5 Expressions I Absolutely Love

Last month I blogged about five expressions I can't stand. I could list five more if I wanted. But variety is the spice of life, so here are five expressions that I absolutely love.

1) Built Like a Brick Shithouse

Mamma uses this one all the time – “She was built like a brick shithouse.” I'm not quite sure what it means, but I'm pretty sure it's not a compliment. It's always conjured up some pretty interesting mental pictures, though, especially when I was a child.

You can tell it's a girl, cause it's got lips.

2) Fly Under the Radar

This one makes me feel like Snoopy fighting the Red Baron. It's an action movie in my head, man.

3) Jeepers

This is more of an interjection than an expression, but I'd like to see it make a comeback. Why? Because f&ck yes, that's why. It's perfect for any occasion. For instance, if something good happens,

“Guess what, John! I got a great new job! Pension, benefits, and everything! They're paying me a fortune!”

“Jeepers, Bill, that's great!”

Or, if something bad happens:

“You'll never guess what happened, Rob. My wife, Jane, just lost her hand in a freak SaladShooter® accident. She can't work now and I don't know what we're going to do.”

“Jeepers, Tom, that's awful!”

Say it aloud to yourself right now – “Jeepers.” Say it a few more times, really savor it – “Jeepers, jeepers, jeepers.” If that doesn't make you feel like a silent film star, I don't know what would.

4) Cold as a Cast Iron Commode

I love this for its alliteration and, again, for the imagery. If it's even colder than that, you can tack on the addendum, “on the far side of an iceberg,” to nail down exactly just how cold it is. Pretty freaking cold, that's how. Cold enough your ass will freeze to the seat.

Bring the hot water. -- Matt Neale

5) Hung Like a Lightswitch

Possessed of a tiny penis.

One about this size, I'd say. -- Funpika

Cosmetic Procedures that Horrify Me

I've always been against plastic surgery, on the grounds that it totally scares the crap out of me. You could wind up horribly deformed, right? Or one of those 80-year-old ladies with 20-year-old breasts. Jeepers.

Some of them horrify me more than others. Implants of any kind, for example, make me wanna hide in the closet with the doors locked and the lights off. You can get implants literally anywhere on your body, you know. You can strengthen your jawline, give yourself a butt-chin, smooth out that Bassethound forehead, get those rippling abs you always wanted, and plump up your butt all by having a surgeon cram in some bits of scultped silicone. They have to a hollow out a pocket in your flesh to make room for it. The wound heals up around it and holds it in place, unless it doesn't, in which case congratulations, you're deformed.

Or, as they like to call it, "asymmetrical." 

Breast implants have to be replaced every few years, because they become more fragile as they deteriorate and can rupture without you even knowing it. The serious complications of a ruptured breast implant include death. I'm not kidding. If they don't rupture, they can still leak toxic molecules into your body and make you all kinds of sick. You can lose feeling in your breasts or nipples. You can even lose strength in your shoulders, if the implants are embedded beneath the muscle. Sometimes they harden, so you wind up with a pair of granny smiths on your chest. What's the point of that?

Pie? -- Dan Parsons

People are having their feet chopped off, now. You can have sections of bone removed from your toes to shorten them. You can have your friggin' toes snapped and lengthened with pins. If your pinky toe hangs over the edge of your high-heeled shoe, f*ck it, chop the little bastard off. What's the worst that can happen?

Oh, right. -- greyloch

But the one that really makes me shudder, for some reason, is the threadlift. This is the “lunchtime” facelift that supposedly only takes an hour to get. What they do is, they make a series of small incisions around the edge of your cheeks, and then they insert barbed wire under your skin. It's smooth when they put it in, but once they've got it in there, they make the barbs pop out somehow.

When the barbs are anchored securely in your flesh, the doctor yanks the wire around until your skin's in the “right” position.

They do this under local anesthetic, so you can sit there and watch them adjust your face, until they've got it how you like it. When it starts to sag again five years later, you go back in and have it yanked up some more.

And for the rest of your life, you'll have a piece of barbed wire in your face. If someone punches you, you'll be f*cked.

I Hate Cosmo

I don't read women's magazines. You know, things like Marie Claire, or Cosmopolitan, or Redbook or whatever. I'm not saying they're always completely full of sh*t, but it seems to work out that way more often than not. If I'm lucky, there might be one article of real substance, and the rest of it is beauty advice, celebrity interviews, horoscopes and skinny girls with oversized mouths. The girls in these photos always stand around knock-kneed like they haven't quite learned to use their legs yet, or something. And their boyfriends seem to like to wear makeup.

I don't care about celebrity interviews or celebrities in general. I don't need to hear their opinion and I don't care if they're regular people, too. It's not out of malice or jealousy or anything like that. I just don't give a f*ck.

Not a single one. -- dominiqs

I'm perfectly happy to watch a film without knowing every grisly detail of the actors' lives. Knowing too much kinda takes me out of the story. I sit there thinking, "Oh, that's the girl who married So-and-So but cheated with What's His Name and eventually wound up with That Other Guy...before she declared herself Queen of the Desert and ran off barefoot, carrying a spear." I can only concentrate on so many things at once.

The sex tips range from boring, to bizarre, to kinda dangerous. I wouldn't be surprised if they suggested dousing it in hot sauce for an extra kick. Once, they advised me to wrap a necktie around it. As if it's going to a job interview or something.

So many choices... -- Deror Avi

I don't need help achieving orgasm, thank you, and no, actually, I've never wondered what he's thinking after sex. I was, in fact, already aware that it's bad manners to get drunk on a first date.

Not that I've never been tempted. -- Ed Bierman

If it were just all that, I'd merely lack interest. The thing that makes me hate these magazines is, they make me feel bad about myself. I start out feeling perfectly confident, but by the time I finish, I'm riddled with self-doubt. My clothes are all wrong. My hair looks like shit. I need more makeup. Some part of me is almost certainly fat. I am a failure as a woman.

Accessorize?! F*ck, that means like, jewelry and sh*t, right? Ok, I'll wear earrings. Maybe some eyeshadow, since I'm feeling inspired.

Still not good enough? Fuck off, Cosmo, I'm not reading you anymore.

6 Reasons I'm Single

I've been single for a while now – two years last month. I've never really been single before, at least not in any way that counted. If you don't have time to get lonely, or remember how cool it is not to be nagged, it doesn't count.

I remember the exact day on which I became single. This has everything to do with my freakishly good memory, and absolutely nothing to do with anything else at all, honestly, I swear.

I got all girly and wrote that sh*t down in my diary. Hells yeah. 

Now, as you may as have noticed, I'm hot. I'm not just hot, I'm smokin' hot. I'm so hot, if you're not wearing shades right now, I suggest you see a doctor. You may have suffered serious retinal damage.

Don't look. -- NASA

So, just so we're clear, it's not my lack of hotness that stands between me and true love. As may you have guessed, I have my reasons. Now, let's take those reasons, and make a list! 

1) I Refuse to Groom and Dress a Grown Man

A couple of weeks ago, some guy I know was moaning about the hardships of the single male life. “I have to trim my own nose hairs now,” he lamented.

I wasn't sure if he was talking about the hairs inside of, or on top of, his nose, but I'm pretty sure he was serious. “What?!” I said.

“Yeah, that's the best thing about having a girlfriend, you don't have to cut your own toenails or anything.”

Now, either I'm doing something wrong, or he is. This particular guy has got to be twenty years older than me, so maybe it's a generational thing. Come to think of it, Grandma did used to rub salve on Granddad's feet every night.

I've had boyfriends in the past who expected me to buy their clothes and even select their outfits. “I'm crap at fashion,” they'd say. The thing is, no one cares about fashion, unless they're sixteen, mind-bogglingly rich, working in the fashion industry, or all three. Ordinary people have no use for fashion. It's as simple as this: buy a shirt, buy some pants. Buy trousers if you're British. Put them on. One hole per button, shoes come last. Voilà, you're ready to leave the house.

2) I Will Groom and Dress Myself as I Please, Thank You Very Much

This one probably ties in with the last one. If a dude expects me to purchase and configure his outfits, he probably expects to wield similar privileges over me. Not so.

No one wants to hear, “You're wearing that?” If you're claiming you can't dress yourself, what makes you think you can dress me?

Statements such as “You can't wear that because it makes guys look at your tits/ass/legs” are equally inappropriate, if not more so. If your woman looks hot, she looks hot for you, a**hole. If you think otherwise, you need therapy.

I once dated a guy who asked me to stop plucking my eyebrows. I mean, you know, that's kind of an odd request. Asking that I shave (or not shave), my legs, for instance, would not strike me as unusual. But my eyebrows? Those are on my face. Everyone sees my face.

“I like the all-natural look,” he said. Oh, yeah? I like not having a uni-brow. It's my face. The eyebrows stay, the mustache goes. Deal with it.

3) Screw You, Boost Your Own Damn Ego

I'm not after fawning and telling you how smart, handsome, talented and generally wonderful you are two hundred times a day. That's not to say I'm going to wake up in the morning, roll over and say, “Hey there, you fat sack of sh*t, fancy a f*ck?” But there's a limit. Don't be insecure.

4) I Will Not Pretend to Be Stupid

I'm smart. Like, really smart. I probably come off as one of those people who's got to rub in how smart she is. I keep answering rhetorical questions with actual, honest-to-God answers. When I watch documentaries, I know what they're going to say before they say it. I use a lot of long words, like “defenestrate.”

It means, "to throw out the window." -- mtarlock

I won't dumb down my vocabulary. Maybe you could learn some new words. I won't listen patiently and nod while you spout some bullsh*t. If you're wrong and I know it, I'm going to say so. I might even have a valid counter-argument, backed up by facts, if I'm lucky. If that “makes you feel stupid,” it's probably because you are.

I'm not letting you win at Scrabble, either. -- benketaro

5) No, I Can't 'Tone it Down a Little'

A lot of guys judge my character on the basis of an hour's acquaintance, or, even worse, on the basis of some emails and IM chats. Yes, I can be quiet and shy, and sometimes, I can even be demure (if you see it, take a picture). Obviously, I'm more likely to be quiet and shy with someone I don't know. I'm not a bubbly person. The more you get to know me – well, the more you get to know me. I'm foul-mouthed and strong-headed, I drink hard and heckle the band. I am what I am, and that's all I that I am.

Now, pass me the spinach.

6) If You're Going to Criticize My Housekeeping, You'd Damn Well Better Be Living in My House

I once had a fling with a neighbor who'd come over and tell me to vaccuum, or wash the dishes, or take out the trash, or toss the leftovers. So, maybe I'm a slob, but F*CK OFF. We weren't even serious. It only lasted a week, and he still had time to squeeze in all that nagging.

Or maybe I'm just that much of a slob? -- bandita

Even if we were serious, you'd better be holding up your end of things, cause otherwise I will tell you get off your ass and do it yourself. If you're looking for someone who will cook and clean and do the dishes and the laundry and pick up after you and make your appointments and shop and drive you to work and clean the toilet and scrub the bath and mop the floors and dust your friggin' collection of whatever the hell it is you collect, you're shopping at the wrong market.

This market sells smart b*tches with two eyebrows.

Look you guys, I won an award!

So, as you may have heard, on Friday, May 27, I was awarded the Iresistably Sweet Blog Award:

I got this from the lovely Violeta Nedkova (aka Lyn Midnight). She blogs at The Burning of Innocence and at Lyn Midnight Against the Odds. You can follow her on Twitter @lympha13.

The award comes with some conditions, which I am told I must at least attempt to meet:

1. First, I'm supposed to thank and link to the blogger who nominated me. One down.
2. I'm supposed to share seven random facts about myself. I'll try to make them facts you haven't heard yet.
3. I'm supposed to pass the award along to 15 other bloggers, although the consensus seems to be something more like “As many as you can think of, up to 15.” I mean, that's a lot, 15. Rumor has it that it was originally supposed to be five, but somebody somewhere got ambitious.
4. I'm supposed to contact the winners. It's not going to come to them in a dream.

So, Here Are the 7 Random Facts About Me

1. I can wiggle my nose like a rabbit.
2. When signing my own name, I always manage to screw it up, such that I'm often worried I'll be accused of impersonating me.
3. I've been told I talk in my sleep. In French.
4. I am apparently descended from Thomas “Stonewall” Jackson, the great Civil War general (on the wrong side). He was famous for his bravery in battle. His legendary bravery ultimately got him killed, but whatevs.
5. I always say hello to people I pass in the street, even strangers. If they fail to say hello back, I think to myself, “God, what an unfriendly bastard.”
6. People think I'm crazy. I'm told this is because I walk around giggling to myself. You'd giggle too if you had some of the ideas I get.
7. I used to live in an RV. Every time I proceeded to parallel park it, random, bearded old men appeared from nowhere to guide me into the space. Always. Never the same man or men, either, unless they were following me back and forth across the United States. I now suspect the existence of a top-secret, nationwide parking assistance network. The beards must be part of the disguise.

And Now, the Winners

Alas, I could only think of nine people. Told you 15 was a lot.

Sally-Page Stuck (@SpeeStuck) and Aunt Sally Good Food. She blogs about food, so this award makes sense. It's got a pie on it and everything.

Lisa Stull (@LMStull) and L.M. Stull. Lisa is a talented author whose first novel, Memoirs of a Monkey, is coming out this month. You can read short fiction, author interviews, and other stuff like that on her blog.

Katie McNemar (@MissKatieMae) and The Dailies. Katie does most of the blogging. Sometimes her dog, Bailey, helps.

Chazz Chute (@RChazzChute) and Chazz Writes. Chazz's blog about writing and publishing is both informative and entertaining. Yay!

Al Boudreau (@threecifer) and alboudreau. He's got a bookworm's paradise up in there, that's what.

Sarah E. Melville (@sarahemelville) and Sarah E. Melville. Sarah's got a book out called Beautiful Things that Happen to Ugly People, and I like her because she appears to think that even my most random, nonsensical ideas are awesome. I would've liked to nominate Paulie, too, but he's been disqualified for not technically existing.

Denise Miller Holmes (@dmillerholmes) and the also-eponymous Denise Miller Holmes. I like this blog because it incorporates two of my favorite things – quotes and trivia. Sweet.

Don Stemple (@WV_Paladin) and 21^st Century Skeptic. This one's pretty new, but promising. Now you can never stop, Don. Never, ever, ever.

Brandy Robertson (@blr098) and Brandy's Bustlings in Botswana. Kind of self-explanatory, really. Her adventures fascinate me.  

Bigfoot Theories Explained

So, a park ranger in Colorado has come out and said he thinks Bigfoots (Bigfeet?) are traveling here through intergalactic portals. Wormholes, if you will. He reckons this explains why we don't have any evidence of them, aside from alleged hair, footprints and blurry photos. Clearly, they do all their eating, shitting and dying in the other galaxy.

He's not the only one who thinks Bigfoot comes from a parallel dimension, another universe, an alternate reality, or something like that. Writer Melanie L. Marten has this to say about such theories: “Why they come to this reality and journey through remote forests is not usually explained.” (Ha ha ha, nice one, Melanie).

Well, it looks like they come here to shed and walk around. According to disreputable users on dodgy Internet forums, they have been known to make nests.

"Yeah, but it's a great place to raise kids."

Some people think Bigfoot is a giant ape, specifically, an ape called Gigantopithecus that is supposed to be extinct. Extinct animals ought to just stay extinct. They have no business popping back up like this.

Other people think it's a shy, elusive, rare and gentle creature capable of using tools and disappearing into thin air whenever it wants. Some think it's a distant ancestor of Homo sapiens, still hanging around for some reason.

"Dude, it's been, like, 3 million years. Stop calling already." -- IKescs

Some guy has recently come out with his groundbreaking theory that the yeti is a type of bear. A rare, nocturnal species of bipedal bear that likes high altitudes and hates cameras. Now, I know that's the yeti, not the sasquatch, but they're technically the same thing, even if they're not. To be fair, bears can walk upright, fairly quickly, and for a good distance. So I might give this bear guy some credit. 

It's either that, or a guy in an ape suit, or a paranormal shapeshifter with superpowers of some kind. Case closed.