you know what, i love this ad. i love this model. and no i don’t want to horse around or take a shower with her. i just like to look at her because she’s pretty. i don’t see any reason to deny that.

plus the spot really makes me feel good. it’s gives me that “unbearable lightness of being” feeling (the sabina character, not the tereza character).

i mean c’mon, there are party lights everywhere, even on the canoe.

there are fireworks inside of a heart.

there’s a full moon surrounded by swirling clouds.

there are chandeliers in the teepee.

there’s dancing performed in beautiful red underwear and brown suede boots.

there are freckles.

there’s a catchy song.

and there’s a great rack, which probably wasn’t increased two cups sizes by the push-up bra like aerie claims but who gives a flying monkey?  it makes me feel less tense and dreamy for 30 seconds without any side effects. booyah!

and no, this ad doesn’t lead me to believe that the whole world is going to hell in a hand basket because it’s pushing sexuality on tweens.  if we raise our girls right and give them a strong moral foundation, then bra commercials, shows with the kardashians, and lindsay lohan’s antics won’t turn them into total sluts to define their self-worth.  besides this isn’t a modern day problem created by advertisers.  i was stuffing my bra with toilet paper at age 14. some girls aspire to look sexy. i’m not really bothered by that. being sexy and feminine shouldn’t produce shame, at least not at an age where we begin to have those feelings. it may not be for everyone and that’s ok, too. what we need to teach young girls is to accept who they are, and accept others who aren’t like them.

it’s all good.

here’s another one to prove it. can you say flowers everywhere!

so you might be wondering where i’ve been. not really? well, guess what …

work has its dick up my ass and i’m pinned to this pukey cheap-ass corporate carpet. in addition to my day job here, i’m also on this enterprise new media team responsible for infusing a social media plan into every line of business for this global beast.

infusing? isn’t that what you do with vodka?

i’m convinced one of the main reasons i really don’t belong in corporate america is that i don’t speaka the language. half the fucking time i don’t know what’s being said. and this special vernacular really flexes its muscle when you’re involved in a cross-functional, enterprise-wide endeavor. here are some of the words i stumble on:

workstream – whatever happened to group, work group, team? now it’s a workstream. what does that even mean? are there fish in it?

 out-of-pocket – you’re not available, what??

prescribe – you’re not a doctor and so you’re not prescribing things. and if you are, then hook me up with some percocet.

hypotheses – this is a science term. i tune out because this does not apply to me.

synthesize – can’t we just put shit together?

traction – this is what my beamer has none of in the snow.

milestone – this  applies to birthdays and anniversaries, significant things. how is every task a milestone? *shakes head*

sustainable – of course corp america had to jump on this ecological bandwagon. well i laugh to myself everytime i hear it in a meeting because i think of an erection.

cadence – this has to do with the rhythm of voice or music. why are you using it to mean frequency?

thought leadership – this is what steve jobs did, it implies innovation,  i don’t see much of that here or in other big corporations. i just see a bunch of over-compensated exceutives. (alright i won’t go there today.)

this is by no means a comprehensive list, but it would be much easier for me to succeed if people would stop trying to impress everyone in the room and just speak some good old fashioned english. like those people in the movie fargo.

i had major reservations about this. i really don’t believe in this stuff. but i’m an open-minded chick so i thought why not give it a whirl.

i signed up for match.com.

now i know a lot of people have met their mates on online dating sites. and i do just about everything else online but somehow the buck stopped with meeting that special someone.  i’m of the belief that finding a person who makes you blush and gush is more of an organic thing, not a data thing.  that chemistry (pheromones, endorphins, dopamine, oxycontin and the heart racing chemical) is the thing. and to get these chemicals surging you actually need to be near the person, not looking at their picture, facts and figures. and definitely not reading about them “in their own words.”

well…

i guess i should have lied about my age. i can’t tell you how many men are looking  for women younger than they are. ok, i can tell you. EVERY FUCKING ONE OF THEM. here’s one funny example. i saw this guy who works at my company on match. he stood out because a week ago i went to a meeting and this vp i had never met before was checking me out to the point where i became uncomfortable. what’s his status on match?  “44 y.o. man looking for women 30-42.”

what the fuck is wrong with women your own age or a few years older? in person, i’m eye candy, but on match, you wouldn’t even consider me. seriously!?!? that’s ok because i thought you looked way too uptight anyway.

which brings me to another problem i had with match.  i don’t want people i work with seeing me try to find a fucking date. omg that’s awkward. i saw the profiles of a few people i know and just giggled with embarrassment. i can’t tell you why, but the whole thing seemed so silly. and i wasn’t reacting well to the selling of oneself as a suitable suitor.

i’ll tell ya what else i wasn’t reacting well to. fucking creepers winking at me, liking my photos, or emailing me a sales pitch. EEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeewwwwwwwwwwww.  the email system is within match so it’s not like they invaded my personal email, but the exposure made me recoil with fear and loathing. i wanted to poke at all of them with a virtual stick and say, “go on, geeeeet out of here.”

for a match based on data, why doesn’t the actual data mean shit? i indicated in my profile that i love summer, sun, warm weather and water sports. winter bums me out something fierce.  so why did mr. avid skier hit on me?  i’m not saying i wouldn’t do a long weekend in vail, but i know what i like.  i also indicated that my political views are very liberal and mentioned being a recovering catholic. and conservative church-going protestant dude emailed me? we all know that mary matalin and james carville have pulled off being happy with opposing views, but they sir, are the exception.

then when i was in public somewhere, at the gym, train, grocery store, i kept seeing the faces of people on match. if my eyes met with a stranger, i was sure he was looking at me because he recognized me from match.  i’m paranoid by nature, but that site fucking haunted me!

some of you may have read kernut the blonde’s blog posts about her match.com dating experiences. the posts were hilarious. well, i didn’t get that far.

i gave it the old college try, but i quit my 3-day free trial before getting charged. it turns out match.com and me are oil and vinegar.  

lately i find myself saying, “it’s just an aberration, i swear.” a lot. which is really contradictory.

i was pulled over for not wearing a seatbelt and got a ticket. it’s just an aberration, i swear.

when pulled over, i couldn’t find my car registration. just an aberration.

i overdrew my checking account the second month i was on my own. aberration.

i’ve overslept three times recently (i refuse to use an alarm unless it’s absolutely necessary)  abb…

i didn’t get the last three jobs i’ve interviewed for. fucking bullshit.

i deleted a critical email at work that i told myself i must save because i’ve had to forward it at least 3 times.

i lost my first dry cleaning ticket.

now some of you might be saying, that’s a whole lot of nothing in the big scheme of things. and i know that none of these things are like putting the baby carrier with the baby in it on top of the car then getting in the car and absentmindedly driving off.  but these incidents are very out of character for me. normally i’m extremely anal. organized. detail-oriented. safe. responsible  (except for those times i allow myself some unrestricted fun, we’ll call those deviations ”being irresponsible with control”).

i think it’s time to get my shit together. i’m not very focused or disciplined these days.

or maybe not. maybe i’m finally letting go. unpuckering. not sweating the small stuff. going with my natural biorythyms. not giving a shit if i don’t continue to work in corporate america. maybe i could finally take some risk with my career. maybe becoming a bubblehead will be good for my creative spirit.

they say that every cell in the body is changed over a period of seven years, and we humans experience emotional, physical and mental changes that occur in seven-year intervals. so it could be that i’m in some kind of evolutionary spiral. it could also mean that based on my cellular age, i’m around 7 years old. (this makes total sense from a maturity sense).

anyhussy, i say, bring it.

i want feather hair extensions. my daughter just got them at the mall. they were only $10 a feather. they’re mad expensive in a salon though.

they’re all the rage with celebrities.

so cool, right?

here’s a 48 sec vid:

FeatherHead

daisies in the hair are pretty rad, too.

the feathers come in dazzling colors. you can wash, dry, curl and straighten your hair with them in. they last about 8 weeks and are attached with silicone-laced beads so they don’t damage your hair. they also come in multiple lengths and can be cut just like hair.

so what’s the rub?

i think i’m too old for them.

i work in corporate america.

these things bum me the fuck out. i want to wear them!  i mean i grew up in the 70s admiring stevie nicks and the whole gypsy belladonna look. i wore feather earrings for chrissake. my style today is bohemian cali rocker chic a la mary louis parker in weeds. and i have messy hair that would hold feathers so awesomely. kind of like this skank:

for illustrative purpose only. sorry kesha haters.

yes, i have bigger more grown up issues to worry about but i avoid them and torture myself with this shallow shit instead. what? you have a better coping mechanism?

so tell me what you think i should do or tell me your coping mechanism or tell me if i should get a tiny diamond nose piercing.  i’m not taking this mid-life crisis lying down, punkers!

i want to dance with thom yorke in this video.

some of you may think he looks spastic kinda like joe cocker’s LSD-enhanced dancing at woodstock. but we all can’t have michael jackson moves within us just ready to pop. i think it would be really rad if i could do my version of black swan (the one i do in my head) around him.

are you seeing it? it would be an epic production.

it’s where i go when i need to avoid reality and rev up the super spunky rock star image i have of myself.

so my newest online obsession has been creating user cards on someecards. you might remember my valentines day post showing you some of my creations. that week i dominated on someecards’ most popular user cards page. that was all thanks to you, punkers, for going over there and voting for my shit.

 mwuah!!!

well, this pissed off a certain diva of the user cards and he came over here to leave me several hate comments. (i only published one of them and deleted the rest.) then the more popular i became, the more his pencil dick began to throb.  he started voting 1 star on my cards to bring down their rating and writing cards about me for everyone on someecards to see. here’s one:

user card by "rondo434"

apparently this douche canoe doesn’t get how social media works. maybe he should use the easy buttons below his cards to share his madness on facebook, twitter, stumbleupon, etc.

he has several identities on the site, presumably so he can vote for his cards multiple times. here are a few other cards i found about me under different user names:

user card by "smug.pig"

user card by "calderasfarm"

user card by "jumbotron"

then my hater created an identity based on mine: pattypuker. puker! that’s fucking awesome! here’s a card by pattypuker:

i would never wear a bob

when i first saw these attacks, i flagged a couple of them because i thought he behaved like a schoolyard bully who’s priest was making him swallow the jungle humble juice in the back room of the rectory. i mean, i thought he should compete like a good sport. after i had a couple of his cards deleted, he put up this card:

i like my name as a verb!

then it occurred to me: let em rip. maybe he’ll get more people to look at my cards. after all people love a soap opera.

i also thought this is fucking flattering. Of the gadzillions of people creating user cards on someecards, this weasal is threatened by lil ole me. i win!

ps: if you want to rock the vote on my latest card, click on it below.

actually four of them in two weeks! but who’s counting. fuck yeah, i’m counting. but only because i can. i’m not one of these superbloggers who receives a bajillion awards. i can count the awards i’ve received on one hand. so, i’m school girl giddy over these awards because i am cursed with the ”seeks approval of others” neurosis. i blame my mother. and before you label me as having a victim mentality, you should know even my therapist said i can blame her. 

so here they are and you should definitely click on them because they gave me an award. no, click on them because they’ll like me more for sending traffic their way. oh alright, click on them because they’re cuddly, lovable and full of the awesome. 

from brahm at alfred lives here

from sandi at being peachy

from nikki at my cyber house rules

from sister merry hellish at inside out and backwards

it seems that the raw power of my writing (and by raw power, i just mean raw, as in uncultivated) isn’t enough for me to earn these awards. there are rules. i’m pretty sure we all know how i feel about rules, but i’m willing to suck up and play along, because in this case i happen to respect the proverbial man.

to a point.

three awards means three sets of rules and i sure as shit can’t keep them all straight. there was something about listing things you don’t know about me, answering a set of questions and pimping out other bodacious bloggers.

so you’ll get what i give. (in other words i want to pick and choose which ones i do.)

If you blog anonymously, are you happy doing this? If you aren’t anonymous, do you wish you’d started out anonymously, so that you could be anonymous now?

yes, i’m anonymous for the most part. despite the title of this post, my mother should never see this blog. she’d spend the rest of her days crying. and criticizing me like she’s so wont to do:

“karen johnson is always friendly and smiling. why don’t you smile more?”
“what do you call that color in your dining room? that’s um different.”
“john and i don’t eat fatty foods like that.”
“don’t you feel exposed without any window treatments?”
“you spent how much on dinner? you’re just going to shit it out the next day.” 
“why don’t you dress more feminine like claire mcdonnell?”

Describe an incident that shows your inner stubborn side. 

so ma, you want me to dress better? how’s this “too drunk to fuck” dead kennedys tshirt? i think it’s stellar.

What do you see when you really look at yourself in the mirror?

my mother. now get me a fucking sledgehammer.

Is there something that you still want to accomplish in life?

i want to grow an emotional on/off switch so i can assimilate in the world of fucking robots aka corporate america. or else, i want to work for someecards.

If you had the choice to sit down and read a book or talk on the phone, which would you do and why?

email or read blogs. my A.D.D. makes reading books hard. unless they’re mini books, which i collect just for this reason. (chalk up one thing you didn’t know about me). 

or unless it’s this book by elly which is about to be picked up by a publisher any second. when you read the first chapter, you’ll know why–you won’t be able to take your eyes off the screen.  

and no way do i want to talk on the phone. talking on the phone reminds me of my mother.   

another thing you didn’t know about me is that i like my betty crocker cheesy scalloped potatoes cooked 10 minutes extra so that they are plenty tender and a layer of crispy brown cheese forms on the top and sides of the casserole dish.   

i recently discovered this sauce at the local vietnamese restuarant. it’s my new fave:   

introducing my new line of valentine’s day cards: “voices in my head.”

i made them over at someecards because i don’t have a graphics designer and they give you these crazy ez templates to use.

if you happen to like any of them, you can vote for individual cards by clicking on the image or vote for all of them by clicking here. (if i get lots of votes, maybe i’ll win the editor’s pick, and then maybe they’ll want to hire me. a girl can dream big can’t she?)

happy valentine’s week punkers! xo♥xo♥xo♥

as some of you know my fun is still on the run. first there’s the back and leg pain which after the MRI and x-rays the ortho thinks may be my sacroiliac joint. the fuck? but to be sure i need to have an SI joint injection under x-ray. not happy punkers.

then there’s the car. on my way to pick up a friend for the freelance whales show at johnny brenda’s in philadelphia last night the fucker overheated. this after it overheated and died two weeks ago and after spending $1200 to have it towed and repaired. it does it again. frickem frackem fucking mother cocksucking. i’m done with i service imports, the shop that “fixed” it.

mr. punker came and got me in the city and drove the smoking vehicle home.

i wasn’t going to go to the show. nerve wracked and spent, i was wallowing in self-pity.

then i said to myself, “self, you only live once. and someday i may not be able to go see live music. and live music nourishes my soul. energizes and inspires me.”

what i love about live music is that it gets in my head and kicks the crap out of all the bullshit heavy negative stuff taking up valuable and limited real estate.

so i put on some rocker clothes, added some black eyeliner, packed up my license and FOP card, grabbed an endocet, hopped in mr punker’s big truck and headed to the show.

and i’m happy i did. it was a fun show and other than this encounter with a doucher standing at the bar next to me, i was able to rock out with my subwoofer out.

me: what happened to my beer?  (seeing half dranken beer in front of doucher) did you take my beer?

doucher: sorry honey i just grabbed the one behind me. (who the fuck says “honey.” this kid is like 20-something.)

(doucher passes me back my beer)

me: hope you don’t have herpes.

doucher: just aids.

(stupid. doucher buys himself a new beer. himself! not me. i get his fucking backwash and now he ponies up the $5 for a sly fox dunkel lager.)

me: oh good a new beer since we’re sharing.

doucher: you can a have a sip. even steven. (even steven? you gotta be fucking kidding me?)

me: yeah that’s ok, how about we just establish some boundaries. you keep your beer over there. and mine will be over here.

doucher: ok honey.

(no he fucking didn’t)

and don’t ya know the little scumbag chuggs his beer down in like two gulps leaving me to hold my beer for the rest of the show.

still all was well with my world. here’s a 30 sec video of the show with pics taken from my iphone. turn up the volume, bitches.

Create your own video slideshowat animoto.com.

yep, bob dylan wrote this song, she belongs to me, where i am she. what, you don’t think so?

Bow down to her on Sunday,
Salute her when her birthday comes.
Bow down to her on Sunday,
Salute her when her birthday comes.
For Halloween give her a trumpet
And for Christmas, buy her a drum.

it’s just three days until my birthday so that’s proof that song was written about me. undeniable proof, bitches.

yes, i grow older, not more mature. i regress in maturity.

i got to thinking a drum wouldn’t be a half bad birthday gift. then dufmanno and i could rage on bongos on the beach with bones in our hair. stewart copeland would run across the sand and jump into place to join us. and bugginword would play me this song on her ukele.

jubilation!

i was born on friday, november 13, the day of the diva. and you thought it was a bad luck day? have i not taught you anything, punkers? well, this year my birthday is on a saturday so that’s still YAHTZEE!

and here are some of the people and moments that have made me happy to be alive. (it’s only 30 seconds long, so indulge me. it’s mandatory during birthday week.)

wicked shawn, you are conspicuously absent from this video which is just wrong. we need to remedy that and then all will be floating skulls and crossbones in my world.