Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Palm Beach Ken is the guy my Barbies would've played with...
This is the new Ken doll from Mattel. Yes, really. I saw it on Dlisted and nearly peed my pants laughing. Finally--a super gay Ken!! And now, for the product description:"Cool sophistication in breezy Palm Beach! Sporting a dashing jacquard-patterned jacket with a light pink polo shirt and crisp white pants, Ken doll is ready for Palm Beach social season, sunning by the pool and a stroll with his little companion. Fashion designed exclusively for the Silkstone Barbie doll body includes Ken doll, jacket, pink polo shirt, white shoes, dog with leash, swim trunks and accessories, doll stand and certificate of authenticity. For the adult collector. Order yours today!"
Seriously? That's amazing.
Monday, October 26, 2009
How can it be?
I am a little confused.
Not to be super emo, or dwell or anything, but how can it possibly be that when I keep myself as distant as I do with men, I still feel the burn and dirty sick-to-my-stomach feeling when I break things off.
It happened with Ray. Ray offended me to no end, and it was only logical to cut him off. He agreed. His friends were bigots and had their paws all over me. They talked shit about my roomates and friends for their sexual orientations, and Ray didn't stick up for us at all. So he was out. Boom. Gone. But for a month I felt terrible. I was hurtful and hateful and nasty to him. He deserved it, but still. Gross. I hate being that way, but it's some strange unstoppable self-defense power storm of ickiness.
It happened before that when I slept with Robert. He was a total cad, a douche, a nut. He had an over-inflated ego and thought he was somehow going to save the world. Truth be told, he was dreadful, and I didn't really like him. But I wanted to, and the rejection from him turned me into a drunk, easy mark and resulted in affairs with people I wouldn't normally give the time of day.
And now it's happening again. Did you read my last post? How mean was that? And when someone is kind of terrible to me, will it always be my reaction to be so much more terrible that they are inevitably hurt, offended and want nothing to do with me? If so, is that okay? Is that smart--a form of self-perseverance? Like, if I offend them to the point they will never come back, or never talk to me again, then am I ensuring I will never have to make the decision to let them back in?
"Life is everybody's personal untrained hammerhead shark, full of thwacking emotional whiplash and spinal emergency, full of weighty grace and random threat." --Cintra Wilson
I think the answer is complicated. The answers. Multiple answers. I think the truth is that I am a little crazy, and I am very intolerant of any kind of fuckery at the hands of men in my life. I hope that one day I will meet someone who is interested enough in me to bear through that, and I hope that this person I meet will interest me enough to inspire me to be more tolerant. In the mean time, I suppose I'll stick with the old cookie analogy. No matter how far I come, no matter how many things I change about my life, I am still cookie dough. One day, I hope to be cookies. Then you all can eat me! Ha ha. Yeah I said it.
Going back to the kitchen. Got some baking to do.
Not to be super emo, or dwell or anything, but how can it possibly be that when I keep myself as distant as I do with men, I still feel the burn and dirty sick-to-my-stomach feeling when I break things off.
It happened with Ray. Ray offended me to no end, and it was only logical to cut him off. He agreed. His friends were bigots and had their paws all over me. They talked shit about my roomates and friends for their sexual orientations, and Ray didn't stick up for us at all. So he was out. Boom. Gone. But for a month I felt terrible. I was hurtful and hateful and nasty to him. He deserved it, but still. Gross. I hate being that way, but it's some strange unstoppable self-defense power storm of ickiness.
It happened before that when I slept with Robert. He was a total cad, a douche, a nut. He had an over-inflated ego and thought he was somehow going to save the world. Truth be told, he was dreadful, and I didn't really like him. But I wanted to, and the rejection from him turned me into a drunk, easy mark and resulted in affairs with people I wouldn't normally give the time of day.
And now it's happening again. Did you read my last post? How mean was that? And when someone is kind of terrible to me, will it always be my reaction to be so much more terrible that they are inevitably hurt, offended and want nothing to do with me? If so, is that okay? Is that smart--a form of self-perseverance? Like, if I offend them to the point they will never come back, or never talk to me again, then am I ensuring I will never have to make the decision to let them back in?
"Life is everybody's personal untrained hammerhead shark, full of thwacking emotional whiplash and spinal emergency, full of weighty grace and random threat." --Cintra Wilson
I think the answer is complicated. The answers. Multiple answers. I think the truth is that I am a little crazy, and I am very intolerant of any kind of fuckery at the hands of men in my life. I hope that one day I will meet someone who is interested enough in me to bear through that, and I hope that this person I meet will interest me enough to inspire me to be more tolerant. In the mean time, I suppose I'll stick with the old cookie analogy. No matter how far I come, no matter how many things I change about my life, I am still cookie dough. One day, I hope to be cookies. Then you all can eat me! Ha ha. Yeah I said it.
Going back to the kitchen. Got some baking to do.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Lovers lost, and of course, their pants...
Sweet holy Hannah! Another one bites the dust!
Let's see where do I begin? It all started with a pair of pants.
I was dating a guy. We will call him Mister Short Rib. I don't really have a good reason for naming him this, but our last date took place at Korean BBQ, and that's what he ordered, so, there you go.
Mister Short Rib wasn't a nice guy, per se. But Mister Short Rib was nice to me. On our first date, he took me somewhere proper and lovely. He didn't scrimp, and the conversation was decent, if not entirely thrilling. For our second date, we drank and made out. He treated me, which was a really nice change of pace. He was a good kisser at first, so that tossed points in his direction as well. On our third date, he made me dinner, allowed me to get properly wino-ed, and threw me in a hot tub. Naturally, we started sleeping together about the second my brain warmed to the temp of the hot tub. What can I say. Wine and water. A dangerous combination for a girl on the loose. Also, he had a story about saving baby squirrels and even had cellphone pictures to prove it! Like any girl in her hot-tubbed, drunken mind--after a yummy dinner mind you--would be able to resist a man who saves squirrels. I was done for.
A month passed. We gave eachother kinda nicknames and spoke in odd half spanish kissing codes. We got used to each other's bodies, we tip toed around one another's egos. The highlight of our romance was when Mister Short Rib brought me a morning after pill at work. We had a little slip--literally--and I hadn't had time to pick one up between my jobs. Ha ha, I'm serious when I say that's the nicest thing a guy has done for me in a while. Let me please stress to you that my standards--although higher than ever--are still INCREDIBLY LOW. I find romance in emergency contraceptives. Ladies, if you've ever for some odd reason envied me? Yeah, now is the time to come to your senses and STOP.
Well, back to the pants. At one point, I had left my clothes on Mister Short Rib's porch, and they were soaked with dew the following morning. (How did you leave your pants on someone's porch, you ask? Wine. Hot tub. You do the math.) So he made the tragic and predictable mistake of loaning me super comfy PJ pants. I mean, we are talking SUPER COMFY. By far the second comfiest pants I have ever robbed a man of. Anyone who knows me knows I collect men's pants, whether they allow me to or not. Still, Mister Short Rib wanted his pants back. I--naturally--wouldn't budge, but instead cemented what I would repesct as our verbal contract--and he, of course would not: That if our realtionship ended on bad terms because of his despicable behavior, or him doing something tragic and awful to me, then I would keep the pants. If I were the purveyor of such sin, and broke Mister Spare Rib's little pissant heart, then I would return the pants laundered and in a timely fashion.
Well. The fucker wants his pants back. And honestly, I think I'm just going to give them to him. Besides, why on earth would a girl like me want the schrapnel or a dating past with some guy who a.) never said thank you for dinner the other night b.) commented on how hot her roomate is (A stupid mistake--guys YOU NEVER DO THAT!) c.) ignored and interrupted her everytime she tried to talk about anything more important than chit-chat and d.) then repeatedly ignored her TO TALK TO HER ROOMATE AT A BAR WHILE PRACTICALLY SITTING ON TOP OF HER RIGHT AFTER MENTIONING HOW HOT AND COMPATIBLE HE THOUGHT THEY WERE.
You know, traditionally, "wearing the pants," is a masculine cliche of sorts, and is used to describe a person being in control of a household or situation. So in good spirits I really do intend on returning his ugly fucking pants. Because I think we all know that I am already wearing the proverbial pants in my dating life, and that fucker Mr. Short Rib is so done it's not even funny. Like seriously, I lost it and was like "BYE!" right there at the bar. He whimpered a little, like, "Don't I get a chance to explain?" and of course I was like, "No." What the hell is there to explain? You are not interested in me at all. Nothing that has come out of my mouth--other than kisses and blow jobs or stories you can repeat to make your life seem more interesting--has ever been of interest to you. You, instead, are interested in making me feel terrible by blatantly hitting on my roomate in a bar full of people I know.
The lesson I have learned from this is as follows:
Girls, date hot guys who may be a little out of your league. Do not settle for less. Sure, dating someone super-dead-sexy can be a challenge, because they have other options, your friends will be jelous, etc. But still. When you inevitably have to dump your lover-turned-douchebag for doing something completely asinine and hurtful, the only solace you will have is that the sex was great while it lasted, and the guy was fucking hot. If you get your little heart trampled on by someone who weighs less than you, is barely packing, and has just a case of the mediocres going on? How fucking humiliating is that! You let THAT GUY hurt YOU???!!! Don't be a total idiot. Go for the gold.
So, pardon me. I will of course have casual flings with all kinds of people. But never, ever EVER will I take a long-term lover who isn't the finest fucking piece you've set your jealous eyes on. Well, that or Lebron James. Or TONY DANZA.
NEXT!
Let's see where do I begin? It all started with a pair of pants.
I was dating a guy. We will call him Mister Short Rib. I don't really have a good reason for naming him this, but our last date took place at Korean BBQ, and that's what he ordered, so, there you go.
Mister Short Rib wasn't a nice guy, per se. But Mister Short Rib was nice to me. On our first date, he took me somewhere proper and lovely. He didn't scrimp, and the conversation was decent, if not entirely thrilling. For our second date, we drank and made out. He treated me, which was a really nice change of pace. He was a good kisser at first, so that tossed points in his direction as well. On our third date, he made me dinner, allowed me to get properly wino-ed, and threw me in a hot tub. Naturally, we started sleeping together about the second my brain warmed to the temp of the hot tub. What can I say. Wine and water. A dangerous combination for a girl on the loose. Also, he had a story about saving baby squirrels and even had cellphone pictures to prove it! Like any girl in her hot-tubbed, drunken mind--after a yummy dinner mind you--would be able to resist a man who saves squirrels. I was done for.
A month passed. We gave eachother kinda nicknames and spoke in odd half spanish kissing codes. We got used to each other's bodies, we tip toed around one another's egos. The highlight of our romance was when Mister Short Rib brought me a morning after pill at work. We had a little slip--literally--and I hadn't had time to pick one up between my jobs. Ha ha, I'm serious when I say that's the nicest thing a guy has done for me in a while. Let me please stress to you that my standards--although higher than ever--are still INCREDIBLY LOW. I find romance in emergency contraceptives. Ladies, if you've ever for some odd reason envied me? Yeah, now is the time to come to your senses and STOP.
Well, back to the pants. At one point, I had left my clothes on Mister Short Rib's porch, and they were soaked with dew the following morning. (How did you leave your pants on someone's porch, you ask? Wine. Hot tub. You do the math.) So he made the tragic and predictable mistake of loaning me super comfy PJ pants. I mean, we are talking SUPER COMFY. By far the second comfiest pants I have ever robbed a man of. Anyone who knows me knows I collect men's pants, whether they allow me to or not. Still, Mister Short Rib wanted his pants back. I--naturally--wouldn't budge, but instead cemented what I would repesct as our verbal contract--and he, of course would not: That if our realtionship ended on bad terms because of his despicable behavior, or him doing something tragic and awful to me, then I would keep the pants. If I were the purveyor of such sin, and broke Mister Spare Rib's little pissant heart, then I would return the pants laundered and in a timely fashion.
Well. The fucker wants his pants back. And honestly, I think I'm just going to give them to him. Besides, why on earth would a girl like me want the schrapnel or a dating past with some guy who a.) never said thank you for dinner the other night b.) commented on how hot her roomate is (A stupid mistake--guys YOU NEVER DO THAT!) c.) ignored and interrupted her everytime she tried to talk about anything more important than chit-chat and d.) then repeatedly ignored her TO TALK TO HER ROOMATE AT A BAR WHILE PRACTICALLY SITTING ON TOP OF HER RIGHT AFTER MENTIONING HOW HOT AND COMPATIBLE HE THOUGHT THEY WERE.
You know, traditionally, "wearing the pants," is a masculine cliche of sorts, and is used to describe a person being in control of a household or situation. So in good spirits I really do intend on returning his ugly fucking pants. Because I think we all know that I am already wearing the proverbial pants in my dating life, and that fucker Mr. Short Rib is so done it's not even funny. Like seriously, I lost it and was like "BYE!" right there at the bar. He whimpered a little, like, "Don't I get a chance to explain?" and of course I was like, "No." What the hell is there to explain? You are not interested in me at all. Nothing that has come out of my mouth--other than kisses and blow jobs or stories you can repeat to make your life seem more interesting--has ever been of interest to you. You, instead, are interested in making me feel terrible by blatantly hitting on my roomate in a bar full of people I know.
The lesson I have learned from this is as follows:
Girls, date hot guys who may be a little out of your league. Do not settle for less. Sure, dating someone super-dead-sexy can be a challenge, because they have other options, your friends will be jelous, etc. But still. When you inevitably have to dump your lover-turned-douchebag for doing something completely asinine and hurtful, the only solace you will have is that the sex was great while it lasted, and the guy was fucking hot. If you get your little heart trampled on by someone who weighs less than you, is barely packing, and has just a case of the mediocres going on? How fucking humiliating is that! You let THAT GUY hurt YOU???!!! Don't be a total idiot. Go for the gold.
So, pardon me. I will of course have casual flings with all kinds of people. But never, ever EVER will I take a long-term lover who isn't the finest fucking piece you've set your jealous eyes on. Well, that or Lebron James. Or TONY DANZA.
NEXT!
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
I have been waiting for this for my ENTIRE LIFE!
All I want for Christmas is a micro-piglet. You KNOW how I feel about baby animals. Hell, just look at my choice in dog! These piggies stay little just like tiny babies for their entire lives. Pigs are incredibly smart, mischevious, and fun to play with. Here, take a look!
I WANT I WANT I WANT!
I WANT I WANT I WANT!
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Let's Get it ON...
I discovered a feature available on my Myspace blogs a few weeks back, and now I can enter any date in the past several years, and view my blog for said date. It's kind of amazing. Late last night, I found this little gem from 2006, around the same time of year...
AURIANE'S INFALLIBLE GUIDE TO SEDUCTION!!!
1.) You must first set the mood. To do so, I recommend sexy lighting, sounds, and smells. My personal trick? Light approximately 12 citronella candles all around your bed, and burn a cermonial lock of your own hair. If you can do it while it is still on your head, the Sexy Gods say you will have a ripple-effect orgasm. Those are the rare ones. As for music, I recommend a lovely mix of Bad Boy Bill's Bangin' the Box Volume 2, Lionel Ritchie, the soundtrack to the Little Mermaid, and of course (this one's essential) Carmen Electra's funky and sensual hit "Everybody Get on up!" "Brother for Sale" by the Olsen Twins (pre-menstruation) is also a sexy tune that really puts guys in the mood.
2.) Now that your home smells delicious, the lights are low, and the sounds are right, you must take into account the often underestimated sex appeal of bringing food into the bedroom. I don't know how many of you have eaten pork rinds off a man's scrotum, but let me tell you, it's a wild ride! Other top sensual foods that I recommend? Chocolate covered worms, the spray variation of "I Can't Believe it's Not Butter," Grandma Utz Homecooked Potato Chips, and of course split pea soup.
3.) Sexual positions are very important indeed, but even more crucial is the way you position your wheelchair for the big night. I have found that laying it on its side as if you have fallen and can't get up really achieves that helpless female thing some less-dominant males need to get their sexual hormones a stirrin'! If you don't have a wheelchair, a Rascal will do, but be careful not to get semen on the fabric console. Trust me, it's a real bitch to get out!
4.) Finally, watching a sexy movie when it's time to cool down can help the actual event last longer! I've found that playing Love and Human Remains or and respectable Jean Claude Van Damme movie can light a seemingly exhausted desire-fire. If you can't find these at your local video store, Mommie Dearest will do. Still can't find one? Settle for Maid in Manhattan. Every horny guy LOVES a romantic comedy.
Alright girls. Get to it!
Obviously, I have been a genius at romance since my very early 20s. Don't be jealous. If you follow my lead, you too can be as charismatic and score with the same winners I do--CONSTANTLY!
Also, oddly enough, I found out only moments after posting this little tidbit that Carmen Electra is actually recording again. In case you missed her earlier success, here it is, in full 90s style!
Oh, but wait! This one is BY FAR my favorite display of her talents! EVERYBODY GET ON UP!
Read about the awful idea that is re-vamping her music career, here.
And FYI? She hasn't gotten much better, people.
AURIANE'S INFALLIBLE GUIDE TO SEDUCTION!!!
1.) You must first set the mood. To do so, I recommend sexy lighting, sounds, and smells. My personal trick? Light approximately 12 citronella candles all around your bed, and burn a cermonial lock of your own hair. If you can do it while it is still on your head, the Sexy Gods say you will have a ripple-effect orgasm. Those are the rare ones. As for music, I recommend a lovely mix of Bad Boy Bill's Bangin' the Box Volume 2, Lionel Ritchie, the soundtrack to the Little Mermaid, and of course (this one's essential) Carmen Electra's funky and sensual hit "Everybody Get on up!" "Brother for Sale" by the Olsen Twins (pre-menstruation) is also a sexy tune that really puts guys in the mood.
2.) Now that your home smells delicious, the lights are low, and the sounds are right, you must take into account the often underestimated sex appeal of bringing food into the bedroom. I don't know how many of you have eaten pork rinds off a man's scrotum, but let me tell you, it's a wild ride! Other top sensual foods that I recommend? Chocolate covered worms, the spray variation of "I Can't Believe it's Not Butter," Grandma Utz Homecooked Potato Chips, and of course split pea soup.
3.) Sexual positions are very important indeed, but even more crucial is the way you position your wheelchair for the big night. I have found that laying it on its side as if you have fallen and can't get up really achieves that helpless female thing some less-dominant males need to get their sexual hormones a stirrin'! If you don't have a wheelchair, a Rascal will do, but be careful not to get semen on the fabric console. Trust me, it's a real bitch to get out!
4.) Finally, watching a sexy movie when it's time to cool down can help the actual event last longer! I've found that playing Love and Human Remains or and respectable Jean Claude Van Damme movie can light a seemingly exhausted desire-fire. If you can't find these at your local video store, Mommie Dearest will do. Still can't find one? Settle for Maid in Manhattan. Every horny guy LOVES a romantic comedy.
Alright girls. Get to it!
Obviously, I have been a genius at romance since my very early 20s. Don't be jealous. If you follow my lead, you too can be as charismatic and score with the same winners I do--CONSTANTLY!
Also, oddly enough, I found out only moments after posting this little tidbit that Carmen Electra is actually recording again. In case you missed her earlier success, here it is, in full 90s style!
Oh, but wait! This one is BY FAR my favorite display of her talents! EVERYBODY GET ON UP!
Read about the awful idea that is re-vamping her music career, here.
And FYI? She hasn't gotten much better, people.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Holy Shit! Reality Killer on the Loose!
Oh my god, so no, seriously, this is NUTS!
If you watch Reality Television at all, than you probably know about a new show called Megan Wants a Millionaire. Well, the show has been cut, not because it sucked so bad (which it really did, and Megan isn't super hot, or super funny, or even super fun to make fun of) but because of sensitivity issues and developments in a...HOMICIDE!
Apparently, the biggest douche on the show--the guy who kept saying "I'm sexy. She's sexy. This is gonna happen!" may have killed his last wife, left her body in a suitcase, and run off. But I suppose that's when his agent called, and he just couldn't resist the lure of reality stardom. So the body--in the suitcase--was found, and so was the douche. Although now, he's on the RUN!
You can read it on Dlisted, and you're sure to hear about it on my favorite reality teevee show of all time, THE NEWS.
Crazy! Thank god this didn't happen on Daisy of Love, or our poor little D could've gotten hurt!
God I love her, she is so dumb it amazes me.
If you watch Reality Television at all, than you probably know about a new show called Megan Wants a Millionaire. Well, the show has been cut, not because it sucked so bad (which it really did, and Megan isn't super hot, or super funny, or even super fun to make fun of) but because of sensitivity issues and developments in a...HOMICIDE!
Apparently, the biggest douche on the show--the guy who kept saying "I'm sexy. She's sexy. This is gonna happen!" may have killed his last wife, left her body in a suitcase, and run off. But I suppose that's when his agent called, and he just couldn't resist the lure of reality stardom. So the body--in the suitcase--was found, and so was the douche. Although now, he's on the RUN!
You can read it on Dlisted, and you're sure to hear about it on my favorite reality teevee show of all time, THE NEWS.
Crazy! Thank god this didn't happen on Daisy of Love, or our poor little D could've gotten hurt!
God I love her, she is so dumb it amazes me.
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