If Kvetchette were a Build-It-Yourself Table

She would be known as Kfetkkett. At least according to the Swedish Furniture Name Generator.

I bet you are glad you now know that. And if you'd like to know what YOU would be, click here. Let us know your new name in the comments section. Best one wins a bag of bagels. Cause that's how we roll here.

Tori-too

Readerettes, good news to share, 1 will not be homeless.  Pants and I charmed the pants off those board members - obvi - who doesn't like us? (well mean brokers not included)  So moving day is this Friday, and instead of packing I'm sitting on my fat, rental-apartment-having-ass and watching Tori & Dean which is my new freaking favorite show.  I love Tori and her buggy eyes and pinched nose.  And I love this couple. My favorite part about them is that they both left other spouses to be with each other and I mean how can you get better relationship vibes than that.  And Tori is always fretting that he'll find some new chicky with bigger plastic surgery boobies and leave her like he did wife number 1.  My other favorite thing is that he has this totally WT tattoo of a woman on his arm.  So I've been intrigued, is it wife 1 or wife 2, and if it's not Tori - how they hell does that bitch allow him to walk around like that?  If it were Pants and one of his old sluts I'd spend my days trying to figure out how to accidentally cause a little oil fire that he'd have to put out but not before basically burning his sleeve off and permanently disfiguring that hos face.  So I did a little google research and found it is in fact a beautiful portrait of Tori that glamour queen.  Only weird thing is it's on the back of his arm, in a place he will never see unless he's standing backwards in front of the mirror. Not a good sign Torster.  A man loves you, he puts a tattoo somewhere he'll always see it.  So my next campaign at home is for Pants to get a bad-ass tattoo of my mug right on his cheek, that way we're as close as a couple could be - cheek to cheek - together forever. And everyone he meets, including hot young anchors on Fox news, will instantly see how devoted he is.  Im for serious - let's go tattooin Pants.

I'm back - but not in a good way

Ok, I apologize for the long absence.

Let me tell you about my life lately, it consisted of:

• Fighting with mean, lying brokers about stupid sublets and board meetings
• Not having board meetings in a timely manner
• Work trips to Chicago
• Stupid, long, boring diners with clients
• Stupid, long, boring meetings with clients
• Getting on airplanes that end up not going anywhere due to weather
• Staying an extra night in Chicago
• Getting home to deal with mean, stupid, lying broker again
• Crying
• Looking for new no-fee apartments for 8/1 move-in
• Finding nothing so call a hundred more brokers
• Stress causing drama in relationship
• Fighting with boyfriend
• Crying
• Making up with boyfriend
• Brother-in-Law yelling at mean broker
• Stupid, long, boring trips to Hamptons for stupid Super Saturday events
• Staying in scary motel rooms with doors on ground level like psycho
• Unpacking heavy boxes in 100 degree heat
• Sunburn
• Giving free products and pedicures to rich people who paid 500 bucks to get into stupid shopping event and don’t need anything for free
• Stupid, long, boring, poorly-navigated trips home in rental car
• Crying
• Back in the office, attempting to get life in order
• Eating chocolate to cope

  So, hoping this week will be better and that I'll have good news about an apartment soon. In the meantime I have lots of stories to tell about my hell-week so I'll get back to your regularly-scheduled complaining soon.
  

She's busy

1 is busy this week. She hasn't posted. I know all our readerettes are upset about it, and as I am bored, I'd like to insinuate what Ette1 could actually be doing that is more important than tending to her readerettes. So let's get started:

1. She's taken Bam to LA to visit Caesar the Dog Whisperer. She is knee deep in re-training the mind and behavior of the wildebeest. As we speak, Bam is pooping on Caesar and he is about to give up his day job. Literally.
2. She was packing her apartment in preparation of moving and decided to wear her Louboutin stilettos while doing so. She tripped, fell into a box, and Pants taped her in without even noticing. She is now being shipped off to a MiniStorage facility on 46th and 11th.
3. An editor tried one of 1's pitched beauty products and broke out in hives. The magazine staff tried to revive her as she went into face-cream-seizure, but it was too late - she died from saggy, hivey skin and our dear Ette1 has been sitting shiva.
   

Whichever it is, 1 is missing and I hope that we get her witty banter back here asap. Because I can't be funny every day. My medication comes with a disclaimer to be careful and only deliver it in small doses.

Human Resources

I would like someone to explain to me what these people do. Each company has a department titled "Human Resources." They lead you to believe that they are there to ensure employee satisfaction, they handle benefits, they are negotiators on behalf of the company...they hire and fire.

Now I have been in the work force for over fifteen years. Starting with my little frozen yogurt counter job, to being a rat-on-a-wheel telemarketer, to my adult career path, leading me through no fewer than four major corporations. And at each one, I had human resources issues. Not major ones. Not issues with getting along with peers, not issues with my work capacity, just issues. You know, the kind HR is supposed to be able to handle eloquently with their eyes closed.

So now on to important things. Kvetchette is hiring a human resources manager. And here is the job description, for all who qualify. Please send all resumes to kvetchette@gmail.com.

• Human Resources manager must lack personality. It is helpful if said person actually excels at staring directly through people while having conversations.
  
• You should have no more than one artistic thing hung in your office, and it helps if it is a motivational poster involving a kitty cat, purchased at Staples on the corporate account.
• You should not care about much other than what you are going to have for lunch that day. Which you've been thinking about since 8:45 this morning, when you turned on your computer for the day to be greeted by your really lame, stock screensaver.
  
• You can have little to no experience, because it won't matter anyway. You don't do anything.
  
• Benefits are overrated. You should be prepared to not be concerned about them, not offer them unless forced to, at which point you should be sure they aren't really worth anything anyway. Make really lame things sound interesting. Like pencils. "As an employee of this company you will be granted pencils engraved with your name on them. They are number two's, the best in the business. The best money can buy. We can actually put your job title and your email on them as well and you can use them as very progressive, cool business cards. Because we are a very, very progressive company."
• You should have a very dry sense of humor. Telling jokes is overrated anyway.
  
• You should have a pair of sensible shoes, an extra pair under your desk for emergencies, and you should be readily equipped with a ruler to measure skanky employees' skirt lengths at a moment's notice. Like in line in the cafeteria.
• You should have negotiation tactics which rival a gestapo. There is no bargaining on your table.
  
• Being fugly helps too.
  
• And if you are a liar and two-faced, you have the job in the bag.

We look forward to hearing from all interested parties.

Taste Breakers

Some people have really bad taste. It's a sin, really, to have such bad taste. Especially when you live in a house that is worth so much money, and you decorate it like a color blind case study. It's really sad. H-ette and I spent the whole day looking at houses today and as we went in and out of these people's homes, which is weird anyway because you are traipsing through strangers' houses and opening cabinets and closets and medicine chests (oh don't pretend you don't look in people's medicine chests...) and you don't even know them and you are trying to envision your life and your stuff in this house, but all you can see are weird angel collections and needlepoint Jesus pillows. There's something about angel collections that is just a little morbid. I don't know why. But those little cherubs are up to something. I don't like it. They are not innocent at all.

Speaking of morbid, we looked at a house today that was quite nice actually, and when perusing the grounds we stumbled across three gravestones. From the 1800's. In the garden. That's what I call horrorticulture.

So that brings me to another thing that drives me crazy. Beautiful houses set among ugly, unkempt trashy houses. Like, if I am gonna buy a house that costs a lot of money, and love it and take care of it and fix it up, I don't want to open my front door and look at your trailer trash house with the Camaro on cinder blocks in the front yard. It's not right.

Now kitchens. This really drives me bananas. If you are going to sell your house/apartment/loft/cabin, and you are writing the captivating ad to entice buyers, and you are fully aware that your kitchen looks like where Formica and shitty appliances go to die, don't come up with adjectives such as "retro" and "charming." Do you know what charming looks like? It's not 56 year old spaghetti stuck to your stove top.

There I've said my peace. Now does anyone know of any houses on the market? I need a place to live...

Anti-orange

In an effort to avoid calorie-rich snack foods (to avoid great-big-ass-syndrome) I’ve decided to pick up a few low-cal summery treats, among them are ice pops and, for my desk, Life Savers. I was steadily going through my roll of the savers yesterday when I came upon the dreaded Orange flavor. Orange is not a yummy flavor – it’s a color that frankly no one really wears because it’s just too much, and same goes for orange candies. There is something about it that’s too tart and weird tasting that can’t possibly measure up to the other flavors. And I’m not even comparing to Cherry – the king of candy. I’ll take any flavor over Orange, even Yellow and Green (otherwise known as lemon and lime)! And same goes for ice pops, you know when you get a full pack you are always pulling out the reds and purples first and then two weeks later you pop in the freezer for an icy treat and all that’s left is stupid oranges, so you just throw them out and make your boyfriend go pick up ice cream for you instead. Ice cream even knows better – there’s no orange ice cream flavor… maybe there’s orange sorbet, but I always eat around that in the rainbow mix anyway. And the worst part is they make it so tricky – the ice pops are packaged in white plastic, purple you can figure out right away, but reds and oranges kind of look the same, so it’s a guessing game and more than 50% of the time you end up with an orange cause you forgot you ate all the reds anyway. It’s a real problem and I’d like to formally initiate a movement to remove the flavor/color combo Orange from all sweet treats. Enjoy orange juice for breakfast and its fine for smoothies, but it’s not candy and should not be labeled accordingly.

Baby Mamas

Ladies take this whole "birth" thing too far, I'm telling you. It's a little ridiculous. Now I don't know from experience (yet) what it feels like to actually spit a living, breathing thing out my VJ. I imagine its quite the experience. Painful experience. From a purely mathematical perspective, something that is six inches wide with limbs should not be forced to exit a teeny space walled in bone. So it's tough enough when you hear the stories, the screams, the cursing. Epidural, stat! Give me drugs! Get this thing out of me!! Devil spawn!!! When I hear about these women who actually enjoy the experience, I wonder...are these ladies legit or are they part of some strange cult? Like the chicks who believe the birthing process is more pleasurable than sex. Orgasmic, actually. Are you freaking kidding me? You are going to use this time to have a sexual orgasm? That's a good story for the kid when their older. "Dear it was so beautiful when you came into this world. Mommy was so hot and bothered and turned on, she actually had an orgasm on your way out." Yeah, that won't screw them up.


Or how about the ladies who give birth standing up? If there was ever a time to lay down on your back and make yourself as comfortable as possible, now's probably it. Stand? Are you insane? Why don't you wear some stiletto's while you're at it. Be smart.


When it's my time I hope everyone is good and ready. I want ice chips. I want pillows. I want cashmere. I want a BB gun to shoot H-ette in the chram for putting me in this agony. You can keep your orgasm, ladies. Enjoy...

Hoo -did this- t'ers

This is what happens when you work for Hooters, instead of tips you get knocked up. And anyway really, what's sexier than hot-pants and infant with your wings?

Sorry about the title - it's a stretch I know, but it's been a bad day.

The Humpty Dance

Ricky Gervais breaks down the Humpty Dumpty nursery rhyme - one of the funnier moments from last night's performance.



And although we had fun, I have some issues with live comedy at a huge venue like the Madison Square Garden theater.

Annoying people sit in your seat. You arrive 20 minutes late (obvi) and it's completely dark and the usher is trying to show you where you are supposed to be sitting and you spot two sneaky people lounging and laughing away and pretending that they don't see you glaring at them and talking about them. They of course don't move, so the usher suggests you take two other empty seats behind them as to not disturb the whole role. Bullshit, those are my seats I want their asses up. But of course we're friendly neighbors so we relent. Then five minutes later the couple of seat-steelers gets up, blocking your view during a funny moment and moving away, so you have to climb over the seats to get in your rightful spot, kicking a girl in the head on your way.

Then you realize in your new seat some guy with a giant head is planted right in front of you, so you can't really see anything at all. And so you lean to one side to try to get around him and then of course he leans to that side too. And then you figure screw it cause you are so far from the stage you can't see anything anyway so you should just listen.

And what's with people who don't stand up right away once the show is over. You are of course in the middle of the row so you need at least one side to clear out before you can hit the road, but like five jerks offs at the end of the row closest to the door just sat there for a full 10 minutes waiting for the place to clear out - we were trapped! So once again we had to climb over other seats to exit, but not before giving them all nasty looks.

From now on I will enjoy my comedy on the couch with a joint like you are supposed to - and I'm sure it will be much funnier that way.

Splish Splash

Seriously. I can't even believe I haven't kvetched about this yet.

We're talkin' bout automatic flushers in public loos. This stupid invention I guess was the lazy ass answer to dealing with those who forget to flush. Now forgetting to flush is a crime in and of itself, but that's for another day. So this demonic sensor...I'm not really sure how it works, what it's reading. Is it monitoring my pee stream? Is it sensing my body movement? Is it gauging my body temp? I don't know, I'm not sure anyone really does except for the ass who's made millions on this invention. And he's laughing all the way to the toilet.

Every time, without fail, those auto flushers mess me up. It's one of a couple scenarios:

Scenario 1: I am in a bathroom that appears clean enough that I am comfortable using two of those paper toilet seat doilies to do my business. As I am organizing my doilies on the seat, (middle section hanging into the toilet, still attached to the donut part of doily) auto flusher flushes. Taking my perfectly placed, hard work with it. Now I have to start from scratch. Or resort to scenario #2.

Scenario 2: I am in the majority of public restrooms. This is when a careful squat is in order. As I am precariously perched over the bowl, certain to not touch anything - walls, seat, toilet paper holder...auto flusher flushes. As I am mid pee and certainly can't squat any higher/taller, or move anywhere, I vulnerably wince as toilet water and my own pee gets splashed up on my rear thanks to the supersonic, high power bowl demon.

I am putting it out there, officially. It's time to protest this stupid invention. I'm in favor of the old school chain from the ceiling. They're fun, nostalgic, and kids enjoy pulling them, making flushing a game for the whole family.

Another day, another Hollywood breakup

Jimmy Kimmel and Sarah Silverman broke up. Obvi, celebs don't stay together. Pants, this does not mean that you may date SS! He has a not-so-secret love for snarky Jewish girls that curse a lot.

Pants Peeves

So Saturday Pants and I reached two major milestones. One is sweet and I'll keep between us, and the other is that he did laundry. Before I tell you what went wrong with that, I’ll preface by saying Pants is actually very handy. He’s always tidying around the house and cleaning up after dinners and food shopping etc – so I really have very few complaints. Well that’s not true, I complain a lot, but in general I’m very happy with him. But the one thing he doesn’t do is laundry. He ships it out, he buys new stuff, he steals my socks, he basically does whatever it takes to avoid laundry, but yesterday in a bizzaro moment he figured he needed to wash some work clothes so he took the plunge. Of course we share a hamper so my stuff is mixed in along with other things we both use like towels and sheets, etc. But when he separated everything he didn’t do it by color, he washed all of his clothes in one load and all of my stuff plus twelve towels in another. The thinking was he'll keep his stuff pure and unadulterated by my dirty clothes and towels - which meant his little load was light and airy, and mine was giant and overstuffed - making it impossible to really get clean. And of course when he dried them, his things were perfectly fluffed and bone dry; my stuff wrapped around two weeks worth of towels was sopping wet and starting to gain mold. And instead of running them through the dryer once more, he brings it up for me to fold. Needless to say, they went back downstairs for another tumble, but not until some cross words were exchanged. And this got me to thinking about men and chores. The truth is they totally, intentionally, do a bad job at household chores so that you get so annoyed at having to repair or re-do the job that you end up asking them not to do it in the first place. Well I'm not playing that game - now that he got a taste for laundry I think it should be his weekly job, and I don't care how much I need to nag to get it done right, I'm willing to take on that role! I hate laundry, I'll scrub the toilet with a Q-tip any day over folding socks and sheets. So thanks Pants for getting all our pants and panties clean - much appreciated!

Guest etteitorial

Laywer-ette took a break from the courts today to fill us in on her frustrations about cab drivers. She is providing an excellent viewpoint here and I second. Today she's complaining so I don't have to. Enjoy:

I've had it with f-ing NYC cab drivers. It always seems like a good idea when I'm tired, it's cold, etc., but I almost always end up regretting it.

First, I feel like I take my life into my hands every time I step in a cab. Do you really get there faster by speeding up to every red light and honking at every other car on the road? Between the swerving and the movie reviews blaring on the back seat tv, I end up feeling gross at the end of every ride. And it's not like the cab is cheap. Why am I laying down 20 plus doll hairs for this nausea-inducing brush with death?

And then there's the Brooklyn issue. About one in three drivers give me attitude about crossing the bridge. Please explain to me what the big deal is. You get a guaranteed good fare and likely will pick someone up for the (again good fare) ride back. How is that different than picking someone up in the LES and taking them to the UWS. It's just not.

But, the piece de resistance is the whole "my credit card machine is not working" charade. First of all, they were installed about a week ago so either they really suck, or you're lying. And all of a sudden, when I have no cash, wow -- it works again. I get it that they pay a fee. But here's why most proprietors of business accept credit cards. People spend more than they ordinarily might when they don't have to lay out cash. How does this translate to cab drivers, you ask. People like me, who never carry cash, will take a cab more often (read: always) if it takes a credit card. So, buddy, you're getting this fair only because you take credit cards -- you're not losing money. And another thing. This is the 21st century. How much longer will people even use cash. Fine, you protested, we know you didn't want the credit card machines, but they are there now. Bullying your customers into not using them is not sustainable. And it's just rude. The last thing I need when I cruising home at 11pm after a long day is to get crap from the cab driver when I'm trying to pay him. It's not like I'm skipping out without paying. This is money. You are getting paid.

That is all.

It's the theme of the day. Be thankful.

Sex sells everything. That's not a revelation. Now it even sells used vintage furniture from Lorgans. I'd be cautious of bed bugs (or crabs) if I were you. I guess that's part of the whole "buyer beware" thing.

and NYC condos...hey 1 why don't you and Pants live here...a room with a view?

but my favorite - sex sells divorce. Imagine that.

Those marketing whores are cumming to get you

Okay, I know that title was not completely necessary, but I had to (sorry dad). Check out the above ad for Trojan rubbers which showed up in Fitness Magazine.

Is anyone else a little grossed out by this? I guess if the idea is, well I would rather that "lotion" go in the "rubber basket," so to speak, instead of all over my back, well then yes - you got me, marketing peeps. I'll go buy some Trojans. Otherwise, it has merely given me yet another reason to re-embrace my Jew-iness and get off the pork bandwagon.

Jeopardy has finally run out of questions.

You know when you watch that show you are like how is it possible they come up with this many questions - I'm sorry "answers" (eye roll) - without repeating from previous episodes. The show has been on since before I was born. I can't get through the day without asking the same thing like three times, probably because I smoke too much of the herbal and my short-term memory is shot, but also because sometimes I forget to listen to people. But I digress, last night they asked a question about The Hills - that's right the MTV show that is in my top five favorite shows between Top Chef and Jon & Kate Plus 8. Deadliest Catch is creeping up there too - there's something about salty, smoker fishermen, that like crabs, that must remind me of Pants. (In a good way Pants, not making any insinuation about your STD-having status, well cause that would probably make me look bad too. At any rate, I'm pretty sure Pants doesn't read anymore because he pretends to be too busy at his new job, so I can say what I want. He totally has panty lice. Ha, I kid. Oh, also, I want to second 2's farting post - it's gross and all the time.)

So the point is basically, I feel that I should try out for Jeopardy now. With this quality of quizzing, I'll clean up - those nerds won't be able to touch me. They don't take away points for misspelling that final answer - I mean question - do they? Whatev, I'll take Brilliant Jewish Blogging for $1,000 Treb.

Gassy Ass

Why do men have so much gas? If you technically are eating about the same things I am from the food triangle (and elsewhere) then explain to me why your body combusts:

• after each meal
• before each bedtime as we crawl into our freshly made bed
• when you pick up the remote control
• when we are in the car and you lock the windows so we can't breathe
• at dinner while you are still actually consuming food culprit
• in the shower, which immediately resonates into the steam and creates a gas sauna
• when we are on the phone with our grandparents
• when we are in the company of our grandparents
• in the pool, so you can see fart bubbles
• after sexy time
• when there's company over
• right after the dog farts. it's like you are in sync with the pet.
• in virtually any public place, but mostly in public scenarios where you are supposed to be quiet. Like museums. And libraries.
• right after you come out of the shitter, where you've been perched for the last 2 hours - DIDN'T YOU GET IT ALL OUT THEN?!

And for the record, boys... EACH of your BRANDs stink.

Rent-a-Schlep

So H-ette killed my idea to have movers come and pack up all our tchotchkes and such and move it all for us while we sit back and watch Design Star and sip Pinot. So I had to resort to option number two. Hired helpers to carry heavy stuff.

As H-ette and I don't actually have anywhere to move TO, we have ordered one of these POD contraptions that they drop off at your crib and you load it at your leisure. Then they come and take it away and store that puppy somewhere safe until you know where the hell in life you'll end up. I accepted H-ette's dismissal of my original idea, but I draw the line at lifting heavy things. Welcome, Moving Help. This concept is sheer brillz. You need manual labor? Well fear not - you no longer have to go down to the local 7-11 parking lot at 5 am to hire illegal Mexicans. Now, for the low, introductory rate of about $35 bucks an hour, you can legally hire dudes who come with references to come do your dirty work. They'll just show up and "carry" heavy things out of your house. Or drive your truck for you if you rented a UHaul and are scared of making right turns in that bad boy.

Now I know this isn't rocket science in terms of idea-quality, because we lazy humans have "hired help" willing to do just about anything. File our nasty toenails, scrub our dirty toilets, wash the poo stains out of our undies...but now, you too can have your very own schlepper.

All I know is this sorta sounds like I get more "me" time, and that is really all I care about anyway.

Crack is Whack

This is totally real, printed in the Detroit News to help explain the new crack rules in Michigan. Belt em boys.

Also, is it just me or does this graphic have a nice ass?!

Packing is for losers

Packing is about as much fun as a shitstorm. And guess what yours truly is doing....YET AGAIN?? That's right. Packing. Our house ended up never officially becoming 'our house.' And I say good riddance, poopy owner liar losers. But just because we made the decision to abort mission does not mean I should be forced to pack my stuff. The economy is in the crapper. People need jobs, and I just so happen to have one, that I come home quite tired from at the end of the day. Wouldn't I be a better person if instead of packing all my stupid knickknacks and pictures and books I hired some professional movers to do it? I can deduct it as charity on my taxes this year because I would probably be helping keep someone in work. Who knows, without my house to pack those movers might get laid off. The real estate market is in the crapper too, which means less people are moving anyway, so I'm sure the old "moving and storage" business isn't doing so well, except for foreclosures and those people probably write bad checks anyway. I think this is one of the best ideas I've ever had! Maybe they'll do it for half price just to get the business!

Okay, mind's made up. This go around, I'm getting the dudes to come in, boxes, bubble wrap, tape guns and nasty attitudes and pack me up nice and good, put it all into a truck and give me a ring when it's all done.

Either that, or have a tag sale this weekend and get rid of everything, and start from scratch. But that would mean I'd have to give up my Fisher Price record player, and Ette2 don't play like that.

Weekend getaways

It’s that time of year when you look outside your window and it’s bright and sunny and you think to yourself, I should be somewhere that is not this stupid office and not this stupid city. I should be vacationing damn it. It’s that fall out from 12 + years of actually having a summer vacation. You are trained to expect that time off, and your body needs it. When you become and adult and have to work the whole stupid year round, summers become a little depressing. So you try to plan little getaways to make it more bearable. Pants and I are hoping to plan a weekend away and are starting to figure out costs. We thought it would be best to keep it local to save on some cash. AC weekends are always cheesy fun, but guess what it costs for a two night stay – $1,000 – that’s right crappy little Atlantic City is a grand, and that’s for a regular room, not including transportation. I don’t know who they think they are in AC, but as I recall it’s all hookers and homeless on that boardwalk – well, that plus fudge – which almost makes it easier to ignore the homeless, but still. You try to reason that the cost is doable, cause you’ll probably “make some back on the tables,” but what that really means is you’ll actually end up spending twice as much. So you leave AC with major budget issues, with clothes that you have to burn because the stench of cigarette smoke is so firmly embedded and with a nagging “joisey” accent that you can’t kick. So not worth it, we can go to Miami for half the price.

If you can identify the lovely lady of the night in the pic, you need to cancel your HBO and get a hobby.

Independence Day

As we gear up to celebrate our beloved nation's Independence, I would like to take a moment to reflect on some of the past year's Slammin' Moments in Presidential Mockery.




And some non-video quotes, sure to make it in history text books:

"Let's make sure that there is certainty during uncertain times in our economy." -- George W. Bush, Washington, D.C., June 2, 2008

"I'll be long gone before some smart person ever figures out what happened inside this Oval Office." --George W. Bush, Washington, D.C., May 12, 2008

"A lot of times in politics you have people look you in the eye and tell you what's not on their mind." --George W. Bush, Sochi, Russia, April 6, 2008

"The best way to defeat the totalitarian of hate is with an ideology of hope -- an ideology of hate -- excuse me --with an ideology of hope." --George W. Bush, Fort Benning, Ga., Jan. 11, 2007

Happy 4th, Americanettes. As you're filling up your stupid SUV with 5 dollar a gallon gasoline, close your eyes for a moment and reflect on how proud you are to be an American. I know I will...

Sometimes autism makes you a star

This adorable little rugrat was on America's Got Talent last night, singing a sweet, sweet melody that brings back memories of Sesame Street, Muppets and afterschool 80's PBS.

He's autistic, didn't begin speaking until he was three. And when he opens his mouth for the first time, he sings. Shit you not. So here he is, a few years after the fact, and singing is really all the kid likes to do.

Let's hope his parents don't F him up, Lohan or Jackson style.

You can't make this shit up...

OK, I’m kind of mad at you guys and was planning on boycotting the blog for a couple days but today’s observation was too good. And you cranky readers should be happy because it’s about vaginas. If you don’t enjoy please tell someone else, don’t comment here. Mom warning, this is sensitive subject matter, you are too young to hear this, go to Grandparents.com.

The NYTimes online today has a story about a new spa treatment. You’ve heard of medi-spas where chicks can pop in for a little botox on their lunch break, right?! Well welcome to the vagi-spa. That’s right. They are opening a “pelvic health” center on the UES this month. Basically if you are someone who got banged out so much that your vag is all stretched out and needs tightening – this is the place for you. Here’s how it works, a gyno will prop you up on a table, stick two in and then ask you to squeeze. She’ll determine exactly how fit your vag is and based on her diagnosis she’ll provide “personal training.” For the big spenders who are too lazy for kegels, you can get electroshock therapy that causes your muscles to contract on their own, thus exercising your puss. So who do you think will be frequenting the vagi-spa?! Sad girls with mean husbands, that’s who. It is bad enough we have to go to the gym to tighten our fat asses, and spend thousands on anti-aging creams to avoid wrinkles, not to mention the hair coloring every couple months – that’s right we’re not even 30 yet and we have grey… now we have to worry about a sloppy vagina? I can’t imagine a man ever going to a spa to get his dick harder or longer for that matter. (I’m obviously not talking about Pants – because I’ve never seen it Mom – I told you not to read this!) But they wouldn’t freaking do it, and luckily for them “The Man” created a pill that does it for them. Why can’t they create a pill for a nice tight vag for the women so they don’t have to subject themselves to the ridiculously embarrassing trip to the vagi-spa. Save your money ladies and dump the loser.

Srsly?

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Et tu, Ette3?

OK, everyone give me a freaking break. I don't know how this site became a public forum for you all to criticize me everyday, but that's not how this is going to work - it's the other way around! And why am I the only one who is getting shit - Ette2 posts about her dog and husband and stuff?!

For the record, I'm doing the best I can. I am not a trained comedian, I just happen to be naturally funny and enjoy complaining. But I basically go to work, then hang out with my niece and then my boyfriend, so sorry but that's where my material is coming from. If you'd like to sponsor a trip or interesting activities to help widen my focus, then you are more than welcome, otherwise, BACK OFF BITCHES.

Jobs suck

So you get all excited for your boyfriend to get a new job, you help him search postings on industry sites, you print out clips for his portfolio and you even pick out the perfect interview outfit (and one for you too to celebrate him getting a new job) – and then he gets a job and it ruins your freaking summer.

Now Pants is on a crappy evening schedule, working 3-11 which really means 12 which means he gets home close to 1. Which means I have a lot of free time on my hands now. The upside is I get to watch all my favorite reality shows sans interruption by stupid sporting events. But there’s something about your loved one whining about needing the remote control and shoving you off the little space left on the coach that touches your heart that will be missed. And the worst part, stupid new bosses refuse to allow time off for important pre-planned trips to Lake Tahoe, ruining your vacation on top of running your summer. Now I’m considering the pros and cons of Pants being employed:

Pros:
More money to buy me stuff and pay for dinners
Cons:
Less free time to cook me dinners and clean the apartment

Pros:
Health and life insurance
Cons:
We’re not married, so I don’t benefit from either

Pros:
He shaves more often now so I don’t have to kiss a scratchy face
Cons:
He leaves his whiskers in the sink crudding it all up and leaving it for me to clean

Pros:
His own personal satisfaction or whatever
Cons:
My own personal boredom

I say the cons have it, quit your job Pants and just be my houseman, we won’t be able to afford food and rent and stuff, but at least we’ll have each other.