This Blog Post Will Have An Unnecessarily Long Title Due To The Fact That I Could Not Come Up With Something Snappy And Cool To Use Instead.

I think I want to start a collection.

I don’t really know what to collect, but it has to be cool.

I mean, I could start small, with stamps. Except stamps are cliché and lame. So those are out. But I could collect something exciting like…holographic Pokémon cards. Or multi-colored paper clips.

Paper clips could be cool. I could use that as my go-to topic of conversation when I’m out at a party and wow all the boys with my paper clip collection. What a great conversation piece.

Hold on a sec.

...

So I just Googled multi-colored paper clips, and apparently there aren’t that many colors to chose from. My collection would ultimately consist of roughly twelve paper clips. So it’s a no go.

Anyway, I couldn’t come up with anything, so I thought it would be a good idea to investigate what other people collect and get some ideas. So I decided to look into the collections of well-known celebrities.

Here's what I found: Lindsay Lohan collects DUIs, Mike “The Situation” collects V-cards, Bill Gates collects money, Heidi Montag collects plastic body parts…

...all of those were either too expensive, too emotionally tolling, or simply impossible to achieve.

But don't worry, I have other options.

For instance, I could collect people. I mean, Angelina Jolie collects kids. Elizabeth Taylor collects husbands (and jewelry). Ashton Kutcher collects Twitter Followers. Joe Jonas collects angry ex-girlfriends. Hugh Hefner collects anorexic gold diggers. I could totally do something like that…

Or hey! My real Dad collects animals! Like deer heads mounted in the living room and bears-converted-into-rugs! Or even stuffed squirrels!

I could be known as the Girl Who Collects Previously Grotesque Roadkill And Turns It Into Gorgeous Living Room Centerpieces.

It sounds nice, but I want to be original. Plus dead animal décor really freaks me out. And I don’t like it.

After a long and fruitless internet search, I've decided that I can't really commit to any one thing right now. There are just too many options to choose from.

Come to find out, it’s really very exhausting to collect things. Or really just to come up with something to collect.

If any of you have any ideas, feel free to let me know.

Read it. Or Don't. Whatever.

Things that Irk Me To No End:

Gilbert Gottfried’s Voice

There is no sound more painful to the human eardrum than the voice of Gilbert Gottfried. It’s loud, it's obnoxious, and, if used correctly, could possibly be America's #1 Weapon of Mass Destruction. It's no small wonder that you lose 4738295 brain cells for every second that you listen to his voice. It's a scientific fact. Side effects include: being unable to have children, growing unsightly appendages, and having a strong urge to gauge out your eyeballs with a spork. To put it simply, Gilbert Gottfried’s voice makes small children cry. And it kills kittens. It’s pure, unadulterated evil. Personified.

Luckily, the effects of overexposure to Gottfried’s voice can be reversed by listening religiously to Morgan Freeman's voice. The two exist in such opposition to one another that they essentially cancel each other out.

NOTE: I do not hold a grudge against Gilbert Gottfried. On the contrary, I feel quite sorry for him because of his unfortunate voice.

The Biznatch at the Gym

I do not mean one particular biznatch. I am referencing nearly every single girl at the gym. Yeah, that’s right, biznatch. You know who you are. However, we are all guilty of being this girl at one point or another, so I am sort of speaking tongue-in-cheek here. Eventually, the biznatch's true colors will show and she will keep her sweaty butt on a machine far past the 30 minute limit or hog the water fountain or talk in stereo-sound on her cell phone while desperately trying to hang on to cardio equipment. Gym taboos aggravate me beyond the normal human threshold for anger. I’ll admit that I don’t particularly enjoy going to the gym, so I am definitely biased against such persons. The endorphins don’t hit me until I am home and pass out on the couch, so I am not a delightful person to encounter on the Stairmaster. However, I recommend that all gym members should abide by the rules for a friendlier and more enjoyable experience :)

Devo

Just watch their video from today's episode of Live with Regis and Kelly. It really explains everything. They are, ultimately, assaulting you with their electronic rhythms and their robotic stuttering.

Things that secretly have nicotine in them.

I’m pretty sure Starbucks has nicotine in it. Either that or crack cocaine. One of the two. The people at Starbucks had a company meeting and decided that in order to control the entire world, they needed to get us hooked on their products. Eventually, we will be so addicted to Starbucks that we’ll be unable to survive without it, and therefore will pay however much to obtain it even if we have to sell our bodies. Or our children. It’s a devious ploy to dominate the world.

Papercuts

I think everyone would agree on this one. Papercuts are a tree’s final, dying gasp to avenge their untimely death and show humanity what they are made of. It’s like the paper jumps up and bites you, screaming, “Screw you! HAHAAA!” Usually you’re just going about your business, high on life, and then BAM! Papercut strikes and you’re bleeding all over the place. It literally can ruin your day. Or week. Or lifetime.

Things that I Love:

Eavesdropping on other people’s phone conversations

Hearing random spurts of other people’s cell phone convos brings me great joy. Where else will you hear phrases like "And then I was like, 'Obviously the Troll doll would win. Cabbage Patch Kids are made out of cotton'" or “Yeah, but it was like a blue-ish green color and it was moving so then I got worried and trapped it underneath a sofa cushion” or “Heck yeah I was pissed! He set me on fire!” Seriously, the possibilities are endless. These interjections can really bring some excitement to your rather arbitrary and mundane existence while also making you feel better about yourself and your own problems. Who knows what was under that sofa cushion...

Grandpas

You know what else is neat? GRANDPAS. Grandpas are the epitome of awesome. They just exude awesomeness. They're wise, they know everything, and they've been around for awhile, so they are usually great storytellers. They can tell you about wars, walking a mile through the snow to school with no shoes on, and how this one time they wrestled a bear with their bare hands. Grandpas are like the original superheroes. Except without capes. Plus, they normally have Werther's Original Caramels in their pockets.

Getting Stuff For Free

No one will pass up free stuff. If you do, you're automatically un-American, and Santa will put you on the Naughty List. It's true. Free stuff makes you feel like a superstar. Celebrities get free stuff all the time for promotional purposes...so why shouldn't you? Free stick of gum? I'll take it. Free sunglasses? Yes sir. Free Snuggie? Cha-ching! Getting Free Stuff reassures the average American that life is indeed worthwhile.

Things that Sleepwalk

People who sleepwalk provide hours of non-stop entertainment. You have no idea when they will strike. It's like waiting for Christmas morning every single night. Will they get up for an impromptu shower? Or a trip to the mini-mart three blocks away? How about a midnight trek to the zoo? NO ONE KNOWS. Sleepwalking people are the perfect way to spice up any sleepover or night in general. Or sleepwalking animals. Either one.

Listerine Pocketpacks

This is definitely up there in the charts for the coolest invention ever. It's a mint in a sheet. You pop one of those suckers on your tongue, and it's like the arctic set up camp in your tonsils. You can literally breathe icicles. You'll have minty fresh breath all the live long day. On the other hand, if you mistakenly get three or more of the sheets stuck together and put a bunch of Cinnamon Listerine in your mouth, you will undoubtedly know what it's like to taste fire. So beware.

Bored Much?

Blah blah blah blah <--------my mind right now, after waking up at 5:37 on a freaking Friday morning.

Blah Blah Blah bl-AHHHHHHH!!!!!! <---------my brain revolting against any form of physical or mental activity because it hasn’t been fed.

Blah blah BLAHHHHHH <------------my mind while yawning.

BLAH BLAH BLAHVEN!! <-----------my mind with a German accent.

BLAUGH BLAUGH BLAUGH!! <--------------my mind with an Irish accent.

Bleh-bleh-blahhh <---------------my mind with a stutter.

Blahh blahh hahh? <-------------my mind if I had the memory of a goldfish.

Be-doo Be-doo Be-doo-blahhhh ahhh<-------------my mind if I was Ella Fitzgerald.

Blah blah rah ah ah <---------------my mind if I was Lady Gaga.

............ <--------------------my mind if I was a habitual user of ecstasy.

… <-----------------your mind after reading this.

This Blog Post Will Knock Your Socks Off

HAHA just kidding.

Anyway, now that I’ve lulled you here under false pretenses, I want to tell you how much I am obsessed with the Elephant Auto Insurance commercial on TV.

It’s awesome.

Here’s why:

First of all, the narrator/announcer/mysterious voice in the commercial has an accent. And we all know that I love those.

Secondly, the cartoon elephant in the commercial is gigantic in size and has apparently been let loose in an urban environment to wreak havoc on the buildings and crush them with his yeti-like strength. I imagine his name would be Tantor. Or Ivan. The commercial viewers are, in no doubt, in awe of the elephant and its awesomeness, and therefore are captivated by Elephant Auto Insurance.

Thirdly, if you really stop to think about it, the only thing that the commercial is saying is that you should pay for Elephant Auto Insurance because the word “elephant” is in the title and because elephants are inanely cool and they can topple buildings, you too can be like an elephant (See Reason #2) with the proper protection from Elephant Auto Insurance. Because the elephant in the commercial is so cute while also obstructing a city at the same time, you forget that there is absolutely no correlation whatsoever between elephants and car insurance and instead you begin to think you need to desperately purchase that car insurance in case your car is crushed by a giant elephant on a rampage through town.

Lastly, I was really super bored of writing this blog post soI typed “Elephant Auto Insurance” into Google Images and this is what I got:

What the heck? This picture literally has as much to do with Elephant Auto Insurance as Elephants have to do with car insurance in general.

Southern Accents

Southern accents rule.

This lady just called the office to schedule an appointment, and she had the thickest Southen accent I have ever encountered.

You could nearly smell the fried chicken on the other end of the line.

To those of you from the North who don't have any idea what I'm talking about, Southern accents are like a chummy speech impedement, where the holder leaks unicorns and rainbows and other types of euphoria from their mouth as they speak.

Like this:

Please excuse my ghetto drawing on Paint.

Anyway, it is my inference that Southern accents could also be used as a subliminal form of mind-control, trickery, and essentially terrorist activity. They are so charming and wonderful that when someone uses one on you, you have no idea what they are saying. You just listen to the lyrical beauty that is their accent. So you just nod along in conversation, lulled into complacency, unawaringly agreeing to succumb to their every whim and fancy. For all you know, they could be an extraterrestrial zombie invader who is about to take you to their homeland as the main course for brunch.

Southern accents have that power.

But, ladies and gentlemen, that's not all.

This particular Southern Belle is hilarious. In-your-face, hey-what's-up, listen-to-my-accent, "Well-knock-me-over-and-buy-me-some-overalls!" funny. Last time she came in for a check-up, the French Open or whatever was on TV, and she preceded to sit in the dental chair and fist pump for her favorite tennis player for a good portion of the appointment. Not to mention the fact that she made loud (and quite suggestive) noises whenever her player scored a goal or made a touchdown or whatever (obviously I'm not too good with tennis) in the room by herself when we were attending to another patient, who then proceded to ask the dentist "What she was having done".

She's the sort of woman who talks at you really loudly almost to the point of yelling, but you don't really notice because she's hypnotizing you with her congenial Southern drawl. Listening to her accent is like being pelted in the face with balloon animals and confetti, while also being informed that you've won $1 gazillion from Publisher's Clearing House and as a reward you get to have the old man from the Six Flags commercial dance for you at your wedding.

Death by Sweettart

I probably have the most dysfunctionally wonderful set of friends on the face of the Earth.

It's great. They make me feel so much less freakish. :)

Allow me to elaborate.

I'm in second grade. It's storytime in Mrs. Conn's class. We're reading some story about bears who miraculously talk and go to the circus or something, and I'm eating Sweettarts from the Grab Box, a wonderful invention made especially for frazzled elementary school teachers at the end of their rope. It's filled with candy and stickers and hazardous amounts glitter and Teenage Ninja Turtle action figures and McDonald's Happy Meal Furby's and Pokemon temporary tattoos to satisfy even the most ornery child in their midst and turn them into cooperative, silent, happy angels. Pretty much everything an 8-year-old could dream of with the exception of rainbows and unicorns, and sent every kid in her classroom into a blissful state of euphoria and happiness. It was like Barney's magic bag on TV or Mary Poppins's suitcase except it was real and was stored in a locked drawer in her desk. It was her secret weapon to get us to shut up. Instead of exploding into a fit of blind rage and attacking us unmercifully for our behavior, she would simply say, "Well, if you don't shape up, you won't get to pick anything from the Grab Box..." And, SNAP. The kid's quiet and repentative and ready to work. It was pure genius. Plus, she strategically let us pick from the box at the end of the day, so she didn't have to deal with us once the sugar rush kicked in and we turned from well-behaved students into sugar-high maniacs who relentlessly bounce off the walls until they become disoriented and absurdly angry for no reason at all. By that time, we were long gone from school and home safe and sound with our unsuspecting parents.

Anyway, I had been especially good on this particular occasion and so I had been awarded two rolls of Sweettarts for my stellar performance in the classroom. I was sucking on my second-to-last artificially-flavored treat when it suddenly got trapped between the roof of my mouth and the fixed metal retainer I had so tried to hide from my classmates. As all of the other children were listening to Mrs. Conn drone on about bears and fish and acrobatic monkeys, I desperately tried to dislodge the candy from my mouth with my tongue, then my finger, then the eraser-end of my Little Mermaid pencil. My futile attempts to dislodge it were, sadly, all in vain. So instead of waiting for it to dissolve from my own saliva like a rational human being, my second-grade mind thought it would be a great idea to alert my best friend Nicole to my predicament and come up with a ridiculous remedy that would only add to my embarrassment and mortify me for life while also preventing me from every being considered as a potential future candidate for someone's prom date.

I pulled her away from the crowd and showed her my retainer (which she said was "Cool") and told her that I had a yellow Sweettart stuck in the roof of my mouth. I was sort of talking with a lisp while also sounding like Gopher from the Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh because excess air was getting trapped in my retainer from the Sweettart and making it terribly difficult to talk. Of course, this only escalated the problem in Nicole's mind, as I was no longer able to effectively communicate without whistling and slurring my "S"s. My futile attempts to calm her down in my sad, whistling lisp were only frightening her more, so I resorted to frantic gestures in order to relay the problem. Now, Nicole was a helpless hypocondriac (bless her sweet little heart), and immediately decided that if we did not surgically remove the Sweettart from my mouth soon, I would surely choke on it and die right there on the carpet next to the Texas-shaped stain from this kid Kevin's "accident" at the beginning of the year.

So in a fit of desperation, we decided that the best idea was to flick that Sweettart out of there.

Well, Nicole didn't really want to stick her hand in my mouth, so I had to flick it first. After a couple good tries, we determined that because I couldn't see what I was going, I was only going to flick it down my throat and then I would surely die a slow and painful death by Sweettart. Therefore, Nicole overcame her fear of germs and heroically decided to take matters into her own hands.

By this time, our kid-whispers were growing more frantic and louder by the second.

Our frantic and hysterically comical attempts to surgically remove the Sweettart from the metal retainer at the roof of my mouth by the highly official medical procedure of "flicking" was obviously much more entertaining to my immature classmates than The Bearenstein Bears Go To The Circus or whatever story Mrs. Conn was attempting to read at the front of the classroom. We were attracting attention from our classmates at the back of the group who were giggling and so obviously failing at being inconspicous. In order to detract attention from ourselves and avoid getting into trouble with our teacher, we backed slowly away between some desks and continued our procedure.

Nicole flicked and flicked and flicked until her finger hurt and my mouth was sore, but we were working against the clock in an effort to save my life which we were 110% positive would end any minute. After about 5 minutes (which seemed like eons) of relentless flicking, I was feeling an ulcer coming on in my tender oral cavity, and so I ordered Nicole to give it one final flick before I graciously accepted my death.

Nicole couldn't bear to see me die, so she closed her eyes and that last flick her all. And what do you know? That sad little Sweettart flew out of my mouth and across the classroom, right into some kid's desk! Second-grade me and my best friend Nicole rejoiced over our victory and fist-pumped the air like we had just won the lottery. Needless to say, I owe Nicole my life for successfully removing the Sweettart from my orthodontia.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is a true friend.

Elizabeth Taylor: An Icon

My idols, contrary to popular opinion, are women who have impacted history in such a way that their legacy forever lives on in the hearts of those who followed them--whether they were outspoken, vivacious, passionate for social change, revolutionary in their style, or active in their community, these females used their celebrity to make a difference to the world in which they lived. Elizabeth Taylor is one of these women.

She is one of the few actresses of her day who was unafraid to take life under her wing and make it her own. She spoke bluntly of her political views and was forever loyal to her friends, speaking out against slanderous statements and scandalous gossip in the news and magazines. She was undaunted by the glitz and glamour of Hollywood and lived a lavish lifestyle that shocked the nation, and will forever live in infamy for her marriages and her love of all things bejeweled. Her appearance was strong and unique, dark and welcoming. She had a realistic look--she embraced her natural curves during an era of stick-thin models, and was soon adopted as the most beautiful woman of her time. Her looks were bold and daunting, in-your-face. Her stunningly dark features were striking, What she didn't say in words were projected onto her face--a face the camera and the audience loved. She loved color and tight clothes and gigantic jewelry. Her lavish lifestyle shone on and off camera: she was married an astounding 8 times, was pronounced dead four times, and was the first actor ever to gross $1 million for a major motion picture. Her lust for life and its extravagence gave cause to the Pope to dub her an "erotic vagrant", and eventually brought upon legislature to banish her from the States. The blantant use of her feminity and sexuality stunned Americans in the 50s and 60s, and continues to do so today. You will never hear that Dame Elizabeth Taylor declined to comment on anything PR; she is unafraid to speak her mind, and has the enemies to prove it. Who else can claim that they've been condemned both by the Vatican and by the House of Representatives? Only Miss Elizabeth Taylor. She was, in her prime, her own person, and still continues to live up to the persona she has so carefully carved out for herself in contemporary society. But most importantly, she remains a strong, individualistic woman and an inspiration to females everywhere for her work in the AIDS foundation as well as her promotion for the advancement of women.

Miss Taylor was featured in the most recent edition of People, where she reflected on her most recent fragrance (the 12th in her line) and her infamous style. She candidly stated, "I feel naked without earrings and I never face the day without perfume". The actress is content with her life as it has unfolded before her, and reflects on her two great loves with the nostalgic complacency of a loving wife and friend. The article continues, asking her for her thoughts on her status as a beauty icon, her beauty secrets, and her world-famous eyes. Personally, my favorite part was when she gave her take on plastic surgery. She said, "if you need it, get it, but don't overdo it. It's better to look like an older version of yourself than a tightened someone else". She's my hero.

She was gorgeous fifty years ago, and her inner beauty is as apparent now as it has been from the beginning. She has a zest for life that leaves the world in awe. We commemorate her This star shines brighter than ever before. Decadent, opulent, stunningly radiant.

Life. With a capital "L".

Humans inhabit the Earth.
The Earth is a huge, orbiting celestial body that serves as home to millions of species.
Earth is but a tiny part of the vast, expansive universe.
So, to recap, we (as humans) are merely microscopic in comparison to the immensity of the universe.

And to life as well.
Suppose, then, if Life (with a capital "L") were to be a physical entity (though still intangible). It would encapsulate all of the species of Earth: plants, animals, humans--all have capital-L Life. Life, essentially, rents us. Once we die, what continues? Does Life stop?

No. One being may come to an end, but the rest of the species inhabiting the universe are possessed by Life, and continue to do so until Life has exhausted them. Life rents us. We are merely the bodies that house Life.

Right?

Disney MashUp

I've been listening to Disney music at work allllll week and so out of complete and utter boredom, I've decided to mash-up random phrases from classic Disney songs into a strange poem thing that makes absolutely no sense whatsoever. Enjoy.

Can you feel the love tonight?
On the rooftops of London...ooh, what a sight.
So this is what makes life divine
The greatest adventure is mine!

Don't you mind what they say
Sitting there across the way
It's our problem-free philosophy
You've got a friend in me.

You can bet before we're through,
You'll learn things you never knew you never knew.
Let me take your order, jot it down
A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down.



Son of man, look to the sky
You can fly, you can fly, you can fly
Over, sideways, and under
There's something about her
A most peculiar mademoiselle
that Cruella, Cruella de Vil

The gleam in your eyes is so familiar a gleam
No request is too extreme
You ain't never had a friend
Waiting just around the riverbend

The dreams that you wish will come true,
The bare necessities of life will come to you.

The Way My Brain Works

"Look for the bare necessities, the simple bare necessities, forget about your worries and your strife."

Top Eight Things You Probably Didn't Know About Me:

1. I incessantly pluck off the fifth leaf on clover. I like to believe that if I make a few homemade four-leaf clovers, it'll eventually make someone's day.

2. I hate peanut butter. HATE IT. It has the weirdest texture ever and it gets stuck to the roof of your mouth. There is no way possible to eat peanut butter in a ladylike manner, and therefore I refrain from eating it whenever possible. Except in Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. Otherwise, it's just gross.

3. It's incredibly hard for me to stop smiling on command. Actually, it's physically impossible. I don't smile all the time, but I can't stop if you tell me to.

4. My two favorite music artists are Bing Crosby and Grandmaster Flash. Swing music takes precedence everyday except when I'm at the gym, where the rhymes of Grandmaster Flash rule supreme.

5. I refuse to eat hamburgers in public. I have a strange, ritualistic way of eating them that I know people would make fun of me for, so I will never ever order one in front of you. Ever.

6. I don't have a collection of any kind--though I've always wanted to start one--but I do sort of collect Googles. Whenever Google changes for a national holiday, celebrity's birthday, or what-have-you, I secretly save it on my computer. I think I have about 28 or so as of now.

7. I really, really, really like Family Guy. It's kind of embarrassing. I haven't seen every episode, and I can't quote it without totally slaughtering the joke, but it's hilarious in a you-don't-have-to-think-about-it kind of way that late-at-night-and-pretty-punchy me really appreciates.

8. I've never dyed my hair...ever. Or had alcohol. Or even seen a Rated R movie the whole way through. I don't know why...I just haven't.

Well, that's it for Show and Tell.

Summertime in the South

Molasses. Slow. as. Molasses.

The thick summer days drag on, rolling from day to day as through you never really slept. You don't know what day it is because the sun has cooked your brain. You're floating by, by, bye.

My, my, my how time flies.
You can take it all in if you open your eyes.

I love the country. I really do. Quaint little houses with white picket fences litter every green pasture. Down the road it gets a little sparse where the homes are enveloped in thick, unruly vines and weeds. See that house there? Knew that family well. Real nice folks, wouldn't hurt no one. Just went broke.

Mosey down the dirt road to a tiny little shack with a Welcome mat out front. Smells like dinnertime, sweet cherry wine. Enter quiet as a churchmouse. Simple little house. Don't need air conditionin' when you've got a gentle breeze, it don't get too hot with the shade from the trees. Dirt and grass beneath your feet, come on in and take a seat.

Fried chicken for dinner with cornbread and beans, sweet tea if you're thirsty and apple pie for dessert. Tomorrow we'll fire up the barbeque and have ourselves some country cookin', if you're lookin' for some wholesome food, then you're in the right place. Grew the apples ourselves on the trees outback, and the corn and beans too. We'll give you some to take home with you. Nothin' fancy here, just take off your shoes and make yourself at home, dear.

You eat and laugh till you can't no more. They sure ain't rich, but they ain't poor. You're pretty full of good food and Southern Hospitality, a bag full of vegetables and talk of morality. Tip your hat, say "Thank you ma'am", words whose aftertaste is as sweet as strawberry jam.

Summertime, sweet summertime, homemade ice cream and tart lemonade. Ain't too bad in the shade. Baseball games in the hot summer sun, "Hot dogs, burgers? Anyone?" Life's easy and simple and natural, from homeruns to Kenny Chesney to dirty blue overalls.

xoxo e