Adventures in Hair

To prove a point, I decided to grow a beard.  What point, you ask?  Well, I can grow a beard in about 14 minutes, unlike lesser men.  And I did.

Holy shit, gramps!

See?  I told you.  This is just a few weeks worth of growth, and you will note in particular that:

I AM AT LEAST 117 YEARS OLD!

And hairy.

And I have at least two creases on my face that need to be filled with either Botox or Restalin or both.  Or maybe some fat from my ass.  I don’t know.

But that really isn’t the point of this rant/rave.  No.  Instead, I want to give you a little insight into my friendship plight.  Let me preface the following discussion by saying that my friends are first class assholes.  Not all of them, but a frightening majority.  Maybe even a super-majority.

Actually, probably 99%.  Anyhow . . .

Now, please know that I post a lot of shit on the Facebook, most of which falls on completely deaf ears and no one says a god damn word in response.  Today, however, I posted a few full-facial beard pics on the Facebook.  And the god damn Facebook-sphere lit up like an xmas tree.  Would you like to know what my “friends” had to say about my beard?  I knew you would.  Brace yourselves to be completely and utterly infuriated on my behalf.  In no particular order:

OMG You are SO gray!!!  But I still love u

you look homeless . . . shave . . now. thanks

We think you need to eat and shave.  You look like a dessicated Sting!  And that’s a lot for me to say . . .

Oh!  You were in an accident!

Why are you doing this?

Amigo if you prefer una barba… then it is your choice.. But I think you much more guapo without la barba…

Do you go to work looking this?

You need a boat captain hat and a corncob pipe.

Who kidnapped my hot funny friend.  And who let that homeless man into your house?  Someon call [the RDP] or 911 ASAP.  This is an emergency.

master of misdirection.  Best herpes cover up I’ve seen yet!

its an anorexic Santa! jk

Can anyone say Harry, as in Harry from the movie “Harry and the Hendersons”?

[My husband] says you look like Billy Bob Thornton.  I think it makes you look older than your fabulous self.

Ernest Hemingway called and wants his look back.

[You] eres muy guapo without la barba, this look… well don’t hate me, is not for you…

Sweetie, you look a little like the hermit who wrote the manifesto…his name escapes me. You’re much more handsome sans beard, that said, it is a nice beard…xo

Ted Kaczinsky? Are you fucking kidding me?  Well, then, I’m sending you a package.  Make sure you open it the minute you receive it.

With friends like these, who needs enemies?  Or an enema?

Now, I know that you are dying to know what the RDP thinks of the facial hair.  I can sum it up in a couple of simple quotes:

It’s like being married to my dad.

Get that shit away from me.

Don’t you EVEN try to kiss me with that mess.

So, I thought you said you were going to trim that or get rid of it.

Not all of the comments were derogatory, however.  No.  My sister-in-law had this to say:

Nice bread [sic].  [No, I am not making that up.  Bread.  Fuck.  Really?]

And a few others, who I have now put into my Last Will and Testament, had nice things to say about my growth.  To my detractors, however, I have a few words to say right back at you:

Fuck off.

I love you bitches.  Even your insults make me happy.  Actually, they make me both proud and happy, because I’ve trained you well.

Oh, and guess what?  I’m growing my pubes out, too, until I look like mother fucking Cousin Itt.  So bite me.

You ain't seen nothing yet!

UPDATE:  Additional comments since posting:

I’d say the more u can cover ur face, the better for all of us who have to look at it.

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What’s for Dinner?

Are you like me about this time of night (5:30 p.m. PDT), standing in your kitchen and wondering what you are going to feed yourself and/or the other selfish “me-me-me” members of your family?  Of course you are.  Well, I have an answer that you are going to love.  It’s called, What the Fuck Should I Make For Dinner, and it is simply genius.  For example, on tonight’s episode of, “Shut your cakeholes, hungry children, I’m working on it,” I bring you the following from my new best friends at WTFSIMFD:

Problem solved!

Click on the suggestion, and you get a recipe.  If you don’t fucking like the suggestion or don’t eat whatever fucking ingredients are contained therein, you can get another suggestion.  Oh, and it is happy to insult you while it gives you clever suggestions:

Crunchy, granola ass, indeed.

See?  And you people think I just use this blog for evil and not good.  You. Are. Welcome.  You can blow me later.

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Friend A Fatty!

I have been way too farking serious lately.  All those stupid Occupy Seattle posts are a total boner-kill, both literally and figuratively.  Trust me.

So, I took this picture for you.  Yes, you.

Important Reminder!

An important reminder to love your chubby, husky, pleasingly plump, voluptuous, or just plain fat friends and family, brought to you by the Toyota Prius.  They could save your life one day.

I love it for so many reasons, not the least of which is that it’s a new take on the whole evolution vs. creationism debate.  Sorta like this, but a little more subtle:

Bang it OUT!

I don’t know where you get the Fatty-Bear bumper stickers, but if you want one of those klassy, sexy little fish emblems, you should go here (they are on sale right now for only $3.50).

You can thank me later.

 

 

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Some Many Sad Stories Tonight

Despite my previous rant, tonight is one of those nights when I really feel the weight of life and death and circumstances (those both in and out of our control). 

First, Elizabeth Edwards (estranged wife of former Presidential candidate John Edwards) is not strong enough to undergo any further treatment for her cancer.  Her doctors have advised her not to subject herself to further treatment.  She has only been given weeks, even days, to live.  She is an amazing woman:  an academic, a lawyer, a mother, a supportive wife (perhaps when she should not have been), a gay rights advocate, a died-in-the-wool liberal who loved her country and her family and her causes, a legend.  I wish her great and extended health, because her loss is a loss for everyone.

Second, the verdicts in the case against the Clemmons’s “accomplices” is in.  Most of them were found guilty of one (or more) charges, except one.  I do not celebrate their convictions.  Conviction means that our judicial system found that they knew Clemmons had committed murder and contributed to his evasion of the law.  I cannot imagine having been in their shoes.  Perhaps my days working as a crime victims’ advocate cloud my judgment, but if one of my family members arrived on my doorstep and told me he had murdered 4 innocent police members (either before, during, or after the media coverage), I do not know what I would have done to protect myself and my family from potential harm.  I may have been so frightened for myself or my family that I would have protected him in some way or given him a means of escape.  Impossible to know, but I empathize with them.  Lest you think I am a bleeding heart, I believe Clemmons got everything he deserved.  Not so sure about his “accomplices.”

Third, I can hardly stand the story of Jack Lamont, who went for a routine hike on Saturday (two days ago) and never made it home.  He was an experienced hiker, but somehow, nature overtook him.  Despite his untimely death, his devoted companion and best friend, Shotgun (perhaps a Queensland Blue Healer), did not leave his side, even after rescuers arrived.  Not only is Jack’s death a huge loss, but the devotion of his best, four-legged friend is so poignant as to defy words.

Fourth . . . oh fuck fourth.  Do I need to go on with more stories like job losses/unemployment, financial struggles, homelessness, hopelessness, hunger, fear, quiet desperation.  Christ, they aren’t just “stories,” and I am sad to call them that.  They are lives, not stories. 

Over the past few years, I have grown to despise Christmas.  For all the right reasons.  Please, please restore my faith in Christmas–and not as a bullshit religious holiday, but as an opportunity to grasp the full extent of our collective humanity, struggles, hopes, and dreams and to do something to make someone else’s life feel important and worthwhile.  Please.  At the risk of sounding like a faggy cliche, Don’t Save It All for Christmas Day (sung by Celine Dion.  iTunes it and listen to it for its message, whether you like Celine or despise her).

I’m not religious, and I don’t believe in angels as such, but a quote I stumbled across tonight sums it all up:

“We need to be angels for each other, to give each other strength and consolation. Because only when we fully realize that the cup of life is not only a cup of sorrow but also a cup of joy will we be able to drink it.”
— Henri J.M. Nouwen

It is new to me, but it is meaningful and appropriate to this day and to this season (even if you, like me, need to delete the portion about angels).

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