I should have known that the Petting Zoo in San Juan Capistrano was going to be a laugh riot when I asked Siri "Where is the Petting Zoo?" when I was in San Juan today. Siri replied, politely, "The zoo of petting is very close to where you are now." I feel like she needed some sort of accent to word it this way....(Oh you can just imagine the delight on Rick's face!)
Lets address the obvious question: Why the heck were you at a petting zoo? I needed to GET OUT OF THE HOUSE people! (Recovering from surgery, different story, totally not funny.) So...here are Rick and I at Zoomars Petting Zoo. Me: "YAY!!!" Rick: "It stinks here." Lady at the Entrance: "Do you want admission only, or purchase any animal food?" Rick: "Admission only." Me: "PURCHASE ANIMAL FOOD!! YAY!!"
Here are the funny/ironic/interesting thigs that ensued:
There is a huge dinosaur statue there. Huge. Life size. True to the historical flora and fauna of San Juan Capistrano? Not sure if there were ever any Apatosaurus' roaming SoCal.
The majority of the animals at the Zoo of Petting were, wait for it, Guniea Pigs. Are you kidding me?? Guinea Pigs are rats with a better PR Agency. Think Lindsey Lohan vs. Ke$ha.
There was a Birthday Party/Picnic area. AND it was packed. It smelled like goat shit, ya'll.
Llamas love carrots, a lot, and have hideously poor mouth chewing manners, certainly not enhanced by their lack of dentistry. One of them was very happy to have his matted, stinky neck scratched. Like Ruby, only not as Princess-ey.
The bunnies were largely being chased and tortured by toddlers, so I spotted a beautiful black one trying to evade little Nathan in his cowboy outfit, and I slipped him a fat purple grape. He was grateful. (I would have like to have slipped little Nathan some Prozac.)
The line for the pony rides was depressing. Don't get me started. I may or may not have PETA on the horn as we speak.
I loved the wooly, semi-shorn sheep. I will never understand how people can eat them. Sorry, I know, not the place, just sayin'. They have sweet faces and gentle demeanors. Maybe that's why God chose them to represent His beloved humans in so many ways.
One of my fav moments was Rick conversing with an Ostrich or Emu or something. They had the same hairstyle.
So, all in all, Zoo of Petting excursion was a rousing success! I got out, I got to pet things, feed things, and when I got home, got to perplex my dog with very strange animal smells. It's always funny to see her go from GREETGREETGREET!!!!....to Wait!....What the heck is THAT? SNIFFSNIFFSNIFF.....
It's a happy day when you go to a petting zoo so crappy that the big feature is Guniea Pigs, and you are STILL stoked! My husband loves me.
just Dawn
Saturday, December 8, 2012
Monday, November 26, 2012
I'm Sexy and I Know It. by: Dawns Spine
Hi Blog Fans, (You know, Dawn and Michelle's Moms)
It's me, Dawns amazing Spine. It has occurred to me of late, that the hair, the smile, the face, the skin, get ALL of the attention! They don't do CRAP compared to me! PLUS, they get all the glory! "Oh Dawn, you look so youthful!". You know what I get?...."Oh Dawn, you have the spine of an 85 year old woman!". It's time I had my day in the sun! So lately, it's been all about me. AND I have been twisted, slammed, kicked, flipped, karate chopped, and wrenched for all of my trouble. What am I anyway, compared to the colored, dyed, Botoxed, extensioned, cosmeticed, plucked, groomed, moisturized, shaved, waxed, serumed, buffed, and exfoliated MORE IMPORTANT entities that all together make up our Dawn?
Oh Dawn, you are so cruel. I have stood up for you (Literally) your whole life. You have "rewarded" me with gymnastics, wrestling, and free sparring for my dogged perseverance. Well, now its all ME, isn't it? I got MY picture taken twice this week! I had MY specialists tending to our needs this week, didn't I? HA to you, colorist! Manicurist! I'm the star this week!
Dawn, if you can't grasp how important it is to nurture and care for the structure over the exterior, who will? The foundation over the superficial? I hate to be the I-told-you-sayer of your body (I've always left that up to the SO self-important, "You can't live without ME" heart) but your reality check is NOW, my Dawn. Time for a lovely Pilates class. Hang up your theoretical wrestling boots for good. Or else.
Love,
Your Smoking Hot Lumbar, Thoracic, and Cervical Spine.
It's me, Dawns amazing Spine. It has occurred to me of late, that the hair, the smile, the face, the skin, get ALL of the attention! They don't do CRAP compared to me! PLUS, they get all the glory! "Oh Dawn, you look so youthful!". You know what I get?...."Oh Dawn, you have the spine of an 85 year old woman!". It's time I had my day in the sun! So lately, it's been all about me. AND I have been twisted, slammed, kicked, flipped, karate chopped, and wrenched for all of my trouble. What am I anyway, compared to the colored, dyed, Botoxed, extensioned, cosmeticed, plucked, groomed, moisturized, shaved, waxed, serumed, buffed, and exfoliated MORE IMPORTANT entities that all together make up our Dawn?
Oh Dawn, you are so cruel. I have stood up for you (Literally) your whole life. You have "rewarded" me with gymnastics, wrestling, and free sparring for my dogged perseverance. Well, now its all ME, isn't it? I got MY picture taken twice this week! I had MY specialists tending to our needs this week, didn't I? HA to you, colorist! Manicurist! I'm the star this week!
Dawn, if you can't grasp how important it is to nurture and care for the structure over the exterior, who will? The foundation over the superficial? I hate to be the I-told-you-sayer of your body (I've always left that up to the SO self-important, "You can't live without ME" heart) but your reality check is NOW, my Dawn. Time for a lovely Pilates class. Hang up your theoretical wrestling boots for good. Or else.
Love,
Your Smoking Hot Lumbar, Thoracic, and Cervical Spine.
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
A Poet and I Know It.....
Ode to Marriage (Wife’s Lament)
By Dawn
I like the smell of Windex and he likes Coppertone.
He likes to fill our house with friends, I like to be alone.
We disagree on who’s the best rock singer of all time.
Ian Gillian* would be his pick, Rob Halford* would be mine.
While we agree Paul Rodgers* is mostly under-rated,
Lady Gaga, who I love, he has always hated.
I like gymnastics, he likes the Rams.
(I have disdain for most sports fans.)
I like salty, he likes sweet.
I’m a veg and he eats meat.
I know I am right, but we don’t fight, we “agree to disagree”.
Sometimes I even let him “win”…*wink, wink* hey, that’s just me.
“Where do we keep the duct tape?” I’ve often heard him say…
Where we keep it, and where you left it last are surely worlds away.
On our favorite restaurants, we easily agree….
He has this awesome habit of frequently spoiling me!
With all our heart we love our boys with all their silly flaws,
I’d even go so far as to say we love our mother in laws!
(Hey, I know my mom reads my blog! Sorry for the interruption….)
I like art, he likes to rock. I like to read, my man’s a jock.
I love my sweetie, Ruby Sue. (Don’t let him fool you, he does too.)
He has good guys around him. Though “guy-time” I just don’t get…
My awesome girls could rule the world; we just haven’t done it yet.
Sharing a bathroom with this man just might do me in.
Married ladies, help me out, can I get a big Amen!?
Sigh. He’s my rock star, my best friend, and my better half,
So back off ladies, don’t even try, or I’ll shank you in the calf.
The end.
*Google the ancient rockers, young people.
By Dawn
I like the smell of Windex and he likes Coppertone.
He likes to fill our house with friends, I like to be alone.
We disagree on who’s the best rock singer of all time.
Ian Gillian* would be his pick, Rob Halford* would be mine.
While we agree Paul Rodgers* is mostly under-rated,
Lady Gaga, who I love, he has always hated.
I like gymnastics, he likes the Rams.
(I have disdain for most sports fans.)
I like salty, he likes sweet.
I’m a veg and he eats meat.
I know I am right, but we don’t fight, we “agree to disagree”.
Sometimes I even let him “win”…*wink, wink* hey, that’s just me.
“Where do we keep the duct tape?” I’ve often heard him say…
Where we keep it, and where you left it last are surely worlds away.
On our favorite restaurants, we easily agree….
He has this awesome habit of frequently spoiling me!
With all our heart we love our boys with all their silly flaws,
I’d even go so far as to say we love our mother in laws!
(Hey, I know my mom reads my blog! Sorry for the interruption….)
I like art, he likes to rock. I like to read, my man’s a jock.
I love my sweetie, Ruby Sue. (Don’t let him fool you, he does too.)
He has good guys around him. Though “guy-time” I just don’t get…
My awesome girls could rule the world; we just haven’t done it yet.
Sharing a bathroom with this man just might do me in.
Married ladies, help me out, can I get a big Amen!?
Sigh. He’s my rock star, my best friend, and my better half,
So back off ladies, don’t even try, or I’ll shank you in the calf.
The end.
*Google the ancient rockers, young people.
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
Hot Temperatures Bring out the Pathetic in Me
This isn't news to anyone living in California right now, but....it's hot. Really, really hot. Like, southern style, chafe-inducing, happiness-killing, excuse-to-go-a-little-certifiably-crazy hot. I know there are people in other places dealing with much worse, record breaking heat; the kind that kills crops and the elderly in the same way. But, the heat that has plagued us the past couple of weeks or so has been hard to ignore.
My apartment in particular has been a bit of death trap. I've tried calling it a sauna and convincing myself that my pores are being cleansed each time I step inside my little heat box, but there aren't enough sweaty, partially clothed strangers in here to make it look like a true sauna.
I have learned one thing because of the heat, though, and that is: I am not yet a Californian (despite paying our above the national average gas prices [oh, look! We're beating the rest of the nation at something! Good job, California.] like the rest of you suckers. No. I realized that not having a sun shade for my car's windshield makes me a little late to the "common sense" party. (Those are typically not fun, but you do come away with some great life tips.)
You'd think searing the backs of my thighs on black leather seats, while branding the steering wheel seams into my palms would have gotten me right on that little errand. Hasn't happened yet. I must enjoy the challenge of maneuvering in my car so that I'm hovering over the seat while trying to steer the car with mind power until the air conditioning cools everything off. And fortunately, my car has excellent air conditioning. Which is much more than I can say for my apartment's air conditioning....
My air conditioner is basically an additional fan. It works great if your face is so close to the vent that you can see the freon in there. That leaves my and my roommate's rooms to fend for themselves. And mine's definitely given up. If you closed your eyes and thought really happy thoughts upon entering my room, you might think you were on Mr. Toad's Wild Ride at Disneyland during the part where you're supposed to be in hell. Which, by the way....how is that appropriate for a kids' ride? I feel like somebody didn't think that one through.
So, since my room is clearly not trying to help me out, and since the fan in my room is mediocre at best, I've had to get creative and come up with alternate ways to keep cool at night. Here are a few:
1. I tried putting a frozen bag of peas on my neck (that's supposedly one of the spots that cools you down the quickest), and promptly thawed them. (Tomorrow's dinner now has its side dish.)
2. I tried putting a wet washcloth behind my neck, but that didn't work. Nothing more to say about that. It just doesn't work. Save yourself the hassle.
3. I've taken cold showers in the hopes that I'll shock myself into leaping out of the shower and away from the frigid temperature, but I just end up feeling like I'm in an upright swimming pool with nice, relaxing tepid water, which makes me want to stay right where I am.
4. And, in what may be my most pathetic attempt, I lost it in the middle of the night and grabbed an ice pack (most often used for keeping things cool on the go) from the freezer, and, yes......slept with it. Now, before you judge, just come over to my apartment and soak in the heat until your head feels all hot and melty on the inside. Desperate times call for desperate measures. I tried to keep the thing on my neck, but that required holding it there, which required doing a job while I slept. So, I just put it on my sheets and then laid in the spot where it was. (Such shame, such pity.)
I'm hoping this heat ends nice and soon because I'm running out of ideas. And those ice packs are not soft.
My apartment in particular has been a bit of death trap. I've tried calling it a sauna and convincing myself that my pores are being cleansed each time I step inside my little heat box, but there aren't enough sweaty, partially clothed strangers in here to make it look like a true sauna.
I have learned one thing because of the heat, though, and that is: I am not yet a Californian (despite paying our above the national average gas prices [oh, look! We're beating the rest of the nation at something! Good job, California.] like the rest of you suckers. No. I realized that not having a sun shade for my car's windshield makes me a little late to the "common sense" party. (Those are typically not fun, but you do come away with some great life tips.)
You'd think searing the backs of my thighs on black leather seats, while branding the steering wheel seams into my palms would have gotten me right on that little errand. Hasn't happened yet. I must enjoy the challenge of maneuvering in my car so that I'm hovering over the seat while trying to steer the car with mind power until the air conditioning cools everything off. And fortunately, my car has excellent air conditioning. Which is much more than I can say for my apartment's air conditioning....
My air conditioner is basically an additional fan. It works great if your face is so close to the vent that you can see the freon in there. That leaves my and my roommate's rooms to fend for themselves. And mine's definitely given up. If you closed your eyes and thought really happy thoughts upon entering my room, you might think you were on Mr. Toad's Wild Ride at Disneyland during the part where you're supposed to be in hell. Which, by the way....how is that appropriate for a kids' ride? I feel like somebody didn't think that one through.
So, since my room is clearly not trying to help me out, and since the fan in my room is mediocre at best, I've had to get creative and come up with alternate ways to keep cool at night. Here are a few:
1. I tried putting a frozen bag of peas on my neck (that's supposedly one of the spots that cools you down the quickest), and promptly thawed them. (Tomorrow's dinner now has its side dish.)
2. I tried putting a wet washcloth behind my neck, but that didn't work. Nothing more to say about that. It just doesn't work. Save yourself the hassle.
3. I've taken cold showers in the hopes that I'll shock myself into leaping out of the shower and away from the frigid temperature, but I just end up feeling like I'm in an upright swimming pool with nice, relaxing tepid water, which makes me want to stay right where I am.
4. And, in what may be my most pathetic attempt, I lost it in the middle of the night and grabbed an ice pack (most often used for keeping things cool on the go) from the freezer, and, yes......slept with it. Now, before you judge, just come over to my apartment and soak in the heat until your head feels all hot and melty on the inside. Desperate times call for desperate measures. I tried to keep the thing on my neck, but that required holding it there, which required doing a job while I slept. So, I just put it on my sheets and then laid in the spot where it was. (Such shame, such pity.)
I'm hoping this heat ends nice and soon because I'm running out of ideas. And those ice packs are not soft.
Friday, August 3, 2012
Olympics, Let's discuss...
Every four years I actually get excited about sporting events. Angels, Dodgers, Lakers, and Ducks fans can just take a seat for a minute. Let me expound without your rabid sports mouth flapping. If you know me at all, you know that sports hero worship makes me check out of a conversation faster than Charlie Sheen at a National Baptist Convention meet and greet. Here comes the BUT...Every four years the Summer Olympics in all of it glory, pomp, and tradition rolls onto our television airwaves! This gives us the opportunity to talk about Badminton and Table Tennis. "Olympic Badminton Scandal!" and..."First US Women's Judo Gold Medal!", ripped fresh from the headlines! Ah, sports doesn't get any better than that! Can you tell I'm excited?
Fascinating Olympic Trivia:
All that to say, I would be remiss if I did not offer the International Olympic Committee some helpful, polite advice......
just Dawn
Fascinating Olympic Trivia:
- Citius, Altius, Fortius. Olympic Motto, Swifter, Higher, Stronger. 1921, Pierre de Coubertin, founder of the modern Olympic Games. (I told you this was fascinating!)
- The oldest ever Olympian is Oscar Swahn of Sweden. He was 72 years, 281 days old when he competed at the 1920 Olympics in shooting. (There is alot to love in this factoid. I'm considering creating a FB Fan Page.)
- The first recorded ancient Olympic Games were held in 776 BC....wait for it....IN THE NUDE. (Take a moment to apply this to YOUR favorite Olympic event! You are certainly welcome for that visual!))
- Pigeon shooting was one of the sports on the program in Paris in 1900. Fortunately this shooting event was short lived. It was the only time animals were killed on purpose during an Olympic event. (Someone explain to me how this is "sporting"? Color me outraged.)
- Gabby Douglas: The First African-American Woman to win All-Around in gymnastics. (YAY!! LOVE her!!!)
- #1 viewed event in this year's 2012 Olympics: Archery. Yep. Thanks Katniss!
All that to say, I would be remiss if I did not offer the International Olympic Committee some helpful, polite advice......
- Larger swim trunks on the male divers. I appreciate an athletic physique as much as the next gal, but I'd prefer not to blush or feel creepy during synchronized diving, one of my favorites.
- Less swimming. Please. Maybe this is a request for NBC, and I'm sure many of you will handily disagree with me, but watching all of the swimming back and forth is much like NASCAR to me....you just know the car is going to make another left.
- Some insight please on how "sports" get chosen to be in the Olympics. Shooting? Tennis in, then out, then back in? Judo out then back in. I hear talk of some folks trying to get CHESS into the Olympics. Please say nay nay, IOC. That would be more boring to watch than USA's "Dream Team" basketball guys mop up the floor with every poor team from Albania to Zambia.
- Can we jazz up the gymnastic floor music? I hear better Muzak in Stater Brothers.
- I hear that at the closing ceremonies, everyone is snockered. Can we get some coverage of that, please?
just Dawn
Monday, July 30, 2012
This is Embarrassing
You may have noticed that we've been a little distant lately. Don't worry - it's not a slow breakup. Although, I don't blame you if you want to key our cars, or just ruin our reputations because it does look like we dumped you and then bailed without having "the talk."
It's actually a funny story. If looking really, sadly dumb is funny to you. (It is to us.) I can't speak for Dawn (although I could. And I'm pretty sure I'd get it exactly right in every instance.), but the reason we've been away for so long is that, umm...(cough. Coughing more) we couldn't figure out how to get into our blog.
I know.
Somewhere along the way, our password changed, or our e-mail address changed, or both, or, we could chalk it all up to my ineptitude. (I can use big big words but can't get access into my own blog. How's that for ironical. [Not a word.]) Either way, I tried a couple of times and then gave up. (As a rule, I don't like to be overly pushy or persistent in life.) And Dawn....well, I don't know what her deal was. She either had the same issue as I did, or she just didn't have any drive to write because without my posts, there was no competition involved.
The important thing is.....We are back. And I thought that the first post after our (avoidable) hiatus should be one that represents the very things that we are known for: embarrassing admissions, long breaks between posting anything, and over-clarification. Wait. That's only one of us. (Spoiler alert!) Because I know Dawn doesn't feel the need to over-clarify, but she does always point out when I'm doing it, which, I admit, happens a lot, so, you see, that's why I'm the only one I'm referencing when I mention over-clarification.
So, everyone, I hope you'll take us back. Or if not that, I hope we can at least still be friends despite our distance. It wasn't purposeful.
But it was just outright dumb.
It's actually a funny story. If looking really, sadly dumb is funny to you. (It is to us.) I can't speak for Dawn (although I could. And I'm pretty sure I'd get it exactly right in every instance.), but the reason we've been away for so long is that, umm...(cough. Coughing more) we couldn't figure out how to get into our blog.
I know.
Somewhere along the way, our password changed, or our e-mail address changed, or both, or, we could chalk it all up to my ineptitude. (I can use big big words but can't get access into my own blog. How's that for ironical. [Not a word.]) Either way, I tried a couple of times and then gave up. (As a rule, I don't like to be overly pushy or persistent in life.) And Dawn....well, I don't know what her deal was. She either had the same issue as I did, or she just didn't have any drive to write because without my posts, there was no competition involved.
The important thing is.....We are back. And I thought that the first post after our (avoidable) hiatus should be one that represents the very things that we are known for: embarrassing admissions, long breaks between posting anything, and over-clarification. Wait. That's only one of us. (Spoiler alert!) Because I know Dawn doesn't feel the need to over-clarify, but she does always point out when I'm doing it, which, I admit, happens a lot, so, you see, that's why I'm the only one I'm referencing when I mention over-clarification.
So, everyone, I hope you'll take us back. Or if not that, I hope we can at least still be friends despite our distance. It wasn't purposeful.
But it was just outright dumb.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Pundit Puke
I am flabberghasted. (Yes, I do like the word flabberghasted.) Is it because of unrest in Syria? Al Quaeda violence in Afghanistan stemming from American soldiers burning someone's holy books? Rising homelessness? "Christians" *shudder* who picket dead soldier's funerals because they hate gays? Four-plus dollar a gallon gas? Out of reach college tuition? Rogue police officers/federal agents? Ageism, sexism, racism? No! If I am a student of mass media, I am outraged by a bloated, blowhard who presumably hates women, immigrants, and OH YEAH! Liberals (AKA: People who believe something different than him.) Rush, *drumroll* Limbaugh.
Up front: I am not a fan of his hate-filled vitriol. I AM a conservative, evangelical christian, woman. It would seem that Rush and I would routinely find common ground, at least politically. Here's the rub...I don't care a whole huge fig about politics. I care about what God has to say about how I obey laws, and treat my neighbor and steward what He has entrusted to me, etc. (More on that if you like. Anytime.) Rush is not my God. He is not the God of the Conservative movement. He is a white, doughy, past-middle aged, blowhard, male who likes to inflame other white, doughy, past-middle aged, blowhard, males who then congratulate themselves on their intellectual superiority. Their brand of egoism makes me want to puke.
I'm sorry, I know I sound judgey. I don't want to judge you Rush, any more than I want to judge Lindsey for getting her name in the paper by any means accessable. Any more than I want to judge a model for using her body to sell hamburgers. I don't. I know you, and they, have a (unfortunately) lucrative product to sell. Your reprehensable comments about a woman seeking women's health care were embarassing and juvenile. Do you really want to represent your gender as a voyueristic, perverted, ignorant ape? I am offended FOR all of the amazing, conservative men that I know.
Rush, I don't hate you. You probably hate me. I am neither barefoot nor pregnant. I am also NOT looking for free birth control. Believe it or not, I get your issue...as much as you insisted on clouding it in bigotry and douchebaggery. I am an independant thinker and a woman with brains. What happened Rush, did some smokin' hot smart chick dis you? As my son would say, "Oh, FO SHO!!" I have even eschewed any sort of public opinion on your embarassing diatribe, for no other reason than to not lend creedence to the media hype surrounding your ignorance, but I felt as if I'd burst. Plus, none of your closeminded minnions are reading my pathetic, non-famous, blog. Ah...your ratings and millions are safe!
Ah. I feel better. Please pardon my political vomiting. I don't usually go there, and even take pride in my occasional comments on a (UBER Liberal) friend's FB page where I defend conservatism, God, and my lack of political worship, on a regular basis. I will pray for you, and your ilk, Rush. I will pray for Lindsey, and the Testoneronies at Carl's Jr. I will even continue to pay for my own birth control, but you do not represent me. You are mean. Jesus never pressed his own agenda with hate. You are a modern-day Phairisee. Google it Rushbo@EIB. THAT would be some Excellence In Broadcasting! For a change.
just Dawn
Up front: I am not a fan of his hate-filled vitriol. I AM a conservative, evangelical christian, woman. It would seem that Rush and I would routinely find common ground, at least politically. Here's the rub...I don't care a whole huge fig about politics. I care about what God has to say about how I obey laws, and treat my neighbor and steward what He has entrusted to me, etc. (More on that if you like. Anytime.) Rush is not my God. He is not the God of the Conservative movement. He is a white, doughy, past-middle aged, blowhard, male who likes to inflame other white, doughy, past-middle aged, blowhard, males who then congratulate themselves on their intellectual superiority. Their brand of egoism makes me want to puke.
I'm sorry, I know I sound judgey. I don't want to judge you Rush, any more than I want to judge Lindsey for getting her name in the paper by any means accessable. Any more than I want to judge a model for using her body to sell hamburgers. I don't. I know you, and they, have a (unfortunately) lucrative product to sell. Your reprehensable comments about a woman seeking women's health care were embarassing and juvenile. Do you really want to represent your gender as a voyueristic, perverted, ignorant ape? I am offended FOR all of the amazing, conservative men that I know.
Rush, I don't hate you. You probably hate me. I am neither barefoot nor pregnant. I am also NOT looking for free birth control. Believe it or not, I get your issue...as much as you insisted on clouding it in bigotry and douchebaggery. I am an independant thinker and a woman with brains. What happened Rush, did some smokin' hot smart chick dis you? As my son would say, "Oh, FO SHO!!" I have even eschewed any sort of public opinion on your embarassing diatribe, for no other reason than to not lend creedence to the media hype surrounding your ignorance, but I felt as if I'd burst. Plus, none of your closeminded minnions are reading my pathetic, non-famous, blog. Ah...your ratings and millions are safe!
Ah. I feel better. Please pardon my political vomiting. I don't usually go there, and even take pride in my occasional comments on a (UBER Liberal) friend's FB page where I defend conservatism, God, and my lack of political worship, on a regular basis. I will pray for you, and your ilk, Rush. I will pray for Lindsey, and the Testoneronies at Carl's Jr. I will even continue to pay for my own birth control, but you do not represent me. You are mean. Jesus never pressed his own agenda with hate. You are a modern-day Phairisee. Google it Rushbo@EIB. THAT would be some Excellence In Broadcasting! For a change.
just Dawn
Thursday, February 23, 2012
I Don't Belong Here....
I kind of hate saying, "I went to Venice Beach last weekend." It sounds so exclusive. As though we Californians thought that naming a city, right off the freeway, in Los Angeles after an ancient city, built on water, in a European country known for vineyards, the birthplace of the Renaissance, and the inspiration for Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, was perfectly reasonable.
"Yeah, let's just go ahead and name it Venice. We'll put 'Beach' after it so that it'll be different and point out that we're built on water too. Now. Where are we gonna put the nudie bar?" - Venice Beach city planners
Anyway, I did spend a saturday morning in Venice Beach recently, and I thoroughly enjoyed myself. I'm sure most of that had to do with the pleasant company, the perfect weather and the fantastic food at GJelina. (Highly recommend the place. Brick floor, rustic tables, food served in skillets, dish towels for napkins....and one rather attractive waiter with hair bordering on an afro, but wearing a sweater with a tie. Which made the afro just look "quirky.")
Speaking of quirky....I notced that Venice Beach seems like just the type of hipster haven that Zooey Deschanel would take to. Meaning....I didn't belong there. Technically speaking, I mean. I, however, felt perfectly comfortable, thank you. With or without tights and leg warmers worn with shorts. But I do wish Zooey would meet me and learn to like me and then we'd rent an apartment together and we could just be two quirky, glasses-wearing, single (R.I.P. Zooey and Ben Gibbard's marriage) gals about town, listening to Ratatat on our walkmans. (Because I swear to you, those are going to be the next trend to hit hipsterville.)
Nope, I wasn't going to be run out of town by those haters of Banana Republic and plastic water bottles. Because, by the way Venice Beach residents, I saw a scarf as thin and insubstantial as John Edward's integrity in one of your atypical, off-beat boutiques for $62.00. So who's all corporate now?
Still, what looked like the pages of an Urban Outfitters catalogue literally spilling onto the sidewalks via some "bad" pot, only made me love and appreciate the refreshingly different feel that comes with a city not in the County of Orange. I'm learning to fall for the dirty, crowded, billboard housing, cheesy tourist sights, unimpressed Los Angelians, run-down parts of L.A. Plus, who wouldn't be taken with a city that has an establishment with this as their marketing slogan: "Home of Turtle Racing."
Although, maybe that love for L.A. only exists on weekend visits. It's a possibility. Maybe I'll find out sometime.... (When Zooey asks me to be her roommate. I'll let you guys know when the housewarming party will be.)
- Just Michelle
"Yeah, let's just go ahead and name it Venice. We'll put 'Beach' after it so that it'll be different and point out that we're built on water too. Now. Where are we gonna put the nudie bar?" - Venice Beach city planners
Anyway, I did spend a saturday morning in Venice Beach recently, and I thoroughly enjoyed myself. I'm sure most of that had to do with the pleasant company, the perfect weather and the fantastic food at GJelina. (Highly recommend the place. Brick floor, rustic tables, food served in skillets, dish towels for napkins....and one rather attractive waiter with hair bordering on an afro, but wearing a sweater with a tie. Which made the afro just look "quirky.")
Speaking of quirky....I notced that Venice Beach seems like just the type of hipster haven that Zooey Deschanel would take to. Meaning....I didn't belong there. Technically speaking, I mean. I, however, felt perfectly comfortable, thank you. With or without tights and leg warmers worn with shorts. But I do wish Zooey would meet me and learn to like me and then we'd rent an apartment together and we could just be two quirky, glasses-wearing, single (R.I.P. Zooey and Ben Gibbard's marriage) gals about town, listening to Ratatat on our walkmans. (Because I swear to you, those are going to be the next trend to hit hipsterville.)
Nope, I wasn't going to be run out of town by those haters of Banana Republic and plastic water bottles. Because, by the way Venice Beach residents, I saw a scarf as thin and insubstantial as John Edward's integrity in one of your atypical, off-beat boutiques for $62.00. So who's all corporate now?
Still, what looked like the pages of an Urban Outfitters catalogue literally spilling onto the sidewalks via some "bad" pot, only made me love and appreciate the refreshingly different feel that comes with a city not in the County of Orange. I'm learning to fall for the dirty, crowded, billboard housing, cheesy tourist sights, unimpressed Los Angelians, run-down parts of L.A. Plus, who wouldn't be taken with a city that has an establishment with this as their marketing slogan: "Home of Turtle Racing."
Although, maybe that love for L.A. only exists on weekend visits. It's a possibility. Maybe I'll find out sometime.... (When Zooey asks me to be her roommate. I'll let you guys know when the housewarming party will be.)
- Just Michelle
Monday, February 13, 2012
Grammy Musings....
I'm sick of all of you cool people. You know who you are....too cool to be entertained by the SuperMadonnaBowl Spectacular. Too cool, certainly, for the fluffy drivel that is the Grammy Awards. Hey, I'm feelin' ya. I get it. But I refuse to be that cool. On the off chance that I get to sit and watch something on TV, I want it to be fun. Preferably sparkly, with lots of varieties of talented people, whether I am actually a fan or just an amused bystander. I'd probably mostly go with the latter for this years Grammy performances, but there were a couple of artists who now have a new fan. Stop reading here if you think my musical opinions are lame. Opinions are like you-know-what...everybody has one.
Bruno Mars. I now love you. I might even purchase some of your music. Your soul tribute was awesome, spot on, gold suits were totally Temps and Tops, and you delevered the best line of the night, "Get off your asses rich people! Let's have some fun!"
Adele. Adorbs. 100%. Please don't argue with me on this. I have no rational arguement, I will just say something like, "Oh yeah?..Well I LOVE her!" #whyimnotcool
LL Cool J prayed. Wow. For everyone criticizing that today, there are 100s of Christians going, "OH YEAH!" And watching all of the beautiful people with their heads bowed while LL spoke to our creator was well worth every time I had to listen to the 12in dance mix of "Goin' Back to Cali" in 1989. God bless you LL.
I jumped off of my couch like a screaming Hessian when the Foo Fighters showed all of the little indie dweebs how to ROCK. While, I might add, keeping intact their very legitimate indie cred.
Rhianna. Channeling her inner Tina Turner Hair. Nice. Give me a call Rhi...I'll show you how we do big bad guys who like to hit girls.
Here is where I lose everybody. I hate Coldplay. The only feelings I can muster for them at all is when I struggle to decide who is more pretentious, Chris Martin or his wife. Dave Grohl makes him look like a British nancy boy.
Again, warning... this will not be a popular opinion either. (Please don't work into a lather. Just say, "Well you know she likes Gaga and Katie Perry, so her taste sucks anyway.") I also hate the Beach Boys. I'm sure I actually hear the distant sound of people booing me and calling me some sort of communist. I know they are American icons, blah blah. I never liked their music, and trotting their old caracsses out for a feely feel good reunion made my eyes roll. Foster the People, who whored you guys out for that cheese? Fire someone. Beach Boys, please see Tony Bennett on how to be old and still relevant.
Ryan Seacrest. Adorbs. Mischa, please marry him. #reason2whyImnotcool.
Sir Paul. Untwist your knickers, of COURSE I love Paul McCartney. The cream colored, double breasted, wide lapel tux was beyond FAB (Haha! See what I did there? Fab/Fab 4. Get it?!), the harp player added the classy, the drummer is one of the best I've ever seen, and Rick literally swooned over the bass player's bass. Like a BOSS, Sir Paul.
Taylor Swift. I turn into a 14 year old girl dreaming of love, drama, and heartbreak. I am singing into my hairbrush with every magical chorus. I love T.Swift, not just because I am totally lame (which has been mightily established), but she is suprisingly talented. Besides, she doesn't put herself out there like a total pop hoochie. #refreshing
Lose the gum Adele. I still love you.
Katie. Love you. HATE your hair. Faded blue? Crimped bob? Cyndi Lauper called, she said that hair was stupid 30 years ago.
Adele. Huge hair = love #wheremyAquaNetat?
Glen Campbell. I knew all of the words to Rhinestone Cowboy. I honestly don't know why, but my family was laughing at me. #starspangledrodeo
Tony and Carrie. SQUEEEE! Tony Bennett wrote the book on cool.
Bon Iver. Are you pretentious, incoherent, drunk, or what? Way to trash the Grammys' Lameosity all week. You make me wish that the ever unoriginal and uninteresting Niki Minaj would have won. Bleah.
How did Joe Walsh get into the awesome superstar line up?
Fave Grammy moment. Foo Fighters with Deadmau5!!! Ok, so I am cool.
Lambaste away, my friends and readers. And, as usual, I'm sorry if I offended anyone. (I'm pretty sure Chris Martin doesn't read my blog anyway.)
just Dawn
Bruno Mars. I now love you. I might even purchase some of your music. Your soul tribute was awesome, spot on, gold suits were totally Temps and Tops, and you delevered the best line of the night, "Get off your asses rich people! Let's have some fun!"
Adele. Adorbs. 100%. Please don't argue with me on this. I have no rational arguement, I will just say something like, "Oh yeah?..Well I LOVE her!" #whyimnotcool
LL Cool J prayed. Wow. For everyone criticizing that today, there are 100s of Christians going, "OH YEAH!" And watching all of the beautiful people with their heads bowed while LL spoke to our creator was well worth every time I had to listen to the 12in dance mix of "Goin' Back to Cali" in 1989. God bless you LL.
I jumped off of my couch like a screaming Hessian when the Foo Fighters showed all of the little indie dweebs how to ROCK. While, I might add, keeping intact their very legitimate indie cred.
Rhianna. Channeling her inner Tina Turner Hair. Nice. Give me a call Rhi...I'll show you how we do big bad guys who like to hit girls.
Here is where I lose everybody. I hate Coldplay. The only feelings I can muster for them at all is when I struggle to decide who is more pretentious, Chris Martin or his wife. Dave Grohl makes him look like a British nancy boy.
Again, warning... this will not be a popular opinion either. (Please don't work into a lather. Just say, "Well you know she likes Gaga and Katie Perry, so her taste sucks anyway.") I also hate the Beach Boys. I'm sure I actually hear the distant sound of people booing me and calling me some sort of communist. I know they are American icons, blah blah. I never liked their music, and trotting their old caracsses out for a feely feel good reunion made my eyes roll. Foster the People, who whored you guys out for that cheese? Fire someone. Beach Boys, please see Tony Bennett on how to be old and still relevant.
Ryan Seacrest. Adorbs. Mischa, please marry him. #reason2whyImnotcool.
Sir Paul. Untwist your knickers, of COURSE I love Paul McCartney. The cream colored, double breasted, wide lapel tux was beyond FAB (Haha! See what I did there? Fab/Fab 4. Get it?!), the harp player added the classy, the drummer is one of the best I've ever seen, and Rick literally swooned over the bass player's bass. Like a BOSS, Sir Paul.
Taylor Swift. I turn into a 14 year old girl dreaming of love, drama, and heartbreak. I am singing into my hairbrush with every magical chorus. I love T.Swift, not just because I am totally lame (which has been mightily established), but she is suprisingly talented. Besides, she doesn't put herself out there like a total pop hoochie. #refreshing
Lose the gum Adele. I still love you.
Katie. Love you. HATE your hair. Faded blue? Crimped bob? Cyndi Lauper called, she said that hair was stupid 30 years ago.
Adele. Huge hair = love #wheremyAquaNetat?
Glen Campbell. I knew all of the words to Rhinestone Cowboy. I honestly don't know why, but my family was laughing at me. #starspangledrodeo
Tony and Carrie. SQUEEEE! Tony Bennett wrote the book on cool.
Bon Iver. Are you pretentious, incoherent, drunk, or what? Way to trash the Grammys' Lameosity all week. You make me wish that the ever unoriginal and uninteresting Niki Minaj would have won. Bleah.
How did Joe Walsh get into the awesome superstar line up?
Fave Grammy moment. Foo Fighters with Deadmau5!!! Ok, so I am cool.
Lambaste away, my friends and readers. And, as usual, I'm sorry if I offended anyone. (I'm pretty sure Chris Martin doesn't read my blog anyway.)
just Dawn
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Ugly Shoes! and more....
I confess to being a bit of a shoe snob. I am also rather judgey when it comes to fashion and trends. I don't mean to people, it's just a bad (snarky) habit. That being said, I am also definitely NOT Superfashionista myself. Catch me on the weekend sashaying around with my THHS sweatpants with the elastic around the ankles in a double XL. This look is almost definitely accompanied with a bad ponytail. Not a cute, "I'm J-Lo" ponytail, mind you. So since I am both the judge and occasionally the accused, let us review the worst trends ever in my humble opinion, in no particular order...
The Fanny Pack. I know what you're thinking...Dawn, they are so practical! Just for Disneyland or travel? Unequivocally, NO. Not ever. The fact that they are often seen in flourescent technicolor makes them even more offensive.
Scrunchies. While there were certainly many regrettable 80s trends, it seems that this one took the longest to die. Ladies had long hung up their Jellies sandals and stonewashed Chemin de Fers (Google it youngsters), but were still rockin the matchy matchy Scrunchy. I still often see them in bathing suit catalogues. Just say nay nay to the Scrunchy please, even if it matches your Miraclesuit.
Crocs, Toms, Birkenstocks, and Uggs. Not since the 1970s punk rock fashion movement featuring combat boots, has their been a more awful fashion abomination for feet. Cordwainers everywhere are dying on the inside. Please do not give me the whole "comfort" or "humanitarian" arguement...no quarter.
(Confession: I own Crocs. I garden in them or cook if I am going to be standing a long time, and even then, I am ashamed.)
Blue eye shadow. Erroneous. Blue eye shadow is fab.
Grunge Era. Everything. Especially the Surly Expression, Flannel, and Herion Chic. Way worse than the fashion crimes of the 70s and 80s.
Ed Hardy. Not the worst ever, but Ed Hardy enthusiasts tend to annoy me.
Mini Skirts/Shorts with Wooly Boots or (gasp) Uggs. For some reason, nothing says "Appalachian Hoochie" quicker than this look.
Overalls. If you know me at all, you know my opinion of adults in Overalls. Only permissable for two occupations: Farmer (duh), or Kindergarten Teacher. (I don't know why this look is somehow ok for them, it just is. Must have something to do with the wooden apple earrings and the Puffy-painted Keds.)
Small Dogs as accessories. Unless they are truly loved and pampered pooches, nothing will incur my ire faster than a chihuahua in a Louis Vuitton, on the arm of a smiling heiress.
This is obviously a short list, so feel free to add your faves in the comments section. I would have included Minimally Talented Pop Stars in Dresses Made of Meat just for Mischa, but I would be as wrong as she is. :)
just Dawn
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