of gel, my attempt at dying my hair through the use of hydrogen peroxide and the resulting orange bangs, and my addition of braces, which, when you have teeth the size of an infant, makes you look like Little John with a new grill on instead of a simple awkward teen with metal in her mouth. Believe it or not I actually had boyfriends during these years. It must have been my outstanding personality:

And thus ends our photo anthology. Im ending with that picture because it is the lowest point on the totem pole of my hair's life, and after this year we begin the climb back up into the realm of self acceptance, tolerance, cooperation, and occasional attractiveness. Thank you for sticking it out through this magical journey.

A word to all my curly hair brothers and sisters: Dont let Carrot Top ruin it for us. Keep on keeping on.

Am I supposed to eat this or have sex with it?

Good Morning Readers. Fall is in the air. Which means in 3 days it will be snowing. So soak up the good times while you can, because in this godforsaken state the nice seasons only last 1/4 of the year. I am discussing weather again. This is apparently my go-to opener when I'm too lazy to think of anything more clever to open with. Lucky you.

If you watch even an indiscriminate amount of tv, I hope that you've noticed that commercials started getting weird about 5 years ago. It began slowly, but in our current state, this epidemic has blossomed to ridiculous proportions and makes me angry and confused any time I sit down and turn on the television.

I will start by saying, yes. I am aware that Sex sells. I am also aware that the douches who work in advertising are getting paid the big bucks to create 10-30 second visual stimuli that's sole purpose is to make you want to buy something you either normally never would, or don't in fact need. Ok fine. That's their job. I also understand how playing into one of the most basic, primal urges of nature might be a good strategy for getting people interested in buying your crap. But. Advertising has crossed the line when it comes to using Sex as a means of tricking people into buying shit.

Beer commercials, lingerie, diet pills, body wash, perfume, lotion, hair products. These are the things I can expect to be advertised to me in a sexy way. Fine. Because aside from beer, all of these things revolve around physical appearance, which gets you thinking about sexy people, which in turns makes you crave physical contact. And you cant have the sex without physical contact. Even the Amish have contact when they do the nasty, even if that contact is through a hole in a sheet. **Side Note: The Amish are the best religious group to ridicule via the internet. Unless you print this off and hand it to one of them, they can never get outraged at my mockery. Point me. Aside from the above mentioned items, I shouldn't be forced to think about sex when watching a commercial for toothpaste or shoes or car insurance. Its confusing. And I already have a difficult enough time as it is without wondering why I'm getting tingly feelings listening to some chick talk in a sexy voice about PopSecret fat free kettle corn.

So. Here are my Top 3 What the Fuck/Why is this Sexy/I'm super confused/and possibly turned on Commercials:

3) Carl's Junior Teriyaki Pineapple Burger being eaten by dumbass chick from the Hills

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M2j3l6xOqTc

Ok, what the mother fuck? First of all everyone knows that this girl does not eat at Carl's Jr. Her gold bikini was probably more expensive than the ingredients to make 300 Teriyaki pineapple burgers alone. Also, hamburgers aren't sexy. They just aren't. Steak, sure. But hamburgers, no. Its the ground up parts of the cow that aren't good enough to be sold the way they were attached to the animal. How does that make me wanna get my freak on? And lastly, have you ever tried to eat on a beach? If you went out into the sand with a burger of that size, I guarantee that you would be surrounded by 500 seagulls within 3 minutes. Being pecked and shit on to death is not my idea of sexy fun.

2) Betty Crocker Microwaveable Brownie Bowl

Chocolate and sweet desserts or confections aren't a huge stretch when making the connection to sexy times. But does the chick's voice really need to be dripping with sensuality when describing a prepackaged brownie? Does she really need to make the O face when biting into this bowl of dessert for the first time? Now I'm the biggest fat kid in the entire world. In fact, yesterday I got enchiladas from the food court at work, and then half way through my meal went and bought a 6 piece McNugget and large fry at the McDonald's next door because I couldn't stop myself. So I'm not judging the magic of food and the joy it can bring a person. I just don't think the joy is one that makes blood rush to difference orifices in your body. Lets just call this Brownie bowl what it is, shall we. We shall. Your single serving Betty Crocker Microwaveable Brownie Bowl means you are at home alone on a Friday night, not out on a date with another human being, and are too depressed to in fact actually make brownies, but rather are using a form of radiation to heat up a small single serving of dessert that will be marginally satisfying at best. There. Not feeling so frisky now are we.

And best for last 1) Uncle Ben's Instant Rice?!!

I tired really hard to find this commercial online, but I'm guessing the ad agency that came up with it is too embarrassed to make it available for unrestricted public viewing. So instead you just have to believe me. About 6 months ago I witnessed in horror a commercial for Uncle Ben's Instant Rice that featured women talking super sexy about how delicious and romantic and sexyhot Uncle Ben's rice is.....thanks to the magic of Direct TV, I rewound it like 5 times to make sure I wasn't imagining it. They were telling me how Uncle Ben's can set the mood and bring the spark back into an otherwise boring dinner. And the chick in the commercial kept sexily putting spoonfuls of rice into her mouth while giving the "lets bang" look to the camera...........................are you kidding me? Its rice. Its an orange box of rice. With an elderly African American man on the cover that's dressed in clothes from the 1920s. Its even named after him. Uncle Ben. There are so many things wrong with this commercial I cant even list them. To summarize I don't want to think about instant crappy food that features elderly men on the packaging that also uses the word Uncle in the title when I'm considering getting it on. I just don't. I'm sorry.

So my advice to you today, would be turn off your tv to avoid these advertising monstrosities and go ride bikes.

Have a sexy weekend.

I have the Night Blindness

Morning Readers! I missed you last week. Thanks for understanding.

Lets cut right to the chase. Since it's already 8:40 and I'm running late again. Welcome to my life. Full of disappointing people at every turn.

So, over the last few months, you might recall me telling you in every other post about my terrible road rage. How I scream at old women and honk my horn 3-4 times per car ride, and how I angrily pass people on the shoulder usually right in front of the "Do not pass on the shoulder" sign in my neighborhood. I do all of these things because everyone sucks at driving but me. But one thing I failed to mention to you, is that I do have a driving weakness. Much like Kryptonite is to Superman, this malady instantly renders me useless as a driver, and turns me into the people on the road that I hate the most.

I was in 5th grade when I first heard of it. My grandma informed me that she wasn't able to drive at night because she had "The Night Blindness". I remember thinking that sounds stupid and vaguely ominous, it must be an old people thing. She then explained that while driving at night, lights appeared brighter to her and makes it difficult for her to see. As a foolhardy youth I dismissed my grandma's problem as something I would never have to deal with. Ha. Sucks to be you, grandma!

Fast forward to my early 20s. I'm running late--shocker--for my night time coed volleyball game in a south Minneapolis suburb, which is forcing me to drive 90 mph since my husband and I decided to live in Canada. I'm about 15 minutes away, when I hit an patch of highway where it has clearly been raining for the past several hours. I'm instantly unable to see anything. The tail lights from the cars in front me me, the head lights from the cars on the opposite side of the highway, the street lamps, and the headlights from the cars behind me that are all beginning to angrily pass me all look like fireworks being shot off at ground level. I feel like I'm staring into the fucking sun. As I had never experienced this before, I start to panic. Am I going crazy? Oh shit I bet I have that brain parasite I saw on Discovery Channel that causes temporary blindness. What this shit is going on, and why don't any of these other aholes on the road seem to be affected by the highway suddenly turning into a strobe light???

Here is an example of what you with normal eyes would see, and me, with my cursed eyes sees:















After the initial shock wears off, I begin to get seriously concerned about my ability to even get home. Every time I go to take an exit, I overshoot it and miss, because the fucking road is glinting like the dickens, and I cant see the white lines on the road that are painted there to safely guide me off the highway. After missing 3 exits, and slowing down to a dangerous and infuriating 40 mph, I begin to cry. At this point I don't give a shit about being late for the game, all I want to do is successfully merge off of this shiny hellhole.

Luckily, the exit I'm supposed to be taking to get to the game comes up right as I am on the verge of a nervous breakdown, and I blindly swerve over hoping that I guess correctly and end up on the exit ramp and not in the ditch. And woohoo for me, I successfully manage to escape the freeway. Now, the regular street is just as shiny, and its almost worse because all of the other lights from grocery stores and gas stations and Walmart parking lots are now within my peripheral vision since exiting the highway, BUT, I am only forced to go 30 mph, which, from the standpoint of a blind person operating a motorized vehicle, I can tell you feels much safer. In conclusion, I end up making it to the game, 15 minutes late, but with a demoralized sense of self.

So, I dedicate this post to anyone I have ever tailgated for 10 consecutive miles in a row. To anyone I have given the finger to because they are driving like an asshole. To every 16 year old girl I have given the stink eye to while angrily shaking my head as I pass her because she is on her cell phone and is driving 20 miles under the speed limit. For every curse word. For every mild stroke I induce in myself while watching you people drive like quadriplegic spider monkeys. Know that if its past 6:30pm in winter--9:30pm summer---and if it happens to be raining, you have won. You leveled the playing field. And my lack of not enough rods or cones or whatever in my corneas, has finally allowed us to be equals in the eyes of the lord. As it is written, so shall it be done.

Happy Friday

Public Restrooms

Good Morning Readers! I'd like to start out today's posting by telling you a few random things that are too short to make a full post about, but that are probably interesting enough to be mentioned in an intro paragraph.

A) My husband came home last night to find that one of the knobs on our gas stove had been turned on and was leaking gas. He then went outside and on the deck discovered that the grill also had 2 knobs turned on and were also leaking gas. So. Someone is trying to kill us. Hooray! If you read my blog attempted murderer, you should know, we are still here. Valiant effort though.

B) I have found that lately I'm having a very difficult time not shouting or writing inappropriate phrases and offensive words at the end of sentences. I never actually do it, but it crosses my mind to add something to the end of a sentence because it would be funny, and I honest to god almost pee my pants because I get so scared of even having the thought. And then I sit there and think about how much trouble I would have gotten in if I actually did it and I get even more nervous. Fun times in crazytown.

C) I came to the realization yesterday, that I just don't like working. Years ago, I used to think it was my job, and that switching jobs would fix everything. But I have had every kind of job under the sun including manual labor--Office Space is lying when they imply that being a construction worker will free your soul--and I realized that its not that I have the wrong job. I just really don't like working is all. I lack ambition. Ambition in my sense of the word means I got up and put the juicy juice container--we only drink 100% juice in the Q household--back in the fridge before falling asleep on the couch for the evening. So now you know. Perhaps you are unhappy in your current place of employment simply because you are a lazy piece like me.


Alrighty! So what is this post about? Public Bathrooms. And a list of things you people need to knock the hell off immediately because a public waste collecting facility is already gross enough in itself without those of you out there that do the below mentioned things. Men some of these aren't as applicable to your restrooms, so sorry. But you will learn things. About women. And their bodily functions. Because guess what? Women poop. If you are above the age of 15, have a penis, and still cant handle hearing that sentence, invite me over to your house and I'll prove it to you. Begin.

1) If we are in a large public bathroom, with 10 + stalls, please don't come sit in the stall directly next to mine unless the bathroom is packed and you have no other option. Yes I'm weird and have phobia about people hearing me tinkle, but really, why do you need to sit in a stall where your feet are dangling less then 2 feet from someone else's feet. You don't. Its weird. I'm sorry if you are lonesome. But its more socially acceptable for you to make awkward conversation with me at the sink, rather than trying to play footsie with me while we are both voiding---that's what people over 75 used to call taking a piss. My grandma still says it and it makes me laugh.

1a) If you are going to go number 2, PLEASE don't sit in the stall directly next to me unless you have no choice. Because I don't want people to think all that noise and odor are coming from my stall. I know it shouldn't matter because you aren't supposed to care what strangers think blahblahblah. Yes I know. But I still care. So please go the the other end of the bathroom.

2) If there is a line for the bathroom, you don't have to talk to everyone around you about how there is a line for the bathroom. I understand we are all in mini-crisis mode because holding your pee can get very uncomfortable, so it feels like we are going through some kind of hardship together and we all get a false sense of immediate intimacy that crises provide, but in reality, we aren't in danger. We are just standing in a line. Waiting to pee. So if you want to talk about something, lets discuss the facts behind global warming or the history of the lower class, or why Wendy's takes away the spicy chicken nuggets just when you get used to ordering them every time and then brings them back out of the blue without even giving you a heads up. All of those things are more interesting then stating the obvious over and over again in various ways.

3) On a related note, drunk chicks, please keep yelling stories to each other across the stalls. Because your stories make my night. And are hilarious. They usually involve men and someone's boyfriend who cheated, or was going to cheat, or who never cheated but should have. Or they involve you telling all 45 women in the restroom how that one guy you gave a BJ to under the table at Champs is here with his new GF and how his new GF is wearing something trashy or hows shes fat or has a horseface. And I sit there voiding and laugh my ass off at your slurred words and hate speak. So thank you. Never change.

4) If you pee on the seat--talking to you drunk chicks--for the love of god wipe the god damn seat off. Its not that difficult. And saves me the trouble of trying not to gag as I have to use an entire roll of TP to try and clean the mess you made before I hover, all while trying not to break the seal as well. Its very stressful. So be courteous and clean up after yourself please.

5) Why do the sinks in public bathrooms always look like those sprinklers they have at grocery stores to keep vegetables wet just went off for the last 5 minutes? I understand the concept of having dripping hands as you make your way to the paper towel machine or air dryer. But you don't need to fill your hands full of water before you walk to the paper towels. You can shake them off in the sink before you move. That's what I do. And you shouldn't be bathing in the sink anyways unless you are homeless, in which case, carry on. Just a little soap and a little water to kill the germs. That's all you need.

6) To all the janitorial staff or maintenance people out there: Stop putting that tiny roll of toilet paper back on top of the new big roll on the holder in the hopes that I will use the rest of it before I start in on the big roll. Because I wont. I just throw it on the floor. Do you know why? Because for every person that thinks "I'm not using that old TP" and then proceeds to grab the new roll out from under the old one, that old baby roll goes flying through the air and lands on the floor of the stall. And then gets picked up and placed back on top of the new roll after the person is done. And that's fucking gross. So I will continue to throw that baby roll to the very back of the stall as long as you keep putting it there in an effort to prevent myself from getting chlamydia from a nasty bathroom floor.

7) You don't need to spin the TP roll like its that Big Wheel at the end of The Price is Right. You don't get points for how many squares you can get on the floor on one roll. Because when you go in there all crazy like and spin the shit out of that thing, the person that uses the stall after you walks in on a roll that is hanging with 43 squares sitting all bunched up on the floor. And then that person, if that person happens to be me, has to roll the TP 25 more squares down, tear it, and then leave a massive wad of TP sitting on the floor. Which is a waste. So knock that shit off. And quiet. The baby roll that I throw to the ground usually only has like 10 squares max on it, so its not that big of a waste.

8) If your toilet didn't flush correctly, please go tell an employee of whatever facility you happen to be at. Don't just skip away merrily without thinking about what you just did to a public space. Because that's really what a public bathroom is. A shared space. I generally don't pop a squat on the slide your children love to use at the park, so if for whatever reason your toilet is malfunctioning, think of others and go report it. You can even lie, and say "hey I walked into this stall and it was gross, can you please send someone to take a look at it?"Because when I really have to pee and rush into a stall only to find a toilet full of god knows what staring back at me, I want to puke all over myself and I shouldn't have to deal with that.

9) I am a foot flusher. Sorry to those of you that get all upset that people would have the audacity to use their shoes-that aren't made of skin-instead of their hands-that are made of skin- to touch something that gets sprayed with potty mist all day and gets cleaned once every 24 hours if we are lucky . How can you not use your shoe? Plus its good exercise. Its not my fault if you cant lift your leg up high enough to flush a toilet. That's all on you sister.

10) Tip the towel lady. Please. Don't use all her free deodorant and body spray and gum and suckers and bobby pins and then walk right past her without blinking an eye because you think you are better than her. You aren't. I fucking promise you that. Don't be a major bitch douche bag. Send a few dolla dolla bills her way and give her a smile. And at the very least, say thank you. Her job involves standing in a public restroom for hours at a time listening to you assholes bitch about how fat you are. Give her a break. Shes a good person.

11) And lastly, only use a public bathroom if you absolutely have to. These aren't places to hang around in, to chit chat, or reapply every bit of make up you own. Don't bring food into a public restroom. Because I will throw up on you. Don't bring books into a public restroom. Because this isn't your home and you shouldn't want to be getting all comfy cozy in here. Don't let your underage son who is too young to go into the men's room alone peek his head under my stall. I have no qualms about kicking him in the face. Your goal in a public restroom should be to get in, do whatever thing you have to do that cant wait until you get home, and then get the hell out as fast as possible.


And I'm spent. You probably are too. That was a long one. If you made it this far, thank you very much & have a wonderful weekend.

~Maria

I would rather get hit by a car or fall off an escalator or whatever the hell else is suppose to happen to me than forward your craptastic chain email

Good Morning Readers ! First of all, for those of you that care...aka maybe 2.5 of you, I was drafted to the Violent Femmes of the North Star Roller Girls two nights ago. They are awesome, and I'm super excited. Its hard to tell since I am not a big fan of exclamation marks or smiley faces, but you should know, on the inside, I'm jumping up and down like a fat kid at Fat Kid Camp during the 5 minute warm up before he gets winded and has to take a break. So if you ever wander into the Minneapolis Convention Center and happen upon me in underwear and roller skates, make sure you are wearing a red handkerchief in your pocket or a red feather in your hat or I wont talk to you.

Recently, I have noticed an upswing of chain email letter thingies--from here on out referred to as C.E.s--appearing in both my work & personal email Inboxes. I have also noticed an upswing in my urge to knock over anthills and push papers off my coworkers desks. I don't think this is a coincidence. The emails I have been receiving vary in content, but all have the same basic message: send this out to 5-15 other people within the next hour or your house will burn down and your husband will leave you and your dog will get kidnapped and your bank account will be hacked into by the Chinese Mafia--- I picked an Asian mafia because they are much better with computers than than the Italian Mafia. Obviously. Anyways, if you don't do whatever the email says you are supposed to do, horrible things are supposed to happen. So because I keep getting these, I have come up with some questions I would like answers to in regards to these trashfests in my inbox. Begin.

1) What if my life already really sucks? What happens then?

2) Why do people who claim to be my friends send C.E. to me? That would be the equivalent of me sending you a beautifully wrapped box full of fire ants with a note stating that if you don't immediately dump the contents of the box down your pants, some bad shit is going to go down. I wont tell you exactly what bad shit, but I'll give you a few random examples of friends of friends who didn't in fact dump the ants down their pants and are now all in comas....That's what it feels like for me to open a C.E. from you, spend 10 minutes reading to the bottom only to find out you are essentially threatening my life if I don't spread this garbage to my entire contact list like you did.

3) Why do these C.E. usually have a nice message somewhere in them, that becomes void after the last 3 sentences? Most C.E. contain a paragraph or poem about wanting to remember how short life is, or remembering to tell the people you love that you do, or some other such sentiment. And overall, I think these are good things to be reminded of on occasion. But the second I get to the line "If you do not send this to...." I automatically discredit everything that came before that sentence as filth and lies.

4) Who starts these C.E.? And whats does the person get out of making hundreds of people forward crap to other hundreds of people that the creator doesn't know? I do not understand. Its not like Im sending thank you notes back to the creator "OMG thank you soooooooo much, that chain email you sent me last week totally changed my life!!!! I got picked for the next Bachelorette and my lap band surgery was approved all in the same day!! Best. Email. Ever!!!!!! Hugs & Kisses ~Maria" No. That doesnt happen. So why create something that can never be attributed to you, and you will never get praise or critisim for? Don't you dare tell me it's art or a form of expression. Because I will slap you right in the crotch. It's not. C.E.s are created by stupid people with lots of free time on their hands who happen to have access to an email account and a list of contacts. End of story.

5) Why is the person who creates these C.E. at about a 4th grade writing and reading comprehension level? Grammatical errors, spelling errors, and an overall lack of creativity accompanies every god damn one of these things. Why? Its called spell check. Even FB has it. If something is underlined in red,it means you spelled it wrong. Please take the time to fix these errors before sending out an email that is going to be viewed by potentially hundreds of people.

5a) To speak more to the general crappiness of the writing, I just received a C.E. with the following sentence in it "Kate Bellford received this email last week, and marked it as Spam. The next night, on her way to a masquerade ball, she was hit by a drunk driver and died instantly". .....I'm not fucking kidding. That was one of the examples. Masquerade Ball? Was this email originally drafted in 1735? WTF? This is 2010. How hard would it have been to say "was on her way to a club" or "was on her way to the grocery store". Really. Masquerade Ball. I'm going to assume her horse and carriage were totaled in the accident. Its amazing the drunk driver survived too--they always do! Have you seen what a deer can do to a car? Imagine a full horse. And how do we know she received this email last week? Did we hack into her account after the funeral? That's rather inappropriate. See? Terrible writing. Just terrible.

6) Why do I have a 3 second moment of panic when I delete a C.E? I'm not superstitious, but after having read all the various ways and brilliantly drafted examples of the bad things that could happen to me once I hit the backspace key--shut it my computer doesn't have a delete key. It was made in North Korea--it kind of gets under my skin, and I have a brief lapse in judgment where I think, shit, maybe I should send it out. But I never do. And I'm still here, and have only 2 and a half prosthetic limbs to date, so the jokes on you C.E. creator, HA!

7) Why are C.E.s still being created? I feel like they should have fallen off the same time that AIM and Myspace died. It doesn't make sense. We are supposed to be evolving. Not regressing back to a puritanical though processes of acting out of fear to avoid punishment from an unseen god or karma. Its embarrassing. You hear that? You are being embarrassing. So just knock it off.


In conclusion, No one should be forwarding or creating these anymore. They aren't cool. They aren't funny. They aren't clever. At least I haven't received any that are. So unless it is actually hilarious, or has a video of a one legged dog climbing a staircase, or has a link to a coupon that will save me $5 on my order of $40 or more at Big Bowl, please for the love of god, do not keep sending these things to me. Or I will throw your child and/or pet off a cliff. A high one. With lots of pointy rocks and shark invested water at the bottom.

Have a splendid weekend. Dont blow away in the wind.