Advertisements

Category Archives: costumes

A person should always choose a costume which is in direct contrast to her own personality.

It wouldn’t be October unless we took a look at what’s on offer in the sex-ay laydeez costuming arena, would it? I mean, seriously. I know I’m super-late on this. I’ve done these in a MUCH more timely fashion in the past. I’m sure you’ve already planned out what you want to be this year. Sexy Sponge Bob, or Sexy Zombie, or Sexy Axe Murderess, or Sexy Tea Party Member. (Shut up, I’m sure someone out there has a Sexy Tea Party Member costume. I would assume it comes with an optional ball-gag, for when they start running at the mouth about FOX News too much.)

The lovely Mer sent me this recently, so we know we always have this option…

We can be SEXY GHOSTS!

We can be SEXY GHOSTS!

Usually I go to Party City for my sexy costume needs, but this year I was trolling Spirit, just to shake things up a bit. Spirit worries me. Do people really shop there? Those stores always pop up at the end of September and then disappear, like tumbling tumbleweeds. They’re like haunted stores. Here one minute, gone the next, and with them, they take…YOUR SOUL!

Or at least your dignity, or your sense of self-worth.

So! What does Spirit want the laydeez to be this Halloween? Well! Let’s see!

This is a sexy panda. No, I don’t know what’s sexy about pandas, either. I think an accessory for this could be eucalyptus. You could just gnaw on it all night. Now THAT, my friends, is SEXYTIMES. (Also, this costume would be hot and scratchy. Who wears a furry hood all night long? And mukluks? My word. You’d be all sweaty and gross.)

Because a., death is sexy, and b., nothing says “KISS ON MY FACE RIGHT NOW” than a whole face full of white paint. You’re gonna get smeary, Senorita Death. (I didn’t make up that name. That’s straight from Spirit. SENORITA DEATH.)

Well, if you thought a panda was sexy, how about a raccoon? I mean, I don’t know about you, but rooting through trash cans says “DO ME BABY!” like, super-loud. Also, this costume would ALSO be hot. In a sweaty way, I mean. Stop wearing fur to parties. Parties are always too hot as it is. All that body heat and crowding and such.

I’m confused why this one is even INCLUDED in the sexy costume section. It covers way too much flesh, and there’s not much sexy about some sort of graveyard ghost. I think even the raccoon might be sexier than someone in a ripped filthy gramma nightgown.

There’s no crying in baseball. But there would be crying if you showed up wearing this and attempted to PLAY baseball, because you’d sprain your ankle in your fuck-me maryjanes and get grassburn all over your midsection.

This is…some sort of furry sexy monster Muppet thing? I haven’t even the foggiest guess. I feel if someone comes up to you wearing this you run, because this is the kind of person you writes in bubble-letters and cries a lot. Possibly DURING sex.

OMG COME ON. This one’s not even TRYING. Who can guess what this is supposed to be? Anyone? IT IS A SEXY NINJA TURTLE. The only thing that tells us this is the sort-of shell-like iron-on on the tummy. THIS IS A TANK-TOP DRESS WITH AN IRON-ON. Give me a break.

What’s hysterical about this to me is a., the very, VERY small hat, all precariously perched on her head, and b., the unfortunate choice of color in the crotchal region. It’s like a peek-a-boo private area.

Apparently, animals are very sexy this year, which goes into a weird bestiality area I’m not at all interested in discussing. This one’s apparently a sexy zebra? Huh. I would think zebras were more stompy than sexy, but what the hell do I know.

Because MERKA! Also sex.

Well, I don’t know about you, but back when I was little and eating my Happy Meals, nothing made me hotter than the Hamburglar. RAWR.

Yes, even ladybugs are sexy if you make their skirts short enough. Insect sex, anyone? YES PLEASE.

This is a sexy garden gnome. I don’t even…this creeps me out. Like, sincerely. I don’t know if it’s the costume or the shit-eating grin on her face or what, but I find this psychotically distressing.

Yep. Sexy Tin Man, baby. Also, a good idea for your one-night stand? Have them be wielding an axe. Nothing better than a whorey girl you don’t know with a murder implement.

This one doesn’t know if it wants to be sexy or zombie-y so it went both ways and it’s just a hot damn mess. “I’m a zombie waitress! Because after I died, all I wanted to do was…um…continue to work my soul-sucking job where they made me wear a really short skirt! Want to feel me up in the guest bathroom?”

OMG NO NO NO NO CLOWNS CLOWNS ARE NEVER SEXY NO NO NOOOOOO

TASTE THE RAINBOW. (The rainbow is a euphemism.)

Anyone ever want to hook up with Rainbow Brite? WELL NOW YOU CAN. Because that’s not at all creepy and worrisome. And again with the fur trim. ITCHY AND HOT.

And in case Rainbow Brite doesn’t rev your engine, here’s Strawberry Shortcake. I’m so glad people are sexualizing my childhood toys. Where’s sexy Mrs. Potato Head, or sexy Cabbage Patch Kid? Ugh, I’m not even going to ask, they totally probably exist. *shudder*

Where’s Nemo? OMG THERE HE IS STOP THAT, NEMO, THIS IS A RATED-G MOVIE!

And, now for the MOST SEXY COSTUME EVER, the one that will make every man at the party want to plow you like a snow-covered road…

YEAH BABY! Nothing sexier than this. Nothing at all. I! Want to rock and roll! All night! And get tested for chlamydia EVERY DAY!

I hope this was very helpful, my little pumpkin pies. Remember, Halloween is for tricks, treats, and having ill-advised sex with someone dressed like a sexy animal of some sort. I recommend a sexy wombat. Why? Well, why not? Wombats are ALWAYS sexy, yo.

Advertisements

Halloween should be a day in which we honor monsters and not be mad at each other.

I’ve let this go FAR too long. And I know what you’re all thinking. AMY! you are thinking. It is ALMOST HALLOWEEN and you are not being HELPFUL! How will I know what to wear for Halloween this year without your very helpful advice?

I know. I’m so sorry, my little pumpkin muffins. I know last year I was all about PLANNING AHEAD and BEING THE MOST HELPFUL and I posted my Halloween costume wrapup like 90 days before Halloween and here were are less than a MONTH before Halloween and I haven’t even THOUGHT about this yet. Please forgive. I’m not even thinking about Halloween yet. I have a billion things in my head and most of them involve working and getting a job and getting enough sleep and such. But I PROMISE, just like the Willie Nelson song that always makes me cry, you, my sweet candy corns, are always on my mind. ALWAYS ON MY MIIIIND!

So let’s see what’s the latest in whore couture this year for Halloween. Will there be slutty cartoon characters? Slutty horror-movie killers? Slutty video-game characters? WE SHALL SEE! (SIDE NOTE! Once, at work, some toolbag was yelling at one of my coworkers about not getting a call back from his doctor, and she said, “we’ll have the doctor call you right back, sir,” and he was all “we shall SEE!” and we said that to each other about everything for months. She’d be all, “I really need to run to the bathroom” and I’d say, all portentous-like, “WE SHALL SEE!” and we’d giggle like morons. You think we don’t make fun of our callers? Wrong, Good-Time Charlie.)

This is a snowy owl. A SEXY snowy owl. Hoo! Hoo! Who’s gonna get syphilis tonight?

This is a wildcat. I’m thinking you want 0% body fat to wear this puppy. Shiny mylar is not very forgiving to being chubby. Also, you know that tail’s all going to drag on the floor and get filthy in about 20 minutes, and how fast can you really get out of this if you want to, say, pee, or hook up with your best friend’s husband on the patio? This one seems ill-advised.

This is the Queen of the Jungle, so I assume she’s supposed to be a lion of some sort? You could see her whole ass in this. This costume is NOT SCREWING AROUND with the ass-revealing. If she…were queen…of the FOREST! everyone would see her bum.

This one’s a Ravishing Peacock. You can tell because it has feathers springing out of her head. It’s also EXCLUSIVELY Party City’s, so don’t you go stealing it. They want you to know they came up with this idea ALL ON THEIR OWN. I don’t think anyone wants to have sex with a peacock. They have totally pecky little beaks.

Because nothing says “random Halloween party hookup” like the Travelocity gnome. If you took off that ridiculous hat she’d just be a server at Oktoberfest, I suppose. So this is a MULTITASKY costume!

This is a sexy toy soldier. You know what makes a man want you? Having you dress as a nutcracker.

If my nurse came into my hospital room dressed like this, I’d be all kinds of freaked out and I’d ask her how sanitary showing that much skin could possibly be. What’s the pickup line you use with this costume? “Bend over and pull down your pants so I can do an anal exam for prostate cancer, you sexy thang?”

LEAST EFFICIENT HANDJOB COSTUME CHOICE EVER.

You know who likes to go swimmin’ with bowlegged wimmin? No one, that’s who. I like that this is on sale. Party City has given up on this costume.

Fish-sex didn’t work out for Tom Hanks in Splash and it’s not going to work out for you here. Also, YOU CAN’T PEE IN THIS COSTUME. Say what I will about those costumes that show your whole coochal area, at least they’re easy-access when you drink too much and have to pee.

This is a sassy maid. I don’t know how sassy you want your maid to be. I think if you gave your employer too much lip, they’d fire you. It’s a tough job market out here, sassy maid. Maybe you ought to get to scrubbing those toilets and stop with the backtalk if you want to pay your rent.

“Cigarettes! Cigarettes! Who wants cigarettes? What? No one? No one smokes anymore? Shit. Um. Blow jobs! Blow jobs! Who wants blow jobs?”

I don’t have much to say about this, other than the model’s pose is HILARIOUS. “Pose broken. No, MORE broken. NO MORE BROKEN. Now look dead. You look bemused. Why do you look bemused? STOP IT. Fine, whatever, I have to go photograph the whorish garden gnome in like five minutes, CLICK. You’re done, go wash that shit off your face.”

“Ray, when someone asks you if you’re a god…Ray? Ray, are you listening to me? MY EYES ARE UP HERE, RAY.” Also, you’re not hunting any ghosts in those heels. And are those boots, or pumps with socks? What’s happening down there? What’s that? None of you are looking at her footwear because you can’t look away from her boobs? UGH YOU GUYS!

Halloween is the one night the crazy girl can dress up and get away with being insane and blame it on the costume. “I’m the MAD HATTER! HA HA HA! That’s why I just set your hair on fire! No other reason than that! Want to take me home? I MIGHT NEVER LET YOU LEAVE! HA HA HA I’m KIDDING I’m the MAD HATTER!”

This is a dirty desperado costume. That means she’ll give you the clap.

See, what did I tell you? That Travelocity gnome costume could totally double as an Oktoberfest waitress costume. I don’t think the waitresses at Oktoberfest have their crotches lit up so as to be easily-identified by the menfolks, though.

This is a naughty nerd. I guess that means she’ll tutor you in math and then also let you put your protractor in her rhombus.

I am utterly confused about this situation. Someone help me out here. This is “Terrifying Tina.” What’s terrifying? Her hair color? Her little monster hat? The fact that her dress is two sizes two small?

This is the scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz? Only SEXY. Because you know what’s sexy? Screwing a pile of straw. That’s not scratchy on your man-parts at ALL. Scratch. Scratch, scratch. If I only had a brain. Or a condom.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN COSTUME PLANNING! Thank you, Party City. You never fail to amuse me with your offerings. You’re really the best, slutty-costume-wise.


You have nothing in your hands; any power you have comes to you from far beyond. Everything is fixed, and you can’t change it.

I should probably write something about Easter today. But honestly, I didn’t even remember it was Easter until about mid-week, when you guys were all, “What, the cable guy’s going to come to your house on Easter?” because I don’t do Easter. I don’t go anywhere for Easter, I don’t celebrate Easter. Easter is happy, but only because it’s a Sunday and I love Sundays because I get to sleep in a little and have some extra cuddle-time with Dumbcat.

(ALSO, I kind of have a beef with Easter because when I worked at the shelter, the day after Easter was “people would turn in chicks and bunnies they’d bought foolishly for their kids” day. IT MADE ME SO EFFING STABBY. If anyone you know buys chicks or bunnies for their children for Easter and they DON’T live on a farm and have no means of taking care of such a pet? PUNCH THEM IN THE THROAT AREA.)

PUNCH YOU IN THE ESOPHAGUS. Animals are NOT TOYS.

I don’t go home for Easter, because a., it’d only be for one day, and that’s a long trip for one day, and b., it’s an uber-religious holiday in my parents’ household, and it just upsets them that I refuse to attend church with them. And why would you want to upset your parents on bunny-day? You wouldn’t.

Secret story, though – I kind of miss the Catholic church over Holy Week. Don’t tell my parents, it’ll just get their hopes up I’m going back, and I’m absolutely not. But this week, more so than any other, I miss it.

The rest of the year in church is a little blah. No offense, church. But there isn’t much story to the readings. This week, it’s all about story. You get Good Friday with the entire crucifixion, you get Easter Sunday with the resurrection. Plus on Good Friday, you get to act. The congregation gets to say things like “crucify him! Crucify him!” at certain points, and I always liked that, even though you had to say it in a boring boring monotone and couldn’t put any energy behind your words and that seemed like a total waste of a good acting opportunity to me but then everyone would have stared at you. Also, sometimes you start thinking about people like Jesus’s mom and it makes you very, very sad, but the readings don’t really concentrate on that. I think they should. There should be more readings concentrating on the fact that Mary had to deal with the fact that her SON was CRUCIFIED in FRONT of her.  Also more stories about Thomas, my favorite apostle, because I like the doubting. I do a lot of that. He’s the most realistic.

But there’s also a lot of up-and-down and kneeling and standing and that makes you almost pass out. No one likes that. Also, Good Friday mass is seventy million years long.

It's very hot and there's a lot of up-and-down and a person gets woozy. You can't blame that person. YOU CAN'T. STOP BLAMING.

(SIDE NOTE! At the answering service yesterday, an elderly woman called one of the churches we answer for, and asked when Easter masses were on Sunday. So I told her. Then she said, “and how long do those run?” THEY ARE NOT MOVIES. I said, “I’m sorry, ma’am, there’s really no way to know that, I’d say anywhere between an hour and two hours?” and she was all “SIGH SIGH SIGH” and said, “Thank you, I GUESS” and hung up. Well, I’m sorry MASS for one of the two holiest days of the YEAR in Catholicism doesn’t come with INTERMISSION and a RUN TIME. Bring a juice box and some goldfish crackers, that’s what The Nephew does. Oh, and some Matchbox cars, in case you get bored.)

So I’m kind of unqualified to talk about Easter, since I’m not celebrating. But I do have an Easter story. And it’s also a theater story. And we all like stories, right? And I’m qualified to tell theater stories. Even better: it’s the story of THE VERY FIRST TIME I ACTED. Are you all so excited? Yeah, wait and see.

So when I was in fifth grade or thereabouts, my favorite priest had just arrived at my church. I’ve mentioned him before. I just adored this man. You think I’m excited about life? This guy brought joy wherever he went. He walked in a room, and the whole room lit up. He was magical.

He decided that we were going to put on a passion play for Easter. A passion play, for those of you not brought up in the iron fist of Catholicism, is the story of Jesus’s crucifixion. It can start at any point – the Last Supper, right at the crucifixion, wherever. He wanted to tie in some of Jesus Christ Superstar, because he was awesomesauce. (He didn’t have us sing, or anything. We just played the music over the sound system. He was adorable, but not insane. A bunch of elementary school kids singing “I Don’t Know How to Love Him” might have caused a riot.) Yes, I realize the idea of elementary and a few junior-high kids putting on a play about the torture and death of a religious figure seems insane. It probably was. I think this is a thing, though. The internet seems to think this is a thing that happens, sometimes. And I’ve seen other passion plays in other places, since then.

(SIDE NOTE: I’m obsessed with both Jesus Christ Superstar and Godspell. Also Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat. I love religious musicals. Like, more than what’s healthy. Jesus Christ Superstar especially. It always makes me cry. Especially the relationship between Jesus and Judas, and Pilate’s eventual realization that he’s just a pawn in a master plan, and that he’s condemning an innocent man to death. “Trial before Pilate” is one of the most moving scenes in musical theater for me almost ever. I watched a production years ago where, when Pilate says, at the end of the song, he washes his hands of Jesus’s self-destruction, he washed his hands in a clear glass bowl of water. As he did, the water turned to blood, and Jesus just closed his eyes and bowed his head, and Pilate’s face as he looked at his hands was a masterpiece. Such an affecting moment, probably for the cost of a Koolaid packet.)

So he got the churchschool kids together and handed out parts. Now, this is going to SHOCK and AWE some of you, but wee Amy was QUIET. So, so quiet. Didn’t say a word. Quiet and shy and meek as a little mouse and only wanted to read and read and daydream and wonder and read some more. I don’t know what happened to that kid, either. Maybe I ate her.

This priest decided, early on, that I needed to come out of my shell. So he gave bigger parts (apostles, Jesus, Mary Magdalene, etc.) to the older kids who talked a lot. Then the younger kids got smaller parts – soldiers, etc. I was a soldier. A MAN soldier. Which was funny, because I got to wear a BEARD. Stuck on with SPIRIT GUM. It was itchy and looked like a face-toupee made of dead roadkill.

I can't even describe the hilarity a Google search for "children's religious costumes" just resulted in. This beard is nice compared to the beard I wore. Also, look at this kid's FACE! Ha!

But the excited-about-life-priest, who saw something in me wanting to come out, I guess, said, “Wee baby Amy who will someday tell all her personal shit to the internet and also fall in love with theater, you are going to play the Centurion.”

“Um…what’s…”

“You get LINES,” he said.

I was PETRIFIED.

Now, it wasn’t LINES. It was ONE LINE. One. Just one line. “Truly this man was the son of God,” to be more clear. But it might as well have been the Mark Antony “friends, Romans, countrymen” speech, because I HAD TO SAY IT IN FRONT OF PEOPLE.

We rehearsed for what seemed like years but what probably was only a month or two. And every time I got up in front of everyone to say my line (oh, the line is said right as Jesus dies on the cross – the Centurion, one of the Roman soldiers says it, and it’s kind of a big deal, because the Roman soldiers are all mocking him, up until this point, you know? And then you have this one believer who dares say this huge thing in front of everyone) my whole stomach was in knots but the priest would be sitting there, right in the front row, with a huge grin on his face, and it seemed like it would be ok.

It got to the point where I could say it loud enough to be heard. And I was EXCITED. I was going to ACT! In FRONT of people! We had a cross that the kid playing Jesus could get up on, we had costumes, we had music, we had props – it was a total spectacle.

The night of the show arrived. I put on my scratchy robe and took up my wooden sword we had spray-painted silver and one of the moms stuck on my scratchy fake-fur beard and we tucked my ponytail down the pack of my shirt and I was totally the Centurion. This was GREAT.

Until I got out on stage (ok, fine, it wasn’t STAGE, it was the front of the church) and realized that my parents, who I’d known would be there, hadn’t told me that my ENTIRE EXTENDED FAMILY had come. Cousins. Grandmother. Aunts. Uncles. All sitting WHERE I COULD SEE THEM. Looking expectantly at me.

The church was PACKED. The church had never had PEOPLE in it before. Only the priest! And a few moms! HOLY HELL WHAT HAD I DONE.

I didn’t have to say my line until the end. I just kept my head down and soldiered on. Heh. Pun most definitely intended.

Then it was Centurion time. HOW DID THIS COME UP SO FAST.

I stood in my place in front of the crucified Jesus-kid. All of the other kids looked at me, waiting for me to say my line. The music ended. It was time.

And…

“mumblemumblesonofmumble” I said. And ran off the stage.

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! My VERY AUSPICIOUS DEBUT AS A FANCY ACTRESS PERSON!

So I stood “backstage” (the hallway outside the church) kind of shaking and crying and SO EFFING EMBARRASSED and the priest came out and said, “Amy! You did GREAT!”

“I was too quiet, I screwed it up,” I said.

He laughed. “You got out there in front of everyone and talked. I couldn’t be more proud of you. Time for curtain call, superstar.”

He led me back to all of the kids and no one said a word about me being a total weirdo and when I bowed, my people cheered, and when I saw them afterward, not a single one of them even NOTICED I’d been a total embarrassment to the THEE-AY-TAH. The only negative feedback I got was from my older male cousin, who told me, “That beard looks like a dead squirrel.”

(In retrospect, I think the whole thing was very, very bad, and something as minor as me mumbling my one line wasn’t even on their radar. And they probably thought the Centurion was SUPPOSED to run off stage. He probably was told to by the Holy Ghost or something.)

I told my dad this story the other night and he said, “I don’t even remember that. You were in a church play? Was I there?”

Apparently this didn’t even register, to my dad. WHEW.

Years later, when I told the priest I’d started acting, he laughed, his big, warm-as-a-bubble-bath laugh, and said, “I saw this coming, Centurion. Knew you had it in you. Don’t forget us when your name’s in lights, ok?”

One of the best men I’ve ever known, sincerely. I mentioned this a while ago, but he passed away a few years back. I miss him. A lot. The world is a smaller, quieter, and less-joyful place without him in it.

(Dear Father: I am no longer afraid of talking in front of people. Well, I can’t say I LOVE it, but I pretend to be a brave person, and I can do it just fine. And also, I very seldom run off the stage in fear anymore. And there hasn’t been an incident of someone not being able to hear anything I’ve said in a VERY long time. You’ll be pleased to note all of these things. I turned out just fine. Thanks for the nudge. Love, Amy.)

Happy Easter, all you marshmallow Peeps! May your chocolate be non-melty and may you find all of your hidden eggs and may your jellybeans be yummy and all that jazz and also jazz hands.

And remember, if you biff your line and run offstage in a panic? Sometimes, NO ONE EVEN NOTICES.

(Also, happy birthday to my grandmother, who tells the best stories and also gets cussy and crotchety, and also says things like, “Well, love will go wherever it’s sent, even up a pig’s ass.” I LOVE YOU NANNY.)


Oh golly! Gee, damn! (Or, how to watch a movie with Twitter and vodka)

So last night was Sarcastic Movie Night. Which you know, if you follow me on Twitter. You probably wanted to kick me in the head last night, actually, if you follow me on Twitter. SORRY. Sarcastic Movie Night! Only fun for people participating!

Here’s the genesis of Sarcastic Movie Night. I tweeted a while ago about whipped cream vodka, which I’d had in a mixed drink out one night with my friend C. The drink tasted like an alcoholic Dreamsicle, and was amazing. If I remember correctly, the food was not so amazing, but who cares! Alcoholic Dreamsicle! @lgalaviz and I started talking about whipped cream vodka, and she came up with the idea of how much fun it would be to watch a movie and make fun of it while drinking whipped cream vodka. WELL. I am never one to back down from a challenge. Well, no, that’s a lie, if the challenge is something like “I challenge you to climb a rope ladder” or something, I’ll back down. Effing moving-all-over scary rope ladders.

Choosing a movie was not easy. When choosing a movie for Sarcastic Movie Night, you have to choose a movie that everyone can make fun of, that no one has extremely strong positive feelings about, and that is readily available to everyone. This is only really a problem for me, since I am the only human left alive without Netflix. (SIGH, FINE, I will explain my aversion to Netflix. I don’t have any gaming systems and my computer’s a piece of shit and I can’t afford one of the boxes you need for your TV, therefore the streaming option is out for me. And I don’t have enough time to watch all the series and movies, and the one time I signed up for the free trial, movies sat unwatched for weeks watching me with their accusing DVD-eyes and I felt HORRIBLE. So I didn’t pay for it when the end of my free trial happened and it POOF went AWAY. Also, if you’re totally patient – and I am – you can get anything you want, pretty much, free from the library. And LISTEN. I love free, more than I love penguins.)

So we discussed and discussed, and @lgalaviz said she thought Breakfast at Tiffany’s would be a good idea. Now, I blogged about this before, but I HATE Breakfast at Tiffany’s. I know! Everyone loves this movie. It’s like on everyone’s short list as the best thing since kitten unicorn rainbows or whatever. But all I remembered is that Audrey Hepburn threw her cat (that she refused to name, argh) into the rain, and that Mickey Rooney played an Asian stereotype.

So @lgalaviz won out (mostly because she promised I could make fun of it) and we chose Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Now, at this point, we had talked about it on Twitter, and both had blogged about it, so TWO OTHER PEOPLE were interested. I KNOW. We’re totally inspirational. I mean, that’s like double the people we’d started with. Since everyone else has Netflix they just added it to their queues, but I had to either get it from the library (and you only get them for five days, and who knows when we were going to be able to match schedules to watch it?) or I could go online to buy it. And since I was pre-ordering the Bloggess’s book anyway, (by the way? Get your asses over there and pre-order this book and let’s get Jenny’s pre-orders up to like astronomical numbers, because I love her just about as much as any of my imaginary internet people and she deserves all the good things, and also, it’s going to be HILARIOUS) and needed to fill up my cart to meet the free shipping total (yeah, I hate paying for Amazon shipping, as mentioned, I LOVE FREE SHIT) I found it for $9 and purchased it. A MOVIE THAT I HATE. I’m totally committed to Sarcastic Movie Night.

Then I had to buy the whipped cream vodka. At the store, there were many choices. One of which was Swedish Fish-flavored vodka. I am not kidding. It was scary. I believe this might have confused @heinakroon who thought it was actually fish-flavored. However, like a mighty hunter, I stalked and murdered my prey. Or, found it on the shelf and brought it home. LIKE A BOSS.

FANCY.

Then we had to wait for Amazon to get their shit together and ship it to me, which took forever and a day because I foolishly ordered it with my pre-ordered book, and they were GOING to wait to ship it all together – IN APRIL – but then I went nuts and ordered three more books (by the way, who has too many books? That’d be me, thanks. But they were on SALE!) and then Amazon was all “FINE WE WILL SHIP ALL YOUR SHIT TOGETHER because you are AN OBSESSIVE SHOPPER DAMN” and I got it yesterday.

I'm already Siskel and Eberting this movie, before we even had movie night.

Then we set a time. 8pm! Saturday night! I work until 6 on Saturdays, so that worked out FINE. They wanted me to work late but I was all NO WAY SUCKERS. Sarcastic MOVIE Night. And they were all, whatever, Amy, I think you’re making shit up right now, and I was all NO I AM NOT.

So first I made a nice glass of whipped cream vodka. What did I mix it with? NOTHING. Why? I DIDN’T PLAN THAT FAR AHEAD. I know. I suck. See, all I had for mixers were fruit punch and cherry limeade? Those would be HORRIBLE with whipped-cream vodka. Right? Totally.

Um…whipped cream vodka…tasted like burning. Like barely whipped-cream flavored burning. This wasn’t going well at all.

BUT I SOLDIERED ON.

So! For our crew, we had @lgalaviz, @patrixmyth, @julierosesmk, and myself, and then @zippy219 (who didn’t have Breakfast at Tiffany’s but was watching Carrie and snarking at it WITH us, so she was participating IN SPIRIT, because she is AWESOME.) Then we had @lahikmajoe, who lives in Germany, and who was asleep. But we included him in EVERY SINGLE TWEET. Why did we do this? I have no idea. I don’t think he ever showed any interest in being involved in Sarcastic Movie Night. I think someone just started including him and he got swept away in the tide of tweets. So poor @lahikmajoe is waking up tomorrow to probably 200 or so tweets. SORRY, @lahikmajoe. WE MISS YOU WHEN YOU ARE SLEEPING.

(SIDE NOTE! @patrixmyth ALSO lives in Germany. However, he participated. I think this is because he is made of magic. Seriously, the man never seems to sleep. I’m in awe of him.)

Now, here was the first problem. Well, other than the fact that my father, who you KNOW thinks everyone online is a., imaginary, and b., a psychokiller, thought the whole plan was a trick to get me murdered. No, I’m not kidding. He said that the next thing my “imaginary friends” were going to ask me to do was to drink “Jim Jones Koolaid” and he hoped I didn’t do that. I told him I already had Koolaid in the cupboard so I was ready in case that plan was put into place and he didn’t think that was funny at ALL. So first I had to calm him down by explaining that watching a movie with people on Twitter while drinking whipped cream vodka was not, in fact, very dangerous, and it was more dangerous, probably, to go to a bar and pick up a stranger and have unprotected sex with them in a bathroom stall, and then he was all “WERE YOU PLANNING ON DOING THAT, TOO?” and I had to explain that no, I was NOT, actually, planning on doing that, it was just a COMPARISON, to show him that I could be doing things that were a lot scarier. This took a lot longer than I’d planned and almost caused me to miss Sarcastic Movie Night.

Back to the problem. Have you ever tried to coordinate four people starting a movie at the exact same time when you’re all in different places and times? It is not an easy thing to do. We were, on average, five minutes difference from each other all night. So one of us would be all “whoa, look at that hat” and the other one would be all “why is that person crying into a mirror” and no one was on the same scene in the movie, ever. I can’t imagine that any of us would be very good spies. You know how spies always have to synchronize their watches? We would not be good at that.

Also, it is VERY HARD to tweet and watch a movie at the same time. I think I missed important things. Like, at one point, everyone but me noticed that one person at a party was wearing a watch on her ankle. I didn’t notice this important plot point. I’m sure I was busy tweeting. The movie probably would have taken a very different turn for me if I had noticed an ankle-watch. Also, @patrixmyth noticed that at the end, Paul paid the cab driver, and I thought they just ran out of the cab without paying. It’s hard to pay attention to both a phone and a television at the same time.

Anyway. Sarcastic Movie Night was a grand success. Much hilarity was had; I would put tweets in here to show you how awesome it all was, but again, Twitter hates me and won’t allow me to put tweets into my posts yet, so you’ll just have to imagine how awesome it was. Because it WAS.

But here is what I learned, during Sarcastic Movie Night. YES, I learned something. I KNOW. It was like a Very Special Episode of Blossom, what with the learning.

Are you ready?

Breakfast at Tiffany’s isn’t as bad of a movie as I’d thought, the first time I watched it.

I KNOW.

Are there horrible things? YES.

Mickey Rooney’s racist landlord character is still the worst thing ever.

It's worse than this. He also used an offensive accent, and ran into things with his head.

“Moon River” is a very annoying song. “My huckleberry friend?” Give me a break. If someone called me their huckleberry friend, I’d poke them in the eye. Except for Doc Holliday in Tombstone. As previously stated, he can call me his huckleberry ANYTIME.

Holly Golightly’s character is flighty and doesn’t care much for others for most of the movie, and this is annoying. Characters who are so devil-may-care make me stabby. There are no CONSEQUENCES! Nothing matters but ME! Aren’t I CUTE! Look at my adorable WHIMS! Gag.

This is really a movie about two whores who fall in love, and I’ll fight you if you say otherwise. They might not be streetwalkers, but Paul and Holly are whores. They sleep with people in exchange for money. That’s whores.

“Sally Tomato” is a very stupid name for a gangster.

The scene where they pilfered from the five & dime was annoying, because I hate thievery. But then they wore these masks, which reminded me of that scene from The Shining that gives me nightmares, and THANKS A LOT BREAKFAST AT TIFFANY’S.

There is nothing cute about these masks. These are Manson-family-style masks.

Refusing to name a cat because you have issues with owning things because YOU are a wild thing that REFUSES TO BE TAMED and then throwing your cat into the rain isn’t cute, it’s animal abuse. You suck. Along the same lines, refusing to call someone by his given name, and calling him “Fred” throughout the movie, is not cute, it’s affected and annoying.

Paul telling Holly, “I love you! You belong to me!” was just about the worst admission of love, ever. I’m with her when she freaks out over this. Telling someone this is a lot like saying “I love you! I want to wear your skin like a cape!”

Their relationship is not doomed to end well. Neither of them has any money; she has very high-price tastes, and he seemed to have $50 to his name and be not-a-very-successful writer. I mean, love’s grand, but it doesn’t put tater tots in your belly at the end of the day.

HOWEVER.

The movie was gorgeous. Not just the costumes, or the actors (although they were) but the set design and dressing as well. And the city, of course. I love New York, and I can see how this movie made people want to visit it. New York is a character in this movie, for sure, and you fall in love with it (more than Hepburn or Peppard, actually – about as much as Cat – because it is blameless in the “I’m so CUTE!”-ness of the two of them.)

Audrey Hepburn was really, for a completely annoying character, just stunning. I mean, those costumes! And she’s just exquisitely beautiful. Look at her. I mean, just look. How can anyone, even me with my heart of stone, not be charmed by this?

I usually hate hats, but DAMN can she pull them off.

There aren’t a lot of photos where she doesn’t have that dumb cigarette holder that’s a mile and a half long that she kept setting shit on fire with and I refused to put a photo of her up here with that thing. Also, I like this hat.

Also, George Peppard. Can this guy ever wear a suit. Whoo!

Yes, I'm aware this scene wasn't in the movie. LOOK HOW HANDSOME. I couldn't resist.

If you only know Peppard from The A-Team, well, listen, he used to be Mad-Men handsome, I’m telling you right now. *swoon*

@lgalaviz was in love with the cars in the movie. I promised her I would make her a remixed version of the movie with only cars and card catalogs and dial phones and such. I don’t know how to do this, so it was an empty promise. The idea is sound, though. At one point, there was a red cab with fins. It made us happy. (Also, when they went to the library, there were card catalogs, which made me drool.)

For all the annoying pre-hipster hipsterism, there was some genuine emotion happening in the movie. I know. I even noticed it being all drunk on whipped cream vodka and making fun of it on Twitter.

I’m not sure what happened. I HATED this movie the first time around. This time, I actually didn’t mind it. I hated the things I listed above, but the beauty of the movie itself kind of won me over. Am I mellowing with age? Was it the vodka? Am I broken now? Was I broken the first time I watched it?

ANYWAY. Sarcastic Movie Night! A success!

Also, the whipped cream vodka progressively got less offensive. I mean, it never got GOOD. But I think it burned off the first layer of my tastebuds so it got less horrible to taste as the night progressed. I can’t say I went back for a second helping, though. (Oh, and by the way, who was the classy broad drinking it out of a commemorative theater coffee mug given to her by the cast of a show she’d worked on recently? That’d be ME. Yeah, I have no glasses appropriate for liquor-drinking. I thought it might eat through a plastic Tupperware tumbler. I KNOW, I AM THE CLASSIEST.)

This morning, @lahikmajoe wasn’t even mad he woke up to about 200 tweets (just another sign that he is my secret sibling) and I had the headache from hell for the first couple hours of being awake, THANK YOU WHIPPED CREAM VODKA. I’m sticking to magic wine from now on. Ugh.

We’ve chosen the next movie for Sarcastic Movie Night! Are you ready? I know you’ll want to join in, because it is sure to be MISS KITTY FANTASTICO. Ready?

Dun dun DUNNNN.

I haven’t seen this movie since 1996, and that was the first time (and only time) I saw it, and I was forced to watch it (along with the other two movies in the original trilogy) all in a row by the boy I was in love with at the time and I was SO TIRED and he kept saying “Come on, this is BRILLIANT” and I was all “I AM SO TIRED WHATEVER” and so I have this weird irrational hatred of all things Star Wars. But I have been assured I’m allowed to make fun of it if I want. Also, I suppose, if nothing else, I can drool over young Harrison Ford, right? RIGHT.

So this is how you watch a movie with Twitter and vodka and snarking. Aren’t you glad you know how? I know you are. You, too, can do this same thing with YOUR friends! Only, I’d avoid the whipped cream vodka. It seems like a good idea, until you’re actually drinking it. Trust me on this. I made that mistake so you don’t have to.


Ain’t Got No Draft Card (Burned It, Burned It, Burned It)

When I was a teenager, I was obsessed with the sixties. No, I don’t get it, either. No idea where it came from. No idea what planted the seed in my head or anything. Just that it was a full-blown obsession. It was all I cared about and all I wanted to read about and all I wanted to talk about. I WAS VERY ANNOYING. What? I still am? Yep, I know. But at least now I know when to shut it (at least in real life – on here I can say whatever because IT’S MY BLOG CHUMLEY.)

Things I was completely obsessed with, sixties related (not an all-inclusive list):

The Beatles
Bob Dylan
The Vietnam War
Arlo Guthrie
Hippies

One night, our local PBS station was showing Hair. I didn’t know this was even a thing. (In my defense, I wasn’t even BORN until the mid-seventies. And I’m from a small town where we don’t get a lot of culture. And my parents didn’t do the sixties. They didn’t protest, they didn’t care. They were kind of like the book-banning woman in Field of Dreams that Annie attacks at the PTA meeting: “I EXPERIENCED the sixties!” “No, I think you had two fifties and moved straight onto the seventies.”)

Our local PBS station would air movies, unedited, very late at night. Like, 3am late. All the cussing and nudity. It was awesome. I got Alice’s Restaurant and The Breakfast Club that way and watched them until the tape wore out. (And, by the way, when I finally got to see Arlo Guthrie live – which I’ve done three times now, because the obsession might be gone, but I still love Arlo – I bawled like a toddler who lost his favorite toy down the drain. It was totally cathartic.)

I watched Hair the next day and I was HOOKED. This was all I watched for about two years straight. I was completely in love with this movie. This was pre-internet, so I wasn’t overly aware that it had been a very famous Broadway musical adapted into the movie, or that the movie was completely different from the Broadway show.

You probably all know a little about the musical. In case you don’t, and just because it’s fun and I know WAY too much about it, here’s some info. It opened off-Broadway in 1967 and on Broadway in 1968. The original production actually starred Martha Plimpton’s gorgeous look-alike mom, Shelley, as Crissy.

The story, in a nutshell: a tribe of hippies, led by George Berger, lives on the streets of New York City. One of the tribe, Claude, gets drafted. He waffles between running away and serving, ends up going, and is killed in service. The music is wonderful and touching and, if done correctly, the show is wonderful and joyous and life-affirming, yet melancholy. (Side note: one of the songs, “What a Piece of Work is Man,” was always a little confusing to me. Very different from the language of the rest of the show. Until I began studying Hamlet in college. I started reading one of his speeches and said, out loud, in the library, “THIS IS FROM HAIR.” Well, no, actually, the SONG was borrowed from Hamlet. “What a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and admirable, in action how like an angel, in apprehension how like a god! The beauty of the world, the paragon of animals…”)

The movie is different. They rewrote it for the screen. Berger falls in love with a society girl for some strange reason; Claude isn’t a fellow hippie but a farmboy in town to sign up for the military who falls in with the tribe; and the ending is completely different. And I don’t want to be sacrilegious? But I like the ending of the movie better. In the movie, Claude goes off to training, and Berger and the tribe come up with a scheme to get Claude laid before he’s shipped off to Vietnam. Berger shaves his trademark hair and sneaks into the camp, switches places with Claude, and no one in Claude’s unit says a word because they’re scared shitless of being shipped off and could care less about who’s going with them. Claude has sex with the society chick in a field and then the orders come in: the unit’s shipping out. NOW. Berger can’t say a word: according to his paperwork, he’s Claude now. He knows that even if he says he’s not, no one will believe him. So Berger, the pacifist who spent the whole movie railing against Claude signing up for the war, gets into the plane, looking very scared and very small, singing a reprise of an earlier triumphant song Claude sang, “Manchester, England,” one of the lines of which is “I believe in God, and I believe that God, believes in Claude – that’s me.” Only when Berger sings it, it takes on a whole new ominous meaning. Because he’s Claude now. He looks right at the camera and his voice breaks a little and he sings, realizing, “Claude. That’s me. That’s me.

Berger dies and Claude takes over the tribe in his place and it is HEARTBREAKING. Yes, the ending of the musical is sad, too, of course. But something about that ending of the movie gets me every time.

The movie was actually directed by Milos Forman (One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, Amadeus, Man in the Moon, The People Vs. Larry Flynt) and stars: Annie Golden! I remember her from Assassins on Broadway (my favorite musical of all time, should anyone ask). She’s had bit parts here and there and always plays a crazy. She’s very distinctive with a kooky voice and I lurrrve her. Mrs. Garrett (fine, for those of you too young to remember her from Facts of Life, it’s a young Charlotte Rae)! She plays a socialite Berger rubs all over. It is awesomesauce. Nell Carter (middle person)! Gimme a break, her voice is fantastic. Mrs. Griswold! She is the socialite chick that bangs all the hippies.

And…as Berger, my hot boyfriend…before he got old and was in some show on the CW that I never watched and refuse to investigate the name of because I JUST DON’T CARE… TREAT WILLIAMS. Just look at him. You totally want to lick him. It’s ok. You can. You’d really be a fool not to.

ANYWAY. So, I have the cassette of the Broadway musical (which is as close as I can get to the recording of my beloved movie, isn’t young me a total philistine? And, Bee Tee Dubs, I STILL HAVE IT AND LISTEN TO IT TO THIS DAY DUM DUM DUMMMMM) and I get to college and, my senior year, the theater department puts on Hair. WELL! This is exciting. Since I left all of my credits until the last minute, I had to work on every single show they put up, so I was the head of the costume run crew.

Claude was a very handsome man who knew how handsome he was and therefore treated those around him with total and complete disregard and disdain. There’s a nude scene at the end of Act 1 (oh, did I not mention? Yes. The musical Hair is famous for the nude scene. End of Act 1, just before intermission, the tribe disrobes and stands there in all of its filthy naked glory. It is wonderful) and Claude didn’t put any undergarments on when he re-clothed himself during intermission. And we had a very quick change at the end of Act 2, because Claude runs off in full hippie regalia at the end of one song, puts on a FULL MILITARY UNIFORM, and comes back on (head shorn, which always gets gasps if the wig was a good one) to tell the tribe goodbye. I had approximately 45 seconds to go from hippie to inductee and, as the head of the crew, I was in charge of it since it was the most important change.

The first dress rehearsal night, Claude was having NONE OF IT. He said, “I’ll dress MYSELF” because he didn’t want me seeing him naked. “TURN AROUND” he hissed at me. Listen, sure, he was pretty, but he was also a dick (n0 pun intended), and I didn’t want ANYTHING to do with him. I was crushing pretty hardcore on a pale poet at the time, if I recall correctly. So he came on about five minutes later and I got read the riot act and he LET ME TAKE ALL OF THE HEAT. Because he was a COCK.

The next night, I prepared myself. He ran offstage and grabbed for the costume. I stopped him, knelt, and yanked down his pants. His dick in my face, I said, “I’ve seen a LOT better. Can we just get you onstage in time tonight?” He never looked me in the eye again, but he damn sure never fought me for changing rights. And we had him ready with time to SPARE from that point on. We had a SYSTEM DOWN. It was perfectly choreographed. I don’t think I’ve ever had something go so smoothly in my life.

Moral? Scare the shit out of someone and sometimes they will let you get done what you need to do. Them being naked helps.

Our production was good. So good, in fact, I didn’t see another staging of Hair until this year. The touring company came through Schenectady in the spring, and I went. And I don’t think I’ve ever been so jazzed about something in my life. It was FANTASTIC. It was done well, it was heartbreaking, it was cast perfectly, it was costumed perfectly (some of the original costume pieces, actually) and Berger – oh. Um. Yeah. Berger. This was our touring Berger: And listen, his name is STEEL BURKHARDT. I mean, can you GET any hotter than this? He was charismatic and I pretty much would have totally joined a Koolaid cult were he leading it.

All of this is prelude to the following: this weekend, I went to see another production of Hair. I’m not going to be mean. I’m totally not. I also am not, however, going to say where it was. If you know me, you can probably find out pretty quick where it was, but like I said, I’m not going to be mean. They tried REALLY HARD. Here were my issues.

  1. I love the show so much that it would really have to be stellar to live up to either my college production or the touring company or the movie. So that’s on me. Sorry, you guys.
  2. They JUST DID IT in Schenectady. Those people were PROFESSIONAL ACTORS. That’s so fresh in people’s minds! If they had waited even a year or two, it would have been such a better move! Let people forget Steel Burkhardt (you have to imagine that name with angel sounds, please) a little! (Yeah, right. As if I’ll ever forget Steel Burkhardt.)
  3. The costumes and actors WERE CLEAN. OK, this is a major pet peeve of mine, but I dig verisimilitude. And these are HIPPIES. Who live on the STREET. Would their bodies and clothes be Tide fresh? NO THEY WOULD NOT. Also, for no reason I could ascertain, one girl was wearing a chain-mail sleeveless floor-length cape thing. She looked like an escapee from a Renaissance festival. It was off-putting.
  4. Berger was trying SO HARD and I am really not trying to be mean but I don’t know if this was an actor thing or a director thing but listen, Berger is these people’s Charlie Manson, and did Manson’s followers follow him because he was nebbishy and kind of bothersome but eh, whatever, I guess he’s ok? NO. They followed him because his pores OOZED CHARISMA. The closest this poor Berger has ever come to charisma is masturbating to old episodes of Angel. (Shit. That was mean. I promised not to do that. Sorry, Charisma Carpenter.)
  5. OK, here’s my biggest problem. Since it wasn’t living up to expectations, I found a show boyfriend. This is what I do when I am not interested in a show but I have to finish it because I paid for it. I pick one person and I pay attention to their performance and they are my show boyfriend and, depending on my mood, I either just ogle them, or I make up elaborate scenarios of romance in my head with them, or something. Because, BORED. But there are RULES to show-boyfriendiness. For example, it can’t be the hottest guy in the show! Because EVERYONE would want him. And he would be out of my league. It can’t be someone very young, because that’s icky. It can’t be a girl because they don’t have a dick. (Although, let me tell you, it’s swung that way before, in a REALLY awful show. Bad shows have turned me into a lesbian. True fact.) It can’t be someone I know in real life unless I already have a little real-life crush on them because it’s easier to have a show-crush on a stranger. So, Claude was out because he was too pretty and therefore EVERYONE’S show-boyfriend; Berger was out for obvious reasons; Woof was out because seriously, you guys, I don’t think the kid went through puberty yet, when he had to sing “Sodomy” I felt SO BAD thinking of him at home at night looking up the nasty words and shuddering; and then I found my hot boyfriend. Random tribe member. With a beard. Oh, did I not mention my new obsession? Beards? It has only hit since I became old on my birthday earlier in the month. Last week, had a random crush on someone? Full beard. Today, show boyfriend? Full beard. I don’t know. Have never liked beards before. It’s an odd new thing and I don’t know either where it came from or if I’m down with it. Anyway, new bearded show-boyfriend. He was kind of adorable. And kind of looked like this only younger. I was smitten.

I am aware of the irony of me wanting to bone someone who resembles an actor from a show I hate so much it gives me hives.

So I stared at Al-but-not-Al-from-Home-Improvement throughout Act 1 until I realized a couple of things. 1 – I had a ROCKING seat. Second row house left, no one in front of me, no one in my row. Like, so close adorable Claude pointed and smiled at me in one song, and Sheila gave me a flower in another. 2 – NUDE SCENE WAS FAST APPROACHING. And I was right up front for all the action. THIS WAS MY LUCKY DAY. THE GD STARS WERE ALIGNED BABYYYYYY.

They all got in position. Some people chose to stay clothed – not my favorite choice, I feel like if you’re in Hair, you should embrace nudity, but whatever, their body, not mine – and realized Al-but-not-Al-from-Home-Improvement was THE CLOSEST GUY STRIPPING IN FRONT OF ME. It was kind of dark, though. Like, there were no lights on. So I waited for the light booth to get it together while I squinted trying to check out little Al (OR WAS IT? WAS IT LITTLE? ONLY TIME WOULD TELL!) from my seat without looking like a total perv. (Um. Too late. I know.)

The lights never went on. At all. THE NUDE SCENE WAS DONE COMPLETELY IN THE DARK. Luckily, due to my awesome seat, and the fact that the band was directly in front of me and had little lights on so they could read their sheet music, I had enough ambient light to see a little bit – some lovely breasts, and the fact that Al would most likely not be disappointing anyone in the near future (but I would like ACTUAL LIT CONFIRMATION OF THAT, whoever makes such decisions. I mean, would you buy something online without reading the reviews? No, you would not. THIS IS THE SAME THING. What do you MEAN it’s not at all the same thing. OF COURSE IT IS.) Hair = nude scene. Why would you even have them take their clothes off if it’s going to be dark when they do it? There have been productions of this without the nude scene. It’s been done. It’s not unprecedented. That’s like smoking fake cigarettes onstage. Do it right, or don’t do it at all. We know when you’re faking, actors, and it SUCKS.

Overall, listen, it was NOT the worst thing I’ve ever seen. Like I said, they tried really hard. And they seemed to be having a really good time. Claude, Jeannie, a few of the tribe members (coughAl-but-not-Al-from-Home-Improvementcough) and Sheila were quite good. The choreography was good. The singing was solid, overall. The set was nice. It was just poorly timed. And it didn’t seem like it had much at stake. This is a play about someone dying in a war we had no right to be in, that we had no reason to be in, that we were sending children to fight in, as well as homosexuality and teen pregnancy, and it played like children on a playground playing at hippies in Halloween costumes. And that was sad. It was Hair with any import erased. No consequences. No danger. Candy colors without substance.

I know. I’m a little tougher on this than the average theater-goer. I love it without reservation and when it doesn’t live up to my impossibly high standards I put on my cranky-pants. Sorry, cast and crew. Listen! THEY TRIED REALLY HARD.

Also, Al-but-not-Al-from-Home-Improvement! Research (and ahem, SIDEBAR, does no one put their Facebook settings to private anymore? I mean sure, it totally makes it easy for me to stalk you, but then again? IT MAKES IT EASY FOR ME TO STALK YOU. I mean, listen, Al-but-not-Al-from-Home-Improvement, we’re going to have to talk about this once we’re all coupley, because it’s worrisome. I could see EVERYTHING on your page. EVERYTHING) tells me you are WITHIN MY TARGET AGE RANGE, STRAIGHT, AND SINGLE. Ahem. I LIKE BEARDS, Al-but-not-Al-from-Home-Improvement. Also, you can use my new salt and pepper shakers. I WOULD LET YOU DO THAT. AMONG OTHER THINGS. I AM TOTALLY A GIVER. I would do a Craig’s List missed connection for you but listen, only CRAZY PEOPLE do those. THIS IS MUCH SANER. Spoiler alert, though, buddy – lights are staying on for our nude scene. Go big or go home. (I’d say that wasn’t a metaphor? But I’d be lying.)


%d bloggers like this: