Candy Babies! Is this okay?

Today I was surfing around on the facebook and I saw the following image on my ad-bar:

This is a giant hand holding little babies like they're peanuts.

Am I truly a psychopath or does this disturb anyone else?

My immediate thought was: 'Why are they making baby shaped candy now?'

My second thought was: 'Wait? Are those actual babies?'

This was quickly followed by: 'That is a very large hand.
. . .
I wonder what the rest of him looks like.
. . .
I guess that's kind of dirty.'

Also, what does this exactly have to do with ultrasound technology? Yes I understand that's how they come up with those creepy 3-D profile pictures of everyone who is and ever will be preggers from this point forward on the Facebook* but there are other things you can view with an ultrasound. Why not have a stock image of an actual ultrasound machine. Or better yet, a semi-pro medical professional in loud scrubs holding an imaging wand and looking pleased about gainful employment. That seems as if it would attract more traffic than a giant hand holding babies like one would hold M&M's? It's as if the giant has a bag of babies and he's just shaken a couple out into in his hand to devour for a snack.

This is truly disturbing! As I've mentioned. Who would decide to make baby shaped candies? Disturbed people, that's who! But way to go Facebook for adding a little creep to my mid-afternoon. I'll promise to stop deleting my browser cookies, if you'll promise to invade my privacy by monitoring my web shopping habits and go back to popping up customized shoe ads.


*On a side note I think I've figured out how to get gall stones so I can actually can post those ultrasound pictures of my gallbladder like when I first told you of my qualms about ultrasound images for profile pictures, here: It's your insides. Keep it to yourself. Yes, I'm considering giving myself gall stones to get an ultrasound and put the images on the interwebs for all of creation to see. Because that is acceptable now. I keep an open mind and I find it's discriminatory to other organs to exclude them from their own notoriety.

Things White People should stop doing.

Here is a list of things that White People should stop doing:

1. Hip hop line dances. For serious ya'll, lets give the black people back the electric slide. Every time they come up with a new line dance we take it away. I'm going on record right now that never, have I ever, done or will ever do the cupid shuffle. Ever.

2. Any other dance-like movement besides the waving of one's hand back and forth in concert with other white people. White people. have. no. rhythm. I watched the announcement of the Grammy nominees the other night and watched white people try to dance to Grandmaster Flash and it just wasn't working. Not even a little bit. But they did finally manage to get the hand thing down.

3. Stop standing like this: Who honestly stands like this at a party? or anywhere really?

4. Coming to a complete stop to turn right. And braking on the highway. You bought that expensive ass Lexus SUV. DRIVE THE FUCKING THING.

5. Naming your children after inanimate objects. Quart is a measurement not a name.  Name your baby Adam and move on. Also names that repeat the same name: William Williams or Neil McNeil. Razor Death-Metal Jones is also not acceptable. Giving your kid a 'hard' name only cements their future in the illicit drug industry.

6. Theme Parties. Yes, they're still as asinine as they were in college. It's just that now we can't drink the shame away as easily.

7. Skiing. Think about it. Who honestly came up with this idea? 'You know what Muffy, I've just had the most splendid idea. We should strap sticks to our feet and slid down that mountain, in the cold mind you, in the snow at a rapid velocity!' I'll tell you who: White People. Black people have enough sense to know that if God wanted us to play in the snow he'd have given us fur.

8. Buying useless expensive appliances. I saw an advertisement on tv for a blender that can cook your soup after it has pureed your vegetable. If you are honestly too lazy or don't have time enough to pour your puree out of blender and into a fucking pot you need to just bite the bullet and hire some help. The same goes for that robot that moves around your room and vacuums your floors for you. If you're going to buy it, buy it to entertain your dog. The fat-ass probably needs some exercise. (Have you noticed that the obesity epidemic is moving to our pets now too? Geez oh pete.)

9. Camping. Yes, please let us venture into the wilderness so we can be eaten by bears and sleep on the lumpy ground. Only white people. Every other ethnicity in the world is trying to get out of the wilderness and we're trying to get back in it. All you can do is shake your head.

10. Watching reality television marathons. If I see one more episode of Storage Wars my head is going to snap off of my body. I went to the beach with my mom last weekend after Thanksgiving, because we're white and go to the beach in the winter -- obviously, and she made me watch no less than 10 hours of Storage Wars. I put my foot down before the marathon of Gold Rush and watched a Will Ferrell movie on TBS. I forget which one. They're all pretty much the same; that's a different list.

Bitches with Brazilians in Barroom Bathrooms

There is an epidemic going on in this great country of ours.

Do not get me wrong. I support every woman's right to go have all of the hair ripped off of her vagina by an old socialist Soviet. This is America and it is still a free country.

My problem is more of a logistical issue.

You see when you have no hair on your woo-woo there is nothing to direct your stream of pee. It just kind of goes out in a spray, instead of down. Especially if you're half-drunk and do not have the proper muscle control to pee with enough velocity to force the stream down into the bowl.

So the next unsuspecting person trots into the bathroom and finds the seat besmattered with piss. I imagine this is a common problem with boys because I hear horror stories of women cleaning their bathroom walls because their boys, husbands, boyfriends, visitors piss on the walls instead of into the toilet. I do not know. I do not let men piss in my bathroom. If you comment on the picture on the wall above my toilet you are not invited back to my house. Plain and simple. You've clearly over-stayed your welcome because you shouldn't have had time to go pee before you put your clothes back on and left.

You're thinking to yourself: But Anna, you don't actually sit on the toilet seat do you?

No, I do not. Unless I'm half-drunk and do not have the proper muscle control to hold myself up while my lazy bladder tries to push out the 3.5 beers worth of pee that have accumulated in my bladder. By then I probably have forgotten because I'm trying too hard not to piss on my actual self because I've stood in line for 20 minutes waiting to actually go piss. I cannot multi-task whilst inebriated; I can only handle one thing at a time.

Ladies, if you're gonna go whole hog and go Brazilian down under, sit the fuck down on the toilet.

You want me to do what exactly?

The other day my trainer (I know, I know.) wanted/expected me to climb the rock wall in our gym for exercise. I protested and he wanted to know why.

Nevermind the fact that I have T-rex arms, you know the whole 'teeny arms that cannot support body weight' argument, but have you seen a rock climbing harness? They're hideous.

Look at her ass? It's like right there.

He of course wanted to know why. So for the first time in our relationship as trainer and trainee I was painfully honest.

I told him that I was not climbing the rock wall because I was not putting on that god awful rock climbing harness. "I've seen people in these things and if you think I'm going to put my ass in that contraption and scutter up a wall for God and all of his creatures to see, you're crazy." I have a nice ass. I know this because I notice people noticing it in an admirable fashion not in a 'oh my God, that's a big ass' fashion. You can tell the difference because the former is has a subtle affirmative head nod and the latter carries an expression of widened eyes and a slightly agape mouth. But I've seen fat people at our gym in the rock climbing harness and it's less than flattering. (I tried really hard to find a picture of a fat person in a rock climbing harness and the google has failed me yet again.) This is why there are people out there that free climb. They've realized how hideous their nether parts look in a rock climbing harness and they've made the proper fashion choice and left the fucking harness at home.

He was less than pleased but I didn't climb the damn wall.

Bitches Need to Hide Their Snatch 'Til April

Look. New rule: If you're older than the temperature your snatch goes into hibernation. This doesn't mean if you've got a regular lay you have to sew it up during the cold weather months.

It means if you're blessed enough to have someone that wants to screw when it's 12 degrees outside you keep that shit wrapped up nice and warm. So your boo is doubly appreciative. Why do you think there are so many September and October babies? Because folks get bored and try to find a warm place to hide the salami.

There is no need whatsoever to wear your shortest strapless ensemble to the bar when it is literally 20 degrees outside. Then you just look dumb. Apparently this is a popular look. This is mostly why I'm single, because I refuse to succumb. I'm a righteous bia-tch and will always be. Anyone who has told you that I'm a nice person is a liar. I'm not. And I revel in it. Immensely.

I was informed this evening that my name is Nicole and I work for the YMCA and I'm a bitch. Too bad he got half of it right. I work for a 4-letter acronym and am a total bitch. But call me Nicole and see if I don't bust a cap in your ass. Try me. I'm ghetto. Ask me about my high-school.

The point being this: If you're older than the temperature, PUT ON PANTS. No one likes a frostbitten snatch. At least I'm assuming as much. Frankly, lesbians scare me. A lot.

I mean I support their right to love snatch and all; it just scares me. I don't think you can ever really trust anyone in a sports bra toting a Smirnoff Ice.

Besides, if you're a li-besian drinking Smirnoff Ice is it really worth it? Think about it. . .

My opinion on an article I just read.

Here is the article I just read: Article.

It's an article about why boys play with sticks. It goes onto talk about the gender disparity of toy choices between small children. Boys like to play with things that move and that sticks often resemble weapons and boys like to tear/maim/kill shit so naturally they like sticks. They go on to say that girls are not so judicious in their toy choices.

First of all, I take offense to their evidence that girls will play with whatever. Um, hello, that just means that girls are adaptable and boys are brats. I am sticking my tongue out to the author of the article.

I know, I know. I'm a grown-up. Can't you tell?

Secondly, I can tell you why boys play with sticks and it has nothing to do with their preference for moving parts or their predilection for manipulating things. Well it kind of does have something to do with their penchant to manipulate things.

It's because they have a penis. And they're taught at an early age that you cannot sit around playing with your penis all day long so what's the second best option? Play with something that resembles your penis. Hello, phallus type objects?  Swords, guns, monuments, etc.

I'll leave you with this link and then you can tell me I'm wrong.

Didn't think so.

Fat Girls in Hooker Shoes

Here's the problem with fat girls in hooker shoes. It's not that they're trying too hard or trying to overcompensate for being chunky or for having too much junk in the trunk. It's not the fact those shoes are hideous with their bedazzled strapiness and platform soles. I don't even mind that the shirt you're wearing with the pucci print clashes horribly with your camo handbag. We'll also ignore that your shoes are adorned with pink rhinestones.

Homegirl does get kudos for not having butterflies on her shoes and not having one of those mini bookbags for a purse.

My problem with the whole situation is that it defies the physical laws of nature. If your feet look like blood sausages that have been crammed into little miniature strappy bedazzled tourniquets then it has to be next to impossible for you to remain upright. I would surmise that the enormity of your nether regions brings your center of gravity closer to the ground thus enabling you to wear your hooker shoes without toppling over. How your ankles don't become impacted I'll never know.

Yes, I'm That person.

I will beat your kids in public if they're not behaving. I will reprimand random teenagers if they're being disrespectful. I will tell you how you suck at being a parent.

I'm at the doctor's office with my mother. There is a pregnant woman here with three children under the age of 6. And one on the way. Did I mention she's preggers AGAIN? The youngest, about 1, has done nothing but sob and cry continuously since they've been here. The middle one is running around the office lobby knocking things over and being a general pest and the oldest one is off somewhere getting x-rayed. I imagine this is the result of her careless and neglectful mother; she probably was off doing something dangerous while her mother stared into oblivion. Her mother, who, I might add, has not once gotten off her fat-ass to do anything about her children. I should also mention that 2 of her 3 children only have on one shoe.

I know what you're thinking, that they're probably destitute and can't afford two shoes. No. These kids all look healthy and well groomed. They're wearing nice clothes and the shoes they do have are nicer than mine. She's just lazy. I understand lazy. I am the epitomy of lazy. I can spot it from a mile off, as the crow flies. (I'm good but I am lazy. It would take much more effort to spot laziness around a curve and I'm just not willing to do that.) But I will be damned if I'm going to sit around in public while my children are running around like a bunch of rabid, stupid prairie dogs whining and crying and being destructive all whilst foaming at the mouth and snot dripping down their face. It's a matter of upholding an image. Your children are a reflection of you. Well-behaved, pleasant and polite children make people think you are well-behaved, pleasant and polite. All the while, you may be a chronic alcholic and no one would know! Well at least not until your children are old enough to begin manifesting signs of emotional abuse and binge drinking. If you think about it, it just makes good sense to make your children behave. Think of all the hitches, problems, crisises, and personalities you could keep squirreled away from the world simply by having good kids. I know from personal experience it works. And not because I have kids of my own. . .

I understand that the woman has to be tired. 3 small children and 1 on the way. She's obviously a baby factory but that's no excuse. It's one thing to be complacent and give up but couldn't she have picked a different morning? One when, I, wasn't there?

Fashion No-No's I noticed whilst at the bar, Sober.

Okay. Here is a list of things I noticed at the bar in the last ten minutes, whilst sipping on my vodka-tonic:

1. Polka dots are supposed to be small. The size restriction on polka dots should be limited to less than a 2 inch diameter.

2. Sandwiches are our friends.

3. So is purging after we binge. Bulimia is sometimes under-rated.

4. Leopard print and acid washed denim do not match. Commit fully to the leopard print or don't. Either way it's an all or nothing situation.

5. Smocks belong at the art studio.

6. If your earings look like the tail-end of an exotic parrot. . .yeah, that's a no. And it probably has mites.

7. You're not cool because your shirt says 'SL,UT - Salt Lake, Utah.' You're an automatic douchebag.

8. Just because your dress is short does not give you carte blanche to show the back half of the bar your snatch. In fact, in a short dress you work harder to hide it. It may look like roast beef but no one really likes Arby's anyway; it's just an option when the Wendy's is closed.

9. Dale Earnhardt has been dead for years now. Let it go.

10. Florals really do belong on furniture. And that's about it. You look like my gramma's couch.

Stay posted. We may be here a while.

It's totally Romper-ific!

Imagine that after you read the title there's a token picture of some cheesy game-show guy giving you the thumbs up and doing that hokey sideways grin. I would find one but I'm not sure how to google that.

So this little morsel of the delight has been stuck in my craw for a while now.

Apparently the "Romper" is back. Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Are you kidding me?

Attention peoples of the world: The romper is not attractive. Nor is it functional. How do you pee in that thing? Oh that's right, you have to get completely freaking naked to do it. At least with wee-people's rompers they have the whole flap thing. I think that if as an adult you're going to commit to a romper you should at least invest in one with a crotch flap so when you pee at the bar you don't have to expose yourself in strange, unclean places. That cannot be sanitary.

Just so that we're clear. I have never been naked in a public restroom therefore I feel that I can indeed judge those who have.

It should be a sign that when you google the word romper and then go to images of rompers, there are 3 pages of adult sized rompers and 8 pages of children sized rompers. Maybe that's because they're cute on children???? Maaaayyyybbbeeee? The idea of adult fashion is so that you look like an adult, not like an adult moonlighting as a four year old. That invites all sorts of dirty, dirty old men and their lecherous stares and no one finds that fun. Except girls in rompers. Obviously.

Rompers are beach wear and wearing them in public, public that isn't the beach, doesn't make you avant-garde. It makes you tacky. Obviously tacky. You don't see people ice-skating down 4th street in the summer. That is because there is a time and place for certain articles of clothing; there is a reason why you don't wear your couture gown to play softball.

Besides, do you really want to own anything that has it's own section in the American Apparel catalog?



Didn't think so.

Excuse me, is that a baby or are you stopped up?

Please excuse the lewdity of the blog title but I've got a bone to pick.

I understand that you, fellow facebook patron are preggers. And I'm oh-so-excited that you've decided to extend your gene pool and make the world a pseudo-better place by deciding that your genes need replicating. Honestly, I'm tickled pink.

What I do not need to see however, is your 3-d, 2-d, 4-d or seventy-eleven-d ultrasound. I'll take your word that there is something growing in your uterus. Don't mistake me, pictures of pregnant women are precious. It's really a beautiful thing. WHEN I'M NOT SEEING YOUR INSIDES! You're essentially putting up naked pictures. I'm pretty sure that your uterus doesn't wear a hat (unless you're one of those weirdo's that still uses a cervical cap but then if you did that we wouldn't be seeing the thing growing inside of you, would we?)

Honestly, if your gall-bladder was inflamed are you going to put that ultrasound up? It's nearly the same thing. You've felt crappy for days on end, your abdomen is distended, you're puking your brains out and you finally realize why. Your gallbladder is pissed off! Where are all those ultrasounds? I would think figuring that out would be a happy occasion and cause for celebration? You no longer will be a raging bitch to anyone that mentions food.

And no, I'm not mentioning this because my uterus is lonely. I've come to terms with that. I've decided to just purchase children when I'm compelled to squirt one out. Or maybe just rent them.

But seriously, when I get the joyous experience of being in constant discomfort for 9 months I will not be putting up pictures of my insides. You'll see the baby once I've shat it from my womb and after it's been cleaned up a bit, and had time for it's little head to get rid of that cone shape. The people that will be dealing with me during the time of misery may see the ultrasound pictures, most namely my future-husband and my mother, who will most probably decide that it's a perfect time for that extended vacation to Mexico. For everyone else I'll get a sharpie and we can have weekly game nights were we can play "Preggers Pictionary!" The fun game where we draw the baby on my stomach and you guess whether it's baby, tumor or gas.

A Cultural No-No: Stupid Names for your Baby

This is your PSA for the day.

Do not make up the name for your child. No one thinks you're creative, they think you're stupid. And your children will suffer. I promise. Especially a name that resembles farm buildings.

Since everyone I know is either hitched or shacked up and squirting out babies, the Great Baby Naming Escapade of my generation has begun. The sad part about this is that the tacky people I went to high school with, Guess what? They're still tacky. Except now they're just exemplifying their tackyness by naming their kids stupid things. It's one thing if every male in your family for the last 14 generations has been named Hoyt. That's excusable. Cael is not. Especially when neither you or your husband are the least bit Scottish/Welsh/Old English.

It's okay to be creative. I know people that have super creative names and it's cool. Regan, for example. What an amazing name. Actually that whole family has super awesome names and I'm not just saying that because I heart them all mucho. Actually one of them has the coolest middle name in all of modern history. Gray. Yeah it's pretty awesome.

Speaking of my name, I used to hate it. Mostly because every time my mother ever needed to reach me at school she told them my full name. So I always heard: Anna Gray, please report to the front office. Or they would page me in class: Mrs. King, do you have Anna Gray in class? It was a point of contention for many years. Now I've come to terms with it. I actually like it. Mostly because my grandmother divulged that I'm named after her, her name being Annie. My middle name comes from my dad who was named after the doctor that saved his father's life in WWII. Hence I became Anna Gray. I think it's pretty awesome. But by now you've realized that I often have a healthy sense of self-aggrandizement.

So remember kids: Don't make up creative names for your children. You look stupid and your kids will be douchebags out of necessity.

Unless it's something super awesome like, Annika Boomquisha. That we can live with.

Grown men should not wear culottes.

Under no circumstances is this acceptable. In any way.

If your shorts are so baggy that from half a block away they resemble culottes then you need to purchase shorts that aren't so ill-fitting.

The other fashion faux-pas that gets on my nerves is anything Ed Hardy or Christian Aud-I-Can't-Design whoever he is. It's seriously helpful though because it's an automatic douchebag label. It says:

"Hi. Although I may have decent taste in clothes and an age-appropriate fashion sense, I choose to surrender to peer pressure and bad marketing and buy these horribly tacky clothes that are over-priced and cheaply made to boot! And thankfully they make these hideous clothing items for the whole family!"

I was reading in the Harper's Bazaar the other day about trends you should abandon, and these included baby doll shirts and neon. Someone honestly thought for five minutes that neon was back? God rue the day. And baby doll shirts are just poor design choices. They're cute on the appropriate people. Those of the female persuasion aged 3 and below.

You know what's never going out of style?

Classic designs that fit and are age-appropriate. There is something to be said for self-realization. Proper fashion choices can be made by everyone by accepting an accurate perception of gender, body size and age.

You too can make proper fashion choices!

This message brought to you by your local hyper-critical fashion critic extraordinaire.