Category Archives: Embarrassing

It’s like my own personal episode of COPS every night.

A newspaper-thing that’s always intrigued me, ever since I was younger, is the cop briefs.

Don’t even deny they intrigue you as well. If you haven’t read them for entertainment value, you’ve read them to see if anyone you know was arrested. They’re vicarious sordidness, aren’t they?

Cop brieffffffs! (Don't Google "cop briefs" unless you want to see a lot of men's underpants, my friends.)

Cop brieffffffs! (Don’t Google “cop briefs” unless you want to see a lot of men’s underpants, my friends.)

Oh, in case you don’t have these where you are (doesn’t everyone have these? I’d assume yes, but you know what they say about assuming…) cop briefs are those quick little blurbs in the paper that say something like “John Doe, 46, of Somewheresville, was arrested by state police on Saturday at 1:02 a.m. He was charged with lewd lewdness, crazy loudness, and public urination.” Things like that.

One of my (many) jobs at the paper is to put certain things online immediately, as soon as they’re proofread. Major stories, some wire stories that we think people will be interested in, and the cop briefs. Cop briefs are *very* popular around here. (I don’t know if it’s just around here. I think they’re probably popular everywhere. People are alike all over. Somewhat nosy.)

I almost immediately realized that the cop briefs were both the funniest and saddest things I would be reading at the paper.

Things that seem surprisingly popular around here, so much so that they’re probably 75% or more of our cop briefs:

  • heroin-related crimes (heroin is HUGE around here. Apparently locals really enjoy riding the horse. Who knew?)
  • Meth-related crimes (cookin’ the meth, yo, cookin’ the meth)
  • drunk driving
  • domestic violence
  • child molestation (yes, I know…shudder)
  • petit larceny
  • check forgery

SIDE NOTE: There is a 50/50 split at work of people who say “petit” (just like it looks – “pet it”, like you would do to a cat, specifically, Dumbcat, who ALWAYS wants petting) larceny and who say “petty” larceny. I’m in the latter camp – too many years of French classes drilled the latter pronunciation into my head. But the “pet it” people are as adamant about their choice as the “petty” people are. I find this fascinating.

ANOTHER SIDE NOTE: We have a road here named “Gotham Street.” How would you say that? I’d assume, based on the world’s consumption of Batman-related things, you’d say “Gaw-thumb”, right? Nope. Here, it’s “Goe-thumb.” This makes me laugh. Like, a lot.



So. Most of the cop briefs are for the things above. It’s gotten so second-hand that I’m all “ho-hum, another trailer exploded because they were cooking meth in it.” The domestic violence and child molestation ones bother me, I’m not going to lie. I don’t know if I’ll ever get inured to those. I think if the day comes that I am, I’m done. Roll me up and throw me in the sea.

My favorites, however, are the petit larceny ones. Specifically, the FUNNY petit larceny ones. Yes, yes. I know. Stealing’s not all that funny. But when you’re hanging your hat on dark humor, you take it where you can get it, you know?

There was…

  • the man who bought a bunch of crap at Walmart with counterfeit $100s, got caught, got arrested, got an appearance ticket, then THREE DAYS LATER got caught AGAIN for trying to buy MORE THINGS with a counterfeit $100. (Vitamins. He was trying to buy vitamins at the drug store.) This time, the cops were all “yeah…think we’ll keep you” and he had $50,000 bail, or something. We were all, “Hee! You know he’s saying ‘oh! $50k? I HAVE THAT! Do you take $100s?'”

    Ben Franklin disapproves of your shenanigans.

    Ben Franklin disapproves of your shenanigans.

  • the woman who decided she HAD TO HAVE the Keurig from her hotel room, so she put it in her bag and was all “gonna gooooo now” but got caught (not sure how…but based on future info, I’m guessing it was just poking on out of her bag, she doesn’t seem the brightest) and when the cops showed up she had a PLETHORA of wee bags of meth on her. Now, my thought: if you’re packing, like, MULTIPLE bags of meth? Probably don’t also steal the Keurig from your hotel room. You can buy one from your meth money later, and you want to keep a low profile, you know? You don’t need that Keurig right now. No. You don’t. Put it down. PUT IT DOWNNNN.

    "If it's in the hotel room, it's mine, right? I'm just going to take this, then. Thanks. DO NOT CHECK MY POCKETS FOR CRACK COCAINE."

    “If it’s in the hotel room, it’s mine, right? I’m just going to take this, then. Thanks. DO NOT CHECK MY POCKETS FOR METH.”

  • the guy who got arrested at his home for stealing something but then resisted arrest, and then his mother got arrested for trying to stop the cops from arresting him, and then SHE resisted arrest as WELL, and then his BROTHER tried to stop the cops from arresting his MOM and then resisted his OWN arrest. So, we’re three for three, then. Good show, folks.
  • the woman that got arrested for stealing a Dr. Pepper and some Cracker Jack from the convenience store. That one just made me sad. It was less than $4 of stuff. I kind of wanted to find her and give her $5 and tell her to keep the change.
  • The woman that just walked right out of the grocery store with something called a “mega meat savings pack.” This one was kind of the best, because the reporter who was on cops that night was on the phone with the police station, and we overheard him say, “I’d like a little more detail about this petit larceny of the ‘mega meat savings pack?'” And Coworker R. and I (BTW, I’m quite convinced Coworker R. and I are siblings separated at birth) at the exact same time said “Mega meat savings pack?” and got the giggles. And then the poor reporter was trying to hold it together while he was talking to the cops, but it was like on “Saturday Night Live” when everyone gets the giggles and no one can behave. Church-giggles, is what it was. And when he got off the phone, he was all “YOU GUYS” and I was all “MEGA MEAT SAVINGS PACK!” and even now I can’t say that without laughing like a looney.

    MEGA meat! We seriously discussed for like 20 minutes how she hid this to get it out of the store. Like, in her bra, or what?

    MEGA meat! We seriously discussed for like 20 minutes how she hid this to get it out of the store. Like, in her bra, or what?

  • The couple that got arrested for stealing a shopping cart filled with camping supplies from Walmart (Walmart gets stolen from, on average, 47 bajillion times a week…ok, I’m exaggerating, it’s like 47 KABILLION times a week) and then after listing all the things that were stolen, like “Sterno, a tent, tent poles, marshmallows, an inflatable mattress” it also listed “sexual lubricant.” Heh. Well, I guess the point of couples camping is that it’s (turn your eyes away, kiddos) fucking in tents. Or maybe they had some other campy use for that lubricant; I don’t really do outdoorsy well, so I couldn’t begin to tell you. Like, maybe it keeps away bears, you don’t know.



Probably the best, though, which was NOT petit larceny related, was the chick who foiled a kidnapper.

YES! A man called the cops, and said “someone tried to kidnap my ladyfriend in front of the convenience store!” so the cops were all on red alert and ran over and took statements and there was a lookout for a black SUV with a couple of nefarious white guys in it, and the woman was all “I left the store, they tried to pull me into their SUV, I fought ’em off with my sweet ninja moves” (I might be making that part up a little, but it was something to that effect.)

Everyone on our Facebook page, when we posted the story, FREAKED OUT. “Why are the cops hiding something from us?” “It’s like they WANT us to be kidnapped!” “FIND THESE EVILDOERS!” “CASTRATE THEM WITH RUSTY GARDEN SHEARS!” (Again, I might be making that part up a little.)

There was no news for a day or two…then the truth came out.

So, the chick had a job interview across the street from the convenience store. She and her boyfriend showed up early. Because she had time to kill, she proceeded to get very drunk (…yeah, I don’t know, either) and then she somehow lost her boyfriend in the convenience store. Convinced he’d left without her, she went in the parking lot, angry at him. When he came out looking for her, she was all, “YOU ABANDONED ME. And…um…because you did that, SOMEONE TRIED TO KIDNAP ME. I hope you’re HAPPY, Frank.” (His name wasn’t Frank. Like I remember his name. Please.)

So the boyfriend, who wasn’t (I’m assuming) drunk, was all, “babe, I was just inside this convenience store, how did you lose me? And more importantly, WE GOTTA CALL THE COPS ABOUT THIS KIDNAPPING.” And, mired in her web of drunken lies, she said, “Um. Yeeees? Yes, sure we sure do. Those dirty kidnappers who totally tried to kidnap me just now heh heh I’m not even lying at all even a little bit.”

The cops then broke her down after intense questioning (I’m guessing “intense” was just they looked at her seriously and she was all “OMG I AM SO SORRY” and started crying, she’s not really the criminal mastermind type, is she?) and she was charged with wasting police resources and reporting a false claim and inciting a riot. I made up that last one because it sounded cool. And, I have to assume, she did not get the job, probably. Unless the job was “professional drunken parking-lot kidnap liar,” in which case, she NAILED the interview (and I’m guessing there wasn’t much competition.)

As you can expect if you’ve been reading this blog for any length of time, I totally crack up over these kinds of stories. And I tell ALL my coworkers about them. “DEAR COWORKERS!” I say, and proceed to tell them the latest transgression in a VERY dramatic reading, which I like to think is appreciated by all. (Or, if it’s not, they’re too polite to tell me to shush it.)

What have we learned?

If you do something stupid, your name’s going to be in the paper. THAT IS SO EMBARRASSING!

(Also, just an FYI, we have computerized archives going back to the 80s. So don’t be thinking I won’t look you up and see if you were ever in the cop briefs. I SO WILL. This is like the next step in Googling one’s date. Newspaper-archive-searching one’s date. I am not going out with someone and then finding out after I’m head-over-heels he deals meth out of his nasty meth-trailer. I also, by the way, researched my apartment to see if it was a murder house. What, like you wouldn’t. It was never a murder house. But it WAS a drug house in the 90s. So if I find any little packets crammed in the corners, I’m going to probably not eat those, then.)

So…probably don’t do stupid things, my little gumdrops. Or someone, somewhere, is laughing HYSTERICALLY at you at the copydesk of a paper with their amazing coworkers they love more than all the cheese in the world. (ALL the cheese. And there’s a lot of cheese in the world, is how much those coworkers are loved.)

Thus endeth the lesson.

(Oh, and I guess also bring K-Y jelly camping? I don’t even know about that one.)

The dream girl of every 80s teen heartthrob everywhere

This will probably be brief(ish) but you get a surprise at the end so that’ll take that sting right outta there.

So, as stated yesterday, I had to go to the drugstore and get a mouthguard. The mouthguard is so I don’t continue grinding away on my teeth due to all the daytime stress that translates into nighttime stress and that, apparently, I am taking out on my poor jaw and teeth.

Hee! STRESS SHIELD! Yeah, I'm thinking this isn't going to work.

Hee! STRESS SHIELD! Yeah, I’m thinking this isn’t going to work.

(I think it’s lucky I’m not nighttime-punching or something. Poor Dumbcat. He’d get like a punch in the middle of the night and be all, “MOM WHY ME WHAT DID I DO?” and I wouldn’t even be awake to respond. So I suppose my nighttime destructiveness isn’t hurting anyone but me. Much like most of my daytime destructiveness, if we’re honest.)

This is a terrifying illustration. I don't care for this at all.

This is a terrifying illustration. I don’t care for this at all.

So I went to the drugstore and had four choices of mouthguards. One was the most expensive. It also seemed to have metal and springs involved. I was not too keen on putting metal and springs in my mouth. Doesn’t that seem like a mistake and also you’d wake up and have given yourself, like, LITERAL LOCKJAW or something? Also, I have a tongue ring, and I just KNOW that’d get all tangled in there. No thanks.

The next one down price-wise seemed very reasonable and had reassuring comments on the box.

The other two looked very cheap, and like they would slice my gums to ribbons with sharp plastic. I was not a fan of waking up all bloody-gummed. It didn’t seem like a better option than grinding my teeth to stumps.

So I got the second-most-expensive one and when I got it home, I took out the instruction sheet and HOLY CRAP was it detailed.

You had to boil water. Then put the mouthguard in a special plastic bracket. Then put the mouthguard in the boiling water for three minutes to soften it. Then dip it for NO MORE THAN TEN SECONDS ZOMG! in room-temperature water. Then RUN TO THE BATHROOM and insert (hee) the bracket containing the softened mouthguard in your mouth, being VERY SURE it lined up properly to your two front teeth. Then you had to CHOMP ALL DOWN AS HARD AS YOU COULD for TWO WHOLE MINUTES. This was not an easy task because I have TMJ so I can’t chomp down for longer than a few seconds or my jaw locks up. So I was standing there counting off seconds with my locky jaw radiating out ALL THE PAIN while I waited for this thing to settle into the shape of my teeth.

This is the thing I bought. FANCY SCHMANCY.

This is the thing I bought. FANCY SCHMANCY.

Then you ran it under cool water and made sure it fit your teeth.


But it makes me sound like an 80s nerd when I talk, which is kind of more hilarious than it need be. So I walked around saying things with my mouthguard in like a BOSS.

(Mom was all, “You know you’re not really obligated to TALK with that thing in, right? You’re just supposed to wear it to sleep. And you don’t TALK while you’re SLEEPING.” Well, most people don’t, Mom. I do. I’ve been told by both roommates AND romantic conquests that I’m QUITE chatty in my sleep about a BROAD variety of topics, none of which make much sense, thank you very much.)

So…I promised to show you all my pretty, pretty mouthguard, which will, undoubtedly, make me very popular with suitors.

So I made you a video. Because that’s how *I* roll, yo.


(Yeah, I don’t know what the hell with the lighting in here, either. I promise it’s not as yellow in real life. And my hair usually doesn’t look THAT insane. I mean, INSANE, but a little LESS insane. And why in that picture does it look like my arm is growing out of my neck?)

Happy Friday, people of the blog. I hope you have the best weekends. I have a big weekend of work and running off to Massachusetts to review a murder mystery and then running home to write the review and then crashing out with my new boyfriend, Dentek the Mouthguard.


(Side note: Dad says I’m not allowed to post this because if I DO, you all will start calling me “Bucketmouth.” I asked him to elaborate, and he said “You know, like people get called when they have things in their mouths.” I don’t know that anyone’s ever been called “Bucketmouth” in the history of, like, EVER, but it made me giggle. A LOT.)

Next week, on a very special “Glee,” the club covers The Murmurs’ “You Suck.” Cheerfully.

I got out of work today (my today, not yours, don’t get confused, I know, I’m all over the place here) and it wasn’t even dark yet. It was all very confusing. Hours! I get hours before I have to go to bed! WHAT WILL I DO WITH MYSELF? Oh, blog. That’s what I’ll do, of course. Silly.

So I’m catching up on the shows I missed this week and is everyone (wait, is anyone other than me still watching this?) aware that somehow, a Hole song ended up on Glee? I was in the kitchen and it was playing in the background and I was all, oh. Oh, no. That can’t be…no. Please, no. Please tell me the kids on Glee aren’t singing “Celebrity Skin.” Wait, they are. THEY ARE. And then I was sad. Because that means a., someone thought that was a good idea, and b., Courtney Love (I’d assume she has the rights to the songs? Or maybe she and the other bandmembers? I have no idea how such things work, please forgive, what do I look like, a record exec?) sold the rights to “Celebrity Skin” so that the Glee kids could sing it (cheerfully) while doing makeovers (cheerfully) for a run for class presidency (cheerfully.) I KNOW. Please bow your heads for a moment for the death of my misbegotten, angsty 20s, which have now been co-opted by clean-cut prime-time teenagers in letter-sweaters.


I am only posting this because it is EMBARRASSING. Not because I like it.

Then they won me back by showing me the preview for next week and they’ll be playing Coldplay’s “The Scientist” and SHUT RIGHT UP, I don’t care if you think Coldplay’s terrible and overplayed and sellouty and blah blah blah, that song gives me chills. “Questions of science, science and progress/Do not speak as loud as my heart” and “No one ever said it would be so hard/I’m going back to the start” make me all tingly. Sorry. I like a sad song, me. I heard this song the first time driving late at night and I was all, “what is this. What is this. WHAT IS THIS?” because I (shut up, I don’t know about popular things, especially music) had never heard Coldplay before. And it’s the perfect sad song. It’s moody and it’s mournful and it’s the song I want to be listening to when I’m driving in the middle of the night on an abandoned road. (I’m actually not a huge Coldplay fan, overall. I really like “Fix You” and “Yellow” – “for you I’d bleed myself dry” is a fantastic line, as is “lights will guide you home/and ignite your bones” – but otherwise, meh. I have other bands I like more. I’d see them for probably $40 or something but I wouldn’t pay the prices people tell me Coldplay tickets go for. Exorbitant ticket prices make me sad, because you don’t have anything to show for what you spent but memories, and you can’t eat/live in/type on/make calls with/wear memories. I’m quite practical about large purchases. I like to have something to show for purchases over, say, $20.)

Let’s get the bad taste of that Hole cover out of our mouths.

Also, you’ve all heard this, right? It makes me happy. Well, and sad. But isn’t it lovely? (Yes, I am confused by the fact that this seems to be a video made by Chipotle to support…shit, sustainable farming, or something? Just listen to the song. It’s Willie Nelson! Singing Coldplay! It is SO GOOD!)

So, anyway, what’s next, Glee? Are you going to sing, shit, I don’t know, Martha Wainwright’s “Bloody Motherfucking Asshole” or Nine Inch Nails’ “Closer?” Listen, I would pay to see that. I would pay ALL THE MONIES to see that. All those cheery kids grinning through wanting to feel each other from the inside? Yes. Yes, please, Glee. Please do this. Much appreciated.

This somehow became about music and I don’t know how that happened but, meh, whatever, let’s go with it. I feel bad that we have a master musicologist but we never get to use her because I am so far removed from the realm of music I never talk about it. SORRY SJ! I love you and I love your face!

When I was driving home tonight, a song I enjoyed came on the radio so I (look away, cops) used my fancy-schmancy Shazam app (YES WHILE DRIVING I KNOW I KNOW DON’T HATE ME I WAS AT A RED LIGHT) which I love more than almost anything in the world and the Shazam app told me it was Katy Perry. What is up with my obsession with terrible pop singers? I really like Katy Perry. I embarrassingly seem to really enjoy Christina Perri. (NO, I do not like that terrible Carly Rae Jepsen person. I’m not that far gone.) Here’s the thing – I don’t know who the people singing these songs are. So I’m in the car, and I’m all, “this is nice! Who is this?” and I use Shazam and I’m all “AMY! You are EMBARRASSING, what is WITH you and your love of the popstars?” (However, my talent for not knowing who’s singing a song also works for GOOD, not just EVIL, because I also have Shazamed Ingrid Michaelson songs repeatedly over the past few months because I just can’t realize who’s singing a song but I know I like something, so I keep being all, “I LIKE THIS WHO IS IT?” and it’s Ingrid Michaelson over and over and over. So, I’m not all bad.) Anyway, apparently I love Katy Perry. That “Firework” song makes me bounce all around. Sorry. You already know I have heathenistic taste in music; I don’t suppose this is going to make that supposition any worse.

Yes. I am duly embarrassed. I know. I KNOW.

This is the Katy Perry song. Shut up, I liked it. Leave me and my bad taste in things alone. (I can take or leave Katy Perry herself. Just don’t care. I like her music. It’s enjoyable. Just to be clear.)

Hey! I have a VERY IMPORTANT MUSIC QUESTION. Why do we all hate Lana Del Rey? I didn’t realize hating Lana Del Rey was a thing until she was on Saturday Night Live a while back and then the following week people were all “WE HATE LANA DEL REY WORST THING TO EVER HAPPEN TO SNL” and now she’s in some commercial or something, I don’t watch commercials, I don’t know, and everyone’s all “GAH WE HATE HER WORST THING TO EVER HAPPEN TO COMMERCIALS” and I don’t get it. I like that song “Video Games.” Am I wrong? I can’t be the only person who likes this song. It’s on the radio here a lot. What say you, minions? Does she murder puppies or something? Stab grammas? What am I missing?

She takes a lot of boudoir-type shots, I find in my research. Also, she seems to like Botox-mouth. Otherwise, harmless? Or am I missing something?

See? I like this. This is kind of nice. She has a nice old-timey voice. No? What am I missing (other than her duckface, but all the lay-deez have that now, I think. It’s like a THING.)

Oh! Oh, I totally have fallen in love with TWO songs. That are NOT embarrassing! Look, I am not always cringe-inducing! I will even share them with you. Because I LOVE YOUR FACES.

One is happy and makes me bounce and one is sad and made me cry real TEARS from my EYEHOLES.

The happy one is confusing. I don’t usually like happy. I like moody and dark and broody and then this thing comes on and I’m all “HAPPY HAPPY HAPPY BOUNCE!” and it’s kind of embarrassing to all involved.

(Well, ok, it’s got a LITTLE sad in it. But mostly it’s kind of weirdly triumphant and happy and joyous to me. I like “I belong with you, you belong with me, you’re my sweetheart.” How adorable is that? SO adorable. SUPER-TREACLY-SWEET. I think I might need to test my blood sugar after listening to this song. I LOVE IT SO MUCH.)

The second song is the latest Mumford & Sons song and I heard it for the first time on Saturday Night Live last weekend and I was all “I LOVE THIS! SO SAD!” and there were totally tears. I’m a huge sap. Don’t even let anyone tell you I’m not.

“And I came home/Like a stone/And I fell heavy into your arms.” SIGH.

Nice, right? This has been on constant laptop-repeat for a week. I love Mumford & Sons SO MUCH. I even wrote myself a note to buy the album. I NEVER buy albums. I KNOW! Mumford & Sons gets huge credit. I haven’t purchased an entire album of anything non-showtune-related in YEARS.

OK, that’s all I got, folks. I’m going to go listen to something thrashy and non-Glee-ified. DAMMIT GLEE.

Wilted and faded somewhere in Hollywood; I’m glad I came here with your pound of flesh

I need to write a post I don’t have to think too much about today. I’ve been picking up extra hours at my part-time job and will be for the foreseeable future, so I am TIRED, yo. Today was nine hours of craziness. It wouldn’t have been too bad, except all of our computers randomly stopped working for about a two-hour stretch. It was not the most fun. First one system would go down, then another, then our whole office in another state (we have a couple distance offices) went down for a little while, then ANOTHER system would go down, and we kind of got to the point where we were irrationally giggling because what the hell else are you going to do? Luckily, I work with some of the most kickass people in all the land there, so we keep each other sane. Thank you, my wonderful coworkers! You are awesome and I love you. Thank you for not losing your shit when you could easily have done so today.

So, anyway, I decided, what does one do when you need to turn your brain off a little? I have a few hours, then I have to go to bed so I can get up early and do it all over again tomorrow. And, of COURSE, the answer is, CELEBRITY NEWS! What, you don’t look at celebrity news when you want to turn your brain off? You’re a liar, of course you do. OK, maybe SOME of you don’t. I can’t speak for all of you. I think I know at least two of you who don’t care the least little bit about such things.

I actually don’t look at much celebrity news, because there’s very little of it I care about. You know what I don’t care about? Those sparkly-vampire people and who cheated on who (whom? there’s probably supposed to be a whom in there, yeah? I suck at who and whom, don’t even correct me, I don’t care) and who’s sad and who’s moved out and who’s living with Reese Witherspoon while he gets over his bad bad breakup.


DO NOT CARE. You silly sparkly-vampire people. Cheat, don’t cheat, whatever, you’re in your early twenties or something, right? When my friends and I were in our early twenties, we were fooling around with anything with a pulse. If that person was in a relationship with someone else, well, that was unfortunate. We also drank a lot. This could explain the whoriness. I can’t even imagine if I was all over the tabloids when I was that age. It would be SO EMBARRASSING. It’d be all walk-of-shamey and makeup all running down my face and vomiting in cabs. Watch out, Lindsay Lohan and Kim Kardashian. (Also, this is a very good example of people GROWING UP and not acting like assholes when they mature. Well, I still sometimes act like an asshole, just not as publicly.)

But sometimes I can’t help but look at celebrity news. Here are examples of things I can’t help but look at:

  • dead people (especially if they were on Celebrity Rehab, shut up, I am a moth to the flame of that damn show)
  • celebrities I like (which are varied and I can’t even explain my attraction)
  • celebrities who are acting like total loonies (I’m looking at YOU, Cruise, also YOU, sugar-tits Gibson)
  • celebrities who wear really wacky clothing and think it’s normal (I’m still totally charmed by everything Bjork does)
  • casting news of almost every book adaptation

And that’s pretty much it. I don’t care about much else. Mostly it bores me. I assume this means I’m broken, because from the number of TMZ-style websites and People-style magazines people LURVE the celebrity news.

Anyway, as long as it falls under one of the categories above, when I’m in a “blergh I need news where I don’t want to THINK” I read some celebrity news. So today, lets’ talk about celebrity news. I promise I’ll try to make it somewhat entertaining. WHAT I SAID I’LL TRY.

First: Lance Armstrong. No, he doesn’t fall under any of the categories above. This one’s an Amy’s-dad story.

Me: Lots of things happened. Which one are we shouty about?
Dad: Lance. They did it. THEY DID IT.
Me: Lance…Bass? I don’t know what we’re talking about right now.

Are you at all embarrassed this is the first Lance that came to mind when Dad said “Lance?” I am, a little. Shush. Bye, bye, bye.

Me: Yes. Thank you for reinforcing that.
Dad: As an unemployed person, you could watch the news ALL DAY LONG.
Me: Could. Don’t. What Lance are we talking about?
Me: Oh, him. OK. What’d they do?
Dad: He stopped fighting the charges. They’re trying to take away his medals.
Me: OK, wait, I’m looking this up now.
Dad: You should already KNOW this.
Me: I was busy today.
Dad: Doing what?
Me: Stuff. LOTS OF STUFF. OK, this says he’s not allowed to cycle anymore, and also they’re definitely taking this medals away. Hee! He can’t cycle anymore. He’s WALKING from now on. EVERYWHERE.

No more medals. Dad does not approve.

Dad: THIS IS NOT A LAUGHING MATTER. THE BASTARDS. You know whose fault this is.
Me: The government?
Dad: Yes. He didn’t do DRUGS. Only LOSERS do drugs.
Me: OK. I don’t know enough about this to make any decisions here.
Dad: You know, you could just believe me when I tell you something.
Me: If I did that, I’d be voting Republican and eating red meat for every meal. No thanks.

Blergh. I hate beef. I know. I’m totally un-Merkan.

Dad: You’d be BETTER OFF. Those things are SMART. Plus, DELICIOUS.
Me: Mmm-hmm.
Dad: Why are you whispering?
Me: What? Random McGurk. I’m not.
Me: Dad. I assure you I am not whispering.
Dad: Here, talk to your mother, your whispering is making me angry.

Then Dad gave the phone to my mother, and she picked up the extension in the other room and we chatted for a little while. Then I heard my dad in the background all “WOMAN WOMAN WOMAN LET ME TALK TO HER WOMAN WOMAN WOMAN” (sometimes he calls my mom that, it’s a thing, don’t ask) and she was all “sigh sigh sigh YOUR DAD WANTS YOU AGAIN.”

Me: What. I’m not even whispering.
Dad: Say some more things.
Me: What? What is WRONG with you today. You are being SO WEIRD. Mom heard me JUST FINE. I think your ears are broken.
Me: Seriously, did you take that old codeine you have in the medicine cabinet that you’re saving in case there’s an apocalypse? I told you that’s probably expired and will cause brain damage now.

Dad has a whole drawer of old medication. I don’t even know what he’s saving it for. And I’m pretty sure it won’t do what it would have done when it was new anymore, either.

Me: What the hell?
Dad: You weren’t whispering.
Me: No. No I was not whispering. I never whisper. Even when someone tells me to. I don’t think I’m capable. I’m very loud. You know that.
Dad: It was the PHONE.
Me: The phone was whispering? Is it haunted?


Dad: No, I was holding it with my face and I turned down the volume with my cheek by accident but I didn’t know it so I thought you were messing with my head.
Me: Yes, because I often pull a long con like whispering for a long period of time so you think you’re losing your hearing.
Dad: But while you were talking to your mother just now, I found the instructions. And at first, they wouldn’t tell me how to turn up the volume, so I almost threw them out the window.


Me: RIGHT OUT THE WINDOW. That’d teach ’em.
Dad: Then I found it! You hit the VOLUME button.
Me: Huh. That’s tricky of them, right? Very misleading.
Dad: So when I told you to keep talking? I was turning up the volume, and listening to see if it made your voice louder! Pretty tricky, right?
Me: Man, Dad. You’re the most tricky. Can’t put one over on you! How’s the volume now?
Dad: GOOD. I can hear you just FINE.
Me: What if I YELL SO LOUD?
Dad: Stop it. I have delicate ear-areas.
Me: Yes. Like a bat.
Dad: I hate bats. Stupid bats. Get in your house and swoop at your head with rabies in their teeth.

I’ve got rabies in my teeth! Someone get me some floss!

Me: Right in their teeth! Right in there.
Dad: I have to go now, because I’m going to read more things in this manual. You can also set how many rings before voice mail picks up! I’m going to change it to FIVE.
Me: Walk on the wild side, dude. Walk on the wild side.

So, there is CELEBRITY NEWS from dad-filters. Dad loves Lance Armstrong. He has Lance’s bracelets and he is Dad’s hero. I have no idea if the guy did drugs or not. I find it hard to believe he passed hundreds of drug tests without failing any, but I know nothing about drugs or testing for drugs, so I’m no expert and I don’t even play one on teevee.

The other celebrity news I read this week that I was all glued to was the news of Prince Harry. Listen! Listen. I LIKE PRINCE HARRY VERY MUCH. Here are my reasons.

Shut up, he is ADORABLE.

  • He is a ginger;
  • He is kind of adorable;
  • He makes funny faces;

    This looks like Harry holding a hedgehog. I like this very much.

  • He is tall;
  • He doesn’t seem to be capable of following the royal rules and regulations;
  • He looked super-hot in his military uniform (shut up, I’m only human, even though he’s young enough that my semi-crush on him makes me feel a little icky);

    I know, right? He could totally invade my country ANY DAMN TIME AT ALL. By country I of course mean my LADYBITS.

  • He seems the most normal-human of the royals, and I like that about him.

So this week, Prince Harry came to Merka, and as you do when you’re an adorable ginger prince who will most likely never be king (that has to kind of suck, right? Being that close, but so far? I think I’d act up, too) he partied with Ryan Lochte who is apparently the new Michael Phelps and then played strip billiards and some asshole took a billion naked photos of him and sold them to the gossip magazines. NO, I’m not going to put them in here. Instead, here’s a photo of Harry holding a dog. Were you aware there is a Tumblr called Prince Harry Holding Things? Well, now you are.

AW MY ADORABLE LITTLE PRINCE HARRY! All the naked photos. How embarrassing. You know his grandmother was all, “NO NO NO WE DON’T DO THAT HARRY!” but then my guess is he charmed her into forgiving him because he blushed and apologized and she was all, “I CAN’T STAY MAD AT YOU MY BOY” because shit, he is the CUTEST.

See? Look. She ADORES him.

I don’t know that you could stay mad at Prince Harry for long. He’s like the kid with a frog in his overall pocket and mud all over his shoes but a cowlick and you can’t stay mad because he has a winning smile. I totally dig Prince Harry. I think he’s stubborn and irascible and full of fun. (Except I pretend the time he wore a Nazi uniform didn’t happen. I hate that. That’s the only time I was like, “Prince Harry, I can’t forgive you this one thing, and I will always be a little wary of you since that happened because you were TOTALLY old enough to know that wasn’t ok and you KNOW you weren’t drunk when you put that on, no matter how drunk you got once you got to that party. NAZIS ARE NEVER OK HARRY.”) NO, I am ALSO not showing you Nazi-uniform Harry; instead, here is a photo of Prince Harry shrugging winsomely.


Anyway, Prince Harry was all naked but none of the pictures showed anything good. Not that I looked. OH NO NOT ME. I am PURE AS THE DRIVEN SNOW and NOT AT ALL PERVING OVER A 27-YEAR-OLD. And listen, is that the most pervy? It’s not like he’s young enough to be my kid. He’s only about 10 years younger than I am. Is that terrible? If you think it is, you shush, I don’t want to hear it.

Also, if the only headline you can think of is a variation on “the Crown Jewels” you are not trying hard enough.

What do you think Prince William thinks of these hijinks? My guess is, jealousy. He never got to have hijinks. He was too busy balding (seriously, he used to be so handsome, I am so sad about his decline) and being groomed for eventual kingship. Kingdom? Both. Either. I don’t know. Also, probably he’s all, “that’s my baby brother, what can you do.” As a sister of a baby brother, I can attest you can forgive a baby brother a LOT of things. A LOT, a lot. Baby brothers are kind of magical like that. Even when they are no longer babies and have babies of their own and that baby is named THE NEPHEW and he is made out of rainbows and hugs.

I’ll take the one on the right, please. The one on the left looks too serious and unnaturally aged.

There is your celebrity news! Which was light on both CELEBRITY and NEWS. I’m not good at staying on task.

Now I am going to bed so I can go back to work tomorrow and work MORE HOURS. I know, you’re totally the most impressed with my work ethic, right? Listen, I don’t want to live in a cardboard box under a bridge, that’d be bad news. Dumbcat’d run away and I don’t think wifi works under bridges, yo.

(Title from Hole’s “Celebrity Skin.” You knew that, right? Of course you did.)

An open letter of apology to London

Dear London:

Listen, I’m really sorry.

The other night, #MittShambles started trending on Twitter. I’m usually really out of it, news-wise, so I of course had to research what the latest Mitt-tastrophe was.

Guys! YOU GUYS! I gots me a street named after me, yo!

Oh, holy hell, London. I am so, so embarrassed. Seriously, I’m glad I don’t have to look any of you in the eye today, because I’d be as red as a beet.

Oh, so embarrassed.

Oh, wait, maybe some people are as out of it as I am, news-wise, and are wondering what went down. Because I love you, I’ll fill you in.

On Thursday, Mitt Romney (who will be running as the Republican Presidential candidate here in MERKA later this year) went to London. It was ostensibly as a fundraiser – there are a lot of rich American Republican businessmen living and working in London, and he was having a $75,000 a plate fundraiser for them (or, I guess, for himself) – but while there, he decided to show the Londoners what it would be like once he’s elected President, by doing some speechifying, and some interviews, and meeting with some fancy London bigwigs. Easy enough, right?

$75,000 a plate? Better come with a home, a hot man, and a European tour, buddy.

Oh, no, not at all easy. Not at ALL easy. Yikes.

Listen, I’m not great in front of people. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. I often start running off at the mouth because my nerves get the better of me, and I say very stupid things that are not at all indicative of me as a person. I think a lot of people do that. It’s not just me. I’ve seen more than enough bad speeches to know I’m not the only one petrified in front of people saying stupid things. That said: the man is trying to be the leader of the United States. THE WHOLE UNITED STATES. OF MERKA. You kind of have to be good at speeching to lead the country.

In case you’re not aware, the Olympics are going on in London. Well, when Romney was there, they were about to begin. They were one day away. FURTHERMORE, in case you were ALSO not aware, Mitt Romney was the chief executive of the Salt Lake City Winter Olympics in 2002. So Romney, I guess, thought it was ok that he got all judgey-judgey about the way the London Olympics were being run and set up and such. You know. As you do. When you’re trying to make a good impression in a foreign country.

Bill. Aw, Bill. Remember the speeches he used to give? *swoon*

Shit, did I mention how embarrassed I am, London? Let me reiterate. I’m so embarrassed. So, so embarrassed.

So first, Romney started saying shit like the London Olympics might be in trouble because of security concerns, and that it was “hard to know just how well it will turn out.”

He also said there were “a few things that were disconcerting” about the Olympic preparations. “The stories about the private security firm not having enough people, supposed strike of immigration and customs officials, that obviously is not something which is encouraging.”

And then I just…kept talking? And talking. And talking some more.


(In news of the BURN!, David Cameron – he’s the Prime Minister, come on, you know this – said “We are holding an Olympic Games in one of the busiest, most active, bustling cities anywhere in the world. Of course it’s easier if you hold an Olympic Games in the middle of nowhere.” HA HA! Listen, the Brits are pretty polite. This is a TOTAL burn. This would be like if a MERKAN said “SUCK IT ROMNEY YOU PODUNK ASSMUNCH.” Only with more middle-fingering. And we’d probably shoot him in the face.)

Good one, Cameron!

Then Romney was all “oh, oh shit, did I do that?” and backpedaled with a sweeping “um um um any little boo-boos will be overshadowed by the extraordinary demonstrations of courage, character and determination by the athletes.” (Everything in that sentence up until “overshadowed” I made up. Also, that’s not an apology or even a backpedal. That’s a privileged kid who doesn’t know how to say he’s sorry who realized people are mad at him attempting to save face. And failing. Miserably.)

I kind of imagine it like this, only without the awesomeness of Fred Willard or “A Mighty Wind.”

In additional news of the “what the eff?” Romney also:

  • forgot the name of Ed Miliband, the leader of the Labour Party, and in order to save face, called him “Mr. Leader” (his name wasn’t like Muhammad Hosni El Sayed Mubarak or something. It was ED, for the love of Pete. You can’t remember Ed? You high or something, Romney?)

    It’s ED, Mr. Romney. ED. TWO EFFING LETTERS.

  • Met with the leaders of MI6, but obviously was SO STOKED that he got to sit at the cool kids table for two minutes and maybe also thought he was in maybe a James Bond movie that he TOLD EVERYONE. I wasn’t aware of this, but apparently MI6 is England’s Fight Club? And you all know the first rule of that, right? Shit, Romney. I’m pretty sure Goldfinger’s under your bed right now or something ready to suspend you over a tank full of sharks while he tells you about all of his evil plans and schemes, giving you time to escape, if you’re wise enough to use it. (Isn’t Goldfinger a James Bond badguy? The one with the scary grill? He is, right? I think I remember Dad making me watch that once. OH SHIT FINE I looked it up and his name was “Jaws” and he was from the movie The Spy Who Loved Me. I really dislike James Bond movies. They’re all the same to me.)


    Also, I guess there’s another secret service called MI5, and he also met with them, and one of Romney’s advisers spilled the beans about that, too. (I’m getting the feeling that a., maybe all these secret societies shouldn’t meet with any yahoo running for president of MERKA, and b., Romney and his people were totally narcs in high school. Or hall monitors or something. Something asshatty.)

  • He also said he was really looking forward to watching volleyball from the “backside” of Downing Street which made a lot of British people giggle because that totally means bum, you guys. BUM! (Also, who even uses backside in that sense? Weird. Unless it’s a rich person thing. Is it a rich person thing? I wouldn’t know. Romney would.)

    Here is the backside of a hedgehog. Hee! Backside!

  • One of his advisors said that Obama didn’t understand America and Europe’s shared “Anglo-Saxon heritage.” Some news outlets are saying that Romney himself said this; some are saying an advisor said it. Either way: RACIST, YO. Because Obama’s got African-American heritage, he can’t understand the troubles we seen, can’t understand our sorrow? Please excuse me while I laugh myself into a hernia.

Londoners were really, really disgusted with Romney.

OK, London? Listen. I’m so sorry. I want to make it very clear: MITT ROMNEY DOES NOT REPRESENT ALL OF US.

Mitt Romney is a bullying rich boy. (Seriously, if you take nothing serious from this entire post, click on that link and read it. And then share it with people who vote in America. Yeah, it’s a story for another blog, one closer to election, I’ll talk more about it then – but we’re one election away from this man being our president, my fellow Merkans. Someone who not only bullied gay teens in school, but someone upon whom it made NO IMPACT. He DOESN’T EVEN REMEMBER DOING IT. He calls it “pranks and high jinks.”) Someone on Twitter the other day compared him to a middle-aged Patrick Bateman from American Psycho. I don’t know if there’s been a more apt comparison since he poked his Whac-a-Mole head out of the ground to try to be the next GREAT BIG LEADER OF MERKA.

Put your head back in your hole, Mole. We don’t need you here. We have a hammer in case you pop up again. Whack. Whack.

I’m so sorry he came to your lovely city in the middle of your lovely country and he shit all over you while you were preparing for this gigantic event that you’re probably all nervous about. I’m so sorry that some of you are all “you bloody Americans!” and all stompy-stomp and giving us dirty looks. I’m so, so sorry.

We’re really not all that backward and embarrassing. I promise. Gah, I’m just beyond embarrassed. HE DOES NOT SPEAK FOR ALL OF US.

I just found this a few minutes ago. Apparently, Romney’s not going to apologize. It’s all on me. (Did you all know about this?)


I have no idea how the election’s going to shake out. I really don’t. I’m petrified about it, to tell you the truth. Because I don’t want a gay-bashing, jingoistic, bullying, glad-handing rich boy running my country. Please don’t think I do, London. As much as all of you, I wish he’d never opened his mouth when he was across the pond; he makes all of us look bad.

I lived in London for 5 months in college. Your city was a city of wonder. There was always something to see and do and it was so bustling and so thriving and so beautiful and I wish I hadn’t been so homesick because I would have been able to appreciate it more. You have wonderful theater and actors and movies and art and architecture and history (and oh, oh, oh, how much do I miss being able to stop into the store and buy a Flake bar whenever I want one? SIGH) and I’d give my EYETEETH to go back and visit you again now that I’m wise enough to look at all you have to offer with my grown-up, much less eye-rolly…um…well, eyes, I guess.

I’m seriously drooling right now.

Please don’t judge us by our most asshatty denizens. We have such better people to offer.

Please accept my most abject apologies. If it helps at all, I am happy to come over. I would remember Mr. Miliband’s name, I would totally zip my lip about meeting with your secret agent men, I’d never mock your abilities to have the Olympics there (because, honestly, I don’t know anything about the Olympics) and I would totally never mention the ass-side of your buildings. I can be a lady when I need to be. Totally can. I think you’ll see I’d be an EXCELLENT ambassador of awesome. I’d leave and you’d be all “GO GO MERKA!” and it would be the best thing ever.

Send that plane ticket on over. I’d be happy to stay at a mid-range hotel. The chocolates on the pillow don’t have to be that fancy. I’d settle for a Flake bar.

And listen, London: I’m so sorry. Seriously. Here is black and white picture of Benedict Cumberbatch with facial hair. He is one of my favorite products of yours. Can you look at him and be mad at us? Can you really? I can’t. I look at him and my mad-feelings just melt away. Just meeeeellllltttt away.

With all the apologies in the world, plus a few more, and a very red face,

Love, Me.

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