Tuesday, April 20, 2010
You know when you look into your closet in the morning and take out an item of clothing, examine it, and wonder why you don't wear it more often because it's soooooo cute? And then, as the day progresses and you repeatedly have to remove said item of clothing from your buttcrack, and then you finally remember? Yeah, I hear you. Me and my red skirt.
I have one of those body types that doesn't do well with things that fasten at the waist. Why? Because my waist is like three inches below my boobs. And rather than just going with it and dressing like Fred Mertz, I try to find items of clothing that fall right above my hips. You know...where my waist should be?
Long story short, today I'm wearing a red skirt. And every time I sit down, it rides up to my waist and I feel like I'm wearing it right under my armpits.
Now, I know right now you're all wondering why I'm telling you this story because, clearly, it's not very interesting unless you are a drunken skirt enthusiast who loves Fred Mertz. But it does help me segue into the following tale of debauchery and poorly made clothing.
The Story of Little Red Riding Skirt
Once upon a time in the woods lived a little girl named Little Red Riding Skirt. Now, no one knew why her parents named her Little Red Riding Skirt. Because, clearly, it was a stupid, stupid name. But luckily, when Little Red Riding Skirt was about 12 years old, her grandmother made her a red skirt. And since Grandmother was a terrible seamstress, the skirt rode up so that the waist was right below Little Red Riding Skirt's armpits. And even though Little Red Riding Skirt hid the horrible piece of clothing in the back of the closet, she sometimes pulled it out anyway when she didn't have any clean laundry. And for the rest of the day, she would walk around with her red skirt riding up and making her generally cranky. Therefore, the name ended up being quite fitting, although Little Red Riding Skirt would have preferred to be called Margaret or Helen or Cashmere Sweater.
One day in September, Little Red Riding Skirt's father said, "Little Red Riding Skirt, your grandmother is quite ill. Why don't you take her this picnic basket filled with Xanax and whiskey?" And because she was a nice person, Little Red Riding Skirt agreed. And because it was laundry day, she was unfortunately forced to wear her horrible red riding skirt.
The walk to Grandmother's house took several hours because Little Red Riding Skirt kept having to stop and pull the skirt back down so that she didn't look like a walking circus tent. Unluckily, she was being closely followed by a Big, Bad Wolf who was 1) drunken 2) a skirt enthusiast and 3) a fan of Fred Mertz. He also liked large baskets of Xanax and whiskey, as we all do.
"Ah ha," thought the wolf, "I will run ahead to Grandmother's house and disguise myself in her clothing. And then, when Little Red Riding Skirt arrives, she'll think that I am the grandmother and give me that whiskey and Xanax." And so he did just that.
Several more hours passed.
And finally, Little Red Riding Skirt arrived at her grandmother's house, very, very cranky and looking quite similar to a walking circus tent.
"Grandmother! I am here!" said Little Red Riding Skirt, tugging down her ill-fitting garment.
"I am in the bedroom, darling!" said a voice from Grandmother's bedchamber.
Little Red Riding Skirt entered the room where her grandmother slept.
Now, it's important that you remember that the Big, Bad Wolf has been hanging out in Grandma's bed for several hours wearing Grandma's clothing. And you must also recall that Grandmother is a terrible seamstress, so everything the wolf has been wearing is uncomfortable and ill-fitting and he's getting quite cranky.
Little Red Riding Skirt looked at her grandmother.
"Grandmother, what ill-fitting stockings you have on," she said.
"The better to prevent deep vein thrombosis, my dear," replied the faux Wolf Granny.
"But, Grandmother, what an uncomfortable looking sweater you have on," said Little Red Riding Skirt.
"The better to keep the electricity bill low, my dear," said the imposter Grandmother.
"But, Grandmother, what a poorly made skirt you have on that has hiked up and I can clearly see your wolf balls!" said Little Red Riding Skirt.
The wolf was embarrassed, of course, and quickly tried to pull the skirt back down to hide his genitalia. And then he launched himself toward Little Red Riding Skirt, fangs bared in preparation of eating her, the whiskey, and the Xanax all in one gulp.
But, as you have probably already guessed was going to happen, he became tangled in the ill-fitting, poorly made bathrobe he was wearing and launched himself into the fireplace instead.
Little Red Riding Skirt took off the horrible red riding skirt, threw it into the fire, and skipped home in her underwear.
You're wondering what happened to the grandmother, aren't you? Well, she popped a few Xanax and went to the casino.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
*Pictured (from left to right): Tiger Woods, MONSTER GOLF CART, my face, Catherine Bach's body, Jesse James.
I know you have all been waiting for me to weigh in on the Tiger Woods/Jesse James scandals. Because, after all, I am a HUGE golf enthusiast and an even bigger monster car thingy building enthusiast. But most importantly, I am an enthusiast of unfaithfulness when it is done on the seat of a monster golf cart.
Yes, I love to get it on with someone who isn't my boyfriend while riding along merrily on a golf cart that has been affixed with oversized wheels. Therefore, all of this Jesse James/Tiger Woods news and comparisons of the two excite me greatly.
Of course, the opportunity to get sweaty parked on the fairway of the seventh hole straddling the seat of a diesel-powered golf cart with a pair of pincers that can be used to pick up stray golf balls with a guy who isn't my regular lover doesn't come along very often. So, I have to get it while I can.
As you can imagine, when this Tiger Woods unfaithfulness thing happened, I was pretty much overjoyed. But then with the added bonus of Jesse James's cheating, well, I thought that all of my dreams had come true. Golf! Monster cars! Monster golf carts! Men who aren't my usual gentleman caller! Be still my slutty heart!
So, the time has come at last for me, an expert in all things cheating while in the third seat of a stretch limo golf cart that can also be used to mow the fairway, to speak my peace on the matter of Tiger Woods and Jesse James cheating on their wives. And I guess I will just address them both on a personal level. Here goes.
Jesse James, Tiger Woods? I'm no expert on sleeping with ordinary star fuckers. I like to broaden my horizons and sleep only with men who like it on monster golf carts and nowhere else. Particularly men who are not my current paramour. But when I do go out on the green late at night in my golf cart Transformer with laser putting technology, I do use one thing besides protection, and that thing is discretion. I don't want everyone to know how much I enjoy the combination of clandestine late-night meetings and golf carts with rotating gun turrets. Therefore, rather than sending poorly-spelled text messages to said late-night clandestine "meeting partners," I recommend driving directly through their living room walls to pick them up. That way, nobody gets hurt. Or just keeping it in your pants and not being a total dickface. We can't all be as careful at cheating as I am.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Now, I know what you're all thinking. Why hasn't Bethany posted anything since April 1? Well, there is a very good explanation for that, and it goes something like this.
Once upon a time, I was working on a very good blog post that would make all of you laugh uproariously when suddenly I was interrupted by the ringing of a telephone.
"Hello?" I said into the phone after finding it under my sofa cushion, turning it on, and holding it up to my ear.
"Hello to you," said a voice on the other end.
"Is this....Michael Douglas?" I asked the caller.
"Why, yes. Yes, it is," said the voice, who was indeed Michael Douglas.
"Well, hi, Michael Douglas. How are you?" I said.
"I am fine," said Michael Douglas.
"That's good to know. How is Catherine Zeta-Jones?" I queried.
"She's good," he replied.
"That's nice," I said, beginning to feel awkward.
There was silence on the other end, so I said, "Michael Douglas, why are you calling me? I am currently in the middle of writing this blog post."
"Well, that's a very, very, very interesting story," said Michael Douglas, "and it goes like, this. Once upon a time, I was at the fish market trying to pick out some quality shrimp in order to make a nice shrimp salad for lunch when suddenly my telephone rang. 'Hello?' I said into the phone after taking it out of my satchel, turning it on, holding it up to my ear, realizing it was upside down, and turning it over so that I was speaking into the correct end. 'Is this Michael Douglas?' said a voice on the other end. 'Yes, yes, it is,' I said, surprised to hear from this person. And you'll never guess who that person was."
"I give up," I said, "Who was it?"
"You didn't even guess," Michael Douglas said, pouting.
"Uh, Vice President Hannibal Hamlin," I replied.
"Very funny," said Michael Douglas, who knows his vice presidents and knew that Hannibal Hamlin is dead. "Guess again."
Well, as you can imagine, Michael Douglas was totally annoying me at this point.
And because he could tell that he was irritating me very much, Michael Douglas finally decided to tell me who the caller was.
"It was SHARON STONE. Can you believe it?" said Michael Douglas.
To which I replied, "And why did you feel like you had to call and interrupt me to share this?"
And Michael Douglas, who is very sensitive said, "Well, if you're going to be snotty about it, I'm not going to tell you after all."
"Okay, talk to you later then!" I said and went to hang up and get back to work.
"WAIT!" said Michael Douglas, "Look, I'll tell you, but you have to promise to not tell anyone."
Now, I should probably tell you at this point that Michael Douglas is a total drama queen. The last time he called me, he talked for 45 minutes about how Ed Begley Jr. ignored him one time at the Daytime Emmys.
"Okay, Michael Douglas. You can tell me your riveting Sharon Stone story, and then I have to get back to work," I said.
"Well......" said Michael Douglas, who LOVES to allow suspense to build before he begins a story, particularly one involving Sharon Stone.
"I'm waiting," I said.
"I'm getting to it!" snapped Michael Douglas.
There was another pause.
"Okay, here goes," said Michael Douglas. "So, Sharon Stone called me."
"And...?" I said.
"And she said that she was sorry to call me when I was clearly in the middle of a seafood shop looking for shrimp for a shrimp salad, but she had to tell me something very interesting," said Michael Douglas.
"What did she tell you?" I asked.
So, then Michael Douglas said, "She said, 'You'll never guess who called me, Michael Douglas.' And I said, 'Who, Sharon Stone?' And she said, 'Guess.' And I said, 'I hate guessing. Why don't you just tell me?' And she said no. So, I guessed several times. And none of them were right. It wasn't Meryl Streep, and it wasn't Vice President George Clinton, who is dead. Nor was it funk innovator George Clinton, who is alive."
"Who was it, Michael Douglas?" I asked, bored.
"It was Charlton Hesston!" said Michael Douglas, doing his best Sharon Stone impression.
"Charlton Hesston is dead," I said.
"That's what I told Sharon Stone," Michael Douglas replied. "But then she said to me, 'No, Michael Douglas, not THAT Charlton Hesston. Charlton Hesston, the plumber I called to look at my toilet.' Apparently, Sharon Stone's toilet has been backed up for weeks and weeks, so she's been living in her pool house so she can use that bathroom instead."
"And this has what to do with me?" I queried.
"Well, Sharon Stone wanted to know if your toilet was working," replied Michael Douglas.
"Uh, yeah, it's working fine. Why?" I said, so ready to hang up on him.
"Well, I hope you are paying it a good wage and providing it with insurance. Hahahahahahahaha!" chortled Michael Douglas, and then he hung up.
And that is why I hate Michael Douglas and his stupid face. He takes the longest time to get to the point.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
I work at home three days per week. And while you're thinking that this sounds delightful and are currently picturing me hanging out in my pajamas all day, that would be quite inaccurate because I don't own any pajamas.
It's also difficult when April rolls around and you want to play hilarious April Fools' Day pranks on your co-workers and wake up and realize that your co-workers are all miles away. So, here are some pranks that you can play when you work at home by yourself with only your cat for company.
1. Put water in your cat's food dish and food in her water dish. April Fool's, cat! Hahahahahahahahahahaha! Your Meow Mix is water, and your water is Meow Mix! That's hilarious!
2. Turn the shower on and then close the curtain so that your cat thinks you're in the shower, while you are really hiding behind the bathroom door. When she comes into the bathroom to sit on the side of the tub and wait for you to emerge so that she can see you in the nude, pop out from behind the door and shout, "April Fools', cat! I was behind the door the WHOLE TIME! And I'm wearing clothes, pervert!"
3. Leave the door to to the cabinet under your kitchen sink open and wait until your cat goes in to do her daily rummaging with your trash bag collection. Then, close it behind her! April Fools', cat! You're trapped in that cabinet until I decide to let you out! Hahahahahaha!
4. Open several cans, and every time your cat comes to see if you finally sprang for the wet food, show her that it's actually pineapple and shout, "April Fools', cat! It's only fruit, and you're a carnivore! Hahahahahahahaha!"
5. Pour beer on your cereal, and when your cat gets all up in your face wanting your leftover cereal milk, give it to her and be all, "Hahahahahaha, cat! It's beer! April Fools'!"
6. Get a big empty box. Tape it shut. And put it in the middle of your living room. As your cat tries to figure out a way to get into the box to no avail, shout, "Hahahahaha, cat! April Fools'! It's taped shut! No playing in that empty box for you!"
7. Put a stupid hat on your cat's head while it is sleeping and then take a picture and post it on Facebook. Hahahahaha, cat! April Fools' to you! Now everyone is going to laugh at how stupid you look in that hat!
Your cat will think these pranks are totally hilarious and will definitely not try to remove your face with her claws later when you are sound asleep. Have fun!