Why would vegans deprive themselves of bacon?

October 29, 2010


I asked around.  Something to do with “it’s the least healthy thing you could ever eat ever” and “it’s not nice to kill pigs.”  Anyway, I get it, but…bacon.  Juicy, orgasmic bacon.  It’s like depriving oneself of happiness.

Instead of being all judgy of anyone who’s opinion differs from my superior one (per usge), I’m going to provide a review of things that taste like bacon but aren’t.  In this area, I am an expert.

Epic Bacon Fail

Bacon flavored Jelly beans: Vomit in my face.  How anyone managed to take two things that taste delicious and make them taste like chemical-covered plastic chew toys* is beyond me.  PASS.

Like making out with a chew toy

Bacon flavored lip balm: What a let down.  I really assumed this would make me want to kiss myself, but it tastes a bit like salt covered plastic chew toy.  PASS.

Hot dogs and eggs for breakfast!

Vegetarian hot dogs: Not QUITE bacon, but a decent alternative.  Quite surprised by Yves brand.  If you must be a vegetarian, this is a WIN.

Bloody Piggys for everyone!

Bacon flavored Vodka: This is not vegetarian, but, how many pigs could it reallllly take to make an infusion?  All I’m saying is best bloody mary (bloody piggy?)…ever. WIN.

God Bless America!

Bacon flavored Diet Coke: I just learned of this product’s existence.  I don’t know how well it did (how could it have done poorly?)…but…DO…WANT.  I’ve heard nasty rumor that this product did not do well and is no longer around (go figure) – but it has inspired me to try my favorite product, bacon salt, in my next diet coke.  Which brings us to…

If I started a religion, know that Bacon Salt would be a key part of it.

Bacon salt: Their motto is “everything should taste like bacon.”  That should be a ’nuff said situation, but let me delve more into this joy.  Bacon salt is vegetarian, kosher and has no fat.  I’m sure there’s something in there that will kill you at some point (joy overload!!!), but it’s pretty much the perfect product.  You can put it on ANYTHING!  Mashed potatoes, mac and cheese, ACTUAL BACON!  WIN.

This has been my community service for the year.  You’re welcome, vegans.

A tattoo I would never remove...

*To clarify – I’ve never tasted a chew toy.  But, in the same way I can confidently say “Ugh that tastes like a garbage truck” based on smell/site clues, I can certainly identify items that taste like chew toys.


How do I become really wealthy when my main skill set is being fun?

October 27, 2010

I was thinking earlier today about how fun I am.  I’m really…really fun.  And not even in the promiscuous way!*  I’m the best possible date for parties and office obligations, I always have a pun at the ready, I never come empty-handed, I’m nice, my humor is just biting enough that one could never accuse me of being too nice, I’m only braggy in a sort of ironic way, I love having people over and I get along with just about everyone.**  I would totally be friends with me!  I’m so fun!

But that’s kind of it.  2 college degrees and 6 years of work experience later, and “Being fun” is probably the only worthwhile skill that sets me apart.  More than a skill, really: it’s skill SET.  So much is involved with being fun.  Being fun involves such things as “conversing in an interesting manner,” “playing well with others,” “holding my liquor,”* and “thinking of fun ways to spend time,” among many others.  I would say it’s just as much of a skill set as, say, international conflict negotiation – just different.


Here’s the deal.  There needs to be an extremely profitable profession for people who – although they may be very smart and totally COULD have learned the “technology or blood” skill sets – skipped over said traditionally “useful” skills (also including “math beyond calculating salestax on my blackberry calculator,” “doctor stuff,” and “the internet”) and majored in communications and being fun instead.  You know: for the good of the people.

I did some research into this, and other than prostitution (again – not fun in the promiscuous way!*), the options are limited.  There is this one website www.rentafriend.com, where, as title suggests, one can pawn their friend services for some cash, but it’s not mansion with a tacky fountain wealth at ALL.  $50/hour, MAYBE, and that’s generally just for people who have those aforementioned traditional profitable skills that they will teach the friends who rented them (“multi-lingual” or “accounting” – yeah like THAT’S fun). 


It’s like Craigslist. But way sadder.


The only one making any real wealth from this website is creator Scott Rosenbaum (see below).  I’m sorry – there is no WAY that guy is more fun than me.  If someone rented me to be their friend, I would never wear that t-shirt because it’s a.) not that cute and b.) uh hello – I don’t want the friend that is paying for me to look like a loser.  Come on Scott Rosenbaum, you’re making the fun profession look tacky.

Yeah. Totally fun, Scott. Why don't you just put a price tag on your back?

Unfortunately, the only professions where “being fun” brings any sort of real wealth are prostitution adjacent.  These highly sought after professions are listed below:

Trophy Wife
Ex-Trophy Wife
Trophy Husband
Ex-Trophy Husband
Socialite who hosts club nights in Vegas

*Except for college, obv.

** I have a short list of exceptions.  Watch out, list.

Is it more painful to get a tattoo put on or removed?

October 5, 2010


The physical, mental and financial pain associated with getting a tattoo removed makes it SO much more badass than getting it put on.  Let me break it down:

You aren’t 18 anymore.  Everything is inherently less painful when you are 18.  It’s science.  I’m not sure the science behind it, and probably wouldn’t understand it even if it was illustrated in crayon, but somehow the same science that makes hangovers less painful when you are young also applies to searing pain to the back.

He'll be back on the swing in 2 minutes. This shit would take me out of the game for the rest of my 20s.

The room reeks of burning flesh.  Specifically: your burning flesh.  Something about the smell of part of your body burning intensifies the pain.

Smells like an SVU episode up in this piece

The flesh burning lady is mean.  Ok.  I get it.  I got a permanent picture drawn on my back when I was an adolescent and now it’s your job to fix it.  But…maybe don’t use the phrase “seemed like a good idea at the time, huh?” EVERY TIME YOU’RE BURNING MY FLESH OFF.

"Seemed like a good idea at the time, huh?"

It’s not a one time deal. We’re talking 10 sessions.  Maybe more, if the color is too deep (Actual quote from the flesh burning lady: “Yeah, this type of green takes a lot of work.”  That doesn’t sound scientific).  Session one is painful, therefore by session two you know the pain to expect, and anticipate it.  There is no irrational fear of the unknown, there is a tangible fear of the flesh burning lady.

You're in for a world of pain.

The thrill of doing something kind of stupid doesn’t exist.  I twisted my ankle sky diving once (sky dive landing, really).  It kind of hurt, I guess, but I grit my teeth and smiled through the pain.  A few weeks later I stubbed my toe and limped for like 2 years.  We mentally overcome self-inflicted stupidity pain much more quickly than we do mundane action pain.

"This pain will be nothing compared to my YouTube fame"

It’s $1,000 dollars. What?  Repeat? It’s $1,000 dollars. Oddly enough, even my medical plan that covers unnecessary back massages does not touch my tattoo removal costs.  Talk about health care crisis.  I’m starting to sound a bit like my mother, but we’d have fewer tattooed mistakes if it cost as much to put on as it does to take it off.

I spent $1000 and all I got was this stupid scar tissue.

Individual Results may vary. I mean…seriously. 

Looks MUCH better.

At 2 sessions in, I feel I am already qualified to assess: MUCH more painful coming off.  In every way.  2 sessions down, 8 to go.

Bottomless Poolmosas

October 1, 2010

All I want in life this Sunday is to sit by a pool and have someone bring me bottomless mimosas…for like $20.  Is that so much to ask?


I would settle for being at a hotel that had a pool, indulging in said $20 bottomless mimosas (And BTdubs, I’m being generous with the $20.  I typically pay between $9 and $13 for my bottomless mimosas, but I’m willing to add the ++ for this fantasy).  There is nothing better than an afternoon of bottomless mimosas, and then dipping into the shallow end of a pool where the water friction (or whatever it is that makes old people do aerobics in the pool) keeps me standing.  Is that possible?


So I guess the real question I need to address today:

With a heavy heart, I admit I can’t give a good answer for this one.  Although not a GOOD alternative by any means, I think the best of this worst situation involves just regular bottomless mimosas and a squirt gun.  Maybe a super soaker.  Even that only brings it to the level of white wine by the pool.

Are Cleveland and Cincinnati different?

August 11, 2010


I made my first trip to Ohio this past weekend for a wedding.  Lovely state, lovely wedding, lovely times…just lovely.  I really didn’t want to leave.  Perhaps that’s why I sabotaged any chances of getting back to California on Sunday morning.

Necessitated by work, the return flight was a Sunday-post-wedding 6AM EST gem.  Does anyone know how early that is?  Answer: It’s effing early.  I was at the airport at 4:30 AM EST…still receiving calls from friends who were still out on the west coast at 1:30 AM PST.  I was in that drunk/hungover limbo where one generally finds themself at 4:30 AM in bed struggling with the decision on whether or not to satisfy the thirst/need to pee human needs or just go back to sleep.  I, however, was at the airport – a little drunk and trying to figure out why the check in kiosk was not pulling up a reservation when I swiped my credit card. 

Giving the airport employee the “God you’re all idiots” look, I said yes, I’m SURE I’m on United, and I’m SURE it’s today, and I’m SURE it’s the 6AM flight through Chicago.  You don’t believe me?   Here’s the confirmation on my BlackBerry.  This is when the “Oh fuck, THEY’RE not all idiots, I’M an idiot” moment occurred. Yes, I was on United…yes it was today…yes it was the 6 AM flight…

No, no it was not out of Cincinnati.

Let’s take a break in this story for geography class time!  Although Cincinnati and Cleveland are both cities that begin with C in Ohio, there are many differences between the two.  I’ve highlighted a few:

Cleveland: Browns,  Cincinnati: Bangles.  Cleveland: Indians, Cincinnati: Reds.  Cleveland: Rock and Roll Hall of Fame,  Cincinnati: Chili Hall of Fame?  But perhaps the two most important differences at 4:30 AM at the Cincinnati airport: Cleveland: CLE, Cincinnati: CVG (Doesn’t that shit look like it could be CleVelandG?)…and:

And we’re back…to what is now 4:45 AM in Cincinnati.  Oh fuck:  I’m stuck in the midwest.  This airport lady who I had given attitude to is my only hope of getting home to work/keeping my job/not being homeless.  She perhaps feels a little sorry for me because of my stupidity, and the fact that I asked if I caught a cab I could make it in time for the flight (after which she showed me the map of Ohio).  Airport lady…perhaps I can just purchase at ticket for the 6AM flight from Cincinnati to Chicago and then keep the second leg of the flight from Chicago to LA?  That makes sense, right?  No.  Some form of airline regulation requires that if you cancel one leg of a flight, you cancel the whole flight. Ok…fine.  I can just re-book the whole ticket then (I suggest, my wallet cringing).  No?  The flight from Chicago is sold out?  BUT I’M ON THAT FLIGHT AND CANCELLING MY TICKET.  No?  But…wait this does not make sense.  But…ok now it’s 5 AM and my chances of homelessness are increasing.  I thought about crying…but…I think I was too dehydrated to even try it.  Oh…there’s a first class ticket available?  That sounds…expensive, but at least it’s a bigger seat? No?  Oh I see it’s not a first class ticket, it’s just PRICED as a first class ticket, but it’s in coach…which was sold out…but now it’s not, but only if I buy a first class priced ticket.  And there’s no other way to get home. I briefly considered getting an apartment for 2 months in Cincinnati (which would be about the same price), but ultimately handed over my credit card, closed my eyes and repeated “It’s just money, it’s just money, it’s just money” while the damage was done.

So: to summarize. Cleveland and Cincinnati are different.  Confusing them could cost you a first class priced coach ticket.  I will no longer be buying that Halston dress that I wanted.*

*Ok, I probably still will.

Which is douchier?

July 23, 2010

Time for another “Which is Douchier?” Friday!  Today, we shall focus on douchey, self-important statements regarding behavior from which some people abstain.  Note: while abstaining from these behaviors isn’t inherently that douchey, parading one’s lack of time sucks and vices from a high horse by verbalizing them sure is.

Oh gawd.  Nothing quite ruins a dinner out like someone broadcasting how healthy they are, which is why “I don’t drink soda” makes me want to drown someone in fizzy water.  I mean congratufuckinglations: you gave up carbonation.  There’s never really a time that the sentence “I don’t drink soda” needs to be said.  I’ve heard it in response to “Would you like a diet coke?” when really, a normal human’s response would be “No, thank you” (or, in my opinion: “Yes, please!”). But, I’ll give it to you, apparently soda is like cancer water according to another one of my favorite self help books. 

“I don’t eat carbs” is so 1999…and so nutritionally fucked.  Ask Foamy.  It is a statement that manages to say both “I have the willpower to give up sandwiches” and “I’m creating my own food pyramid.”  You are not a nutritional world wonder: you are a douche.  “I don’t eat carbs” wins.

Although I cry bullshit that everyone in the world doesn’t get just a little happier when they hear the Rivers Cuomo/BOB single, I sort of get it.  Every time you flip through the radio, there is a good chance that you’re going to run into California Girls, or a commercial about plastic surgery (yup…radio commercial talking about the before/after….totally effective). So, while this is the slightly less douchey cousin to “I only listen to NPR,” it’s not quite as douchey as “I don’t watch TV”

You don’t watch TV?  Are you kidding me?  Do you know how awesome TV is?  Are you sure you know what a TV is?  It’s that magical box in the living room that’s kind of reflective when it’s off, but shows people that are prettier and more interesting than you (or anyone that you know) when it’s on.  What do you do if you don’t watch TV?  And YES I’ve heard of books they’re great and all, but TV!  TV takes all those pesky words from books and makes them into pictures so your brain doesn’t have to.  You fucking watch TV.  This statement is douchey, because it’s a lie.

Two worthy opponents.  You’re not on facebook?  Is this because you don’t have friends, or you don’t like people knowing that you have friends?  How the hell am I supposed to pretend I know what’s going on in your life, or shit, remember your birthday, if you don’t have a convenient page that tells me all your vital stats.  Oh, you’d rather see your friends in person?  Hey genius, you can do both.  And have you SEEN how awesome “The Social Network” trailer is? Embrace the social networking, weirdo…but not by staying on MySpace.  If you’re still on MySpace, you’re there to hook up with fellow weirdos or potentially send out annoying quizzes to the 3 other people still paying attention to MySpace.

It was a close match, but “I’m not on facebook” wins on a technicality: I can’t figure out how to delete my personal MySpace account.  Anyone?  I’ve tried and I’ve even e-mailed customer service (who I can only assume has been laid off like the rest of MySpace).

Who has the worst profile picture on IMDB?

July 22, 2010

Hands down: Chris Noth.  Mr. Big’s publicist must hate him.

Maybe he saved this one for an online dating profile?

What type of guys can I meet at Comic-con?

July 21, 2010

It’s that time of year again: Nerd Convention in San Diego.  I’ve read just about every Comic-Con related preview article there is, but no one has focused on the microcosm of Comic-con as a dating environment.  As a girl really experienced in being single, and also experienced in surviving Comic-Con, let me outline who you can expect to meet this weekend in and around the San Diego Convention Center:

THIS Guy: Mainstream Comic Character:

So obviously all of us want to get with Iron Man…but upon disection of that, we exclusively want to get with Iron Man as portrayed by Robert Downey, Jr.  Very…very…very few men look good in tights.  You will see the rest of them at Comic-con.

THIS Guy: Arbitrary Comic Character:

Alright.  We get it.  Guys dressed like Batman are total fairweather comic book fans, but you’re going to spend half the convention trying to convince girls that you’re cooler than Spiderman and the other half taking pictures with the other 10 guys who know what you’re dressed like.  That will leave you 0% of the convention to hook up, which is convenient, because the chick you were eyeing just left with Captain America.

THIS Guy: Confused about what costumes really fall under the Comic-Con umbrella:

This is not the guy to make babies with, as the odds are he’s planning on eating your young.

THIS Guy: Is that a costume?  It has to be, right?:

Ehhh – doesn’t matter.  If there’s a shred of a question on whether or not a clothing ensemble is a costume, the wearer is not dating material.

THIS Guy: Comic-Con Purist:

This guy doesn’t even want you near Comic-Con unless you collect rare first editions.  Kind of gives him a strange appeal, doesn’t it ladies?  TRICK QUESTION FOLLOWED BY AN OH NO GIRL, NO!  You stick with your own book interests and be that dream girl you are.  Oh, also…this guy is likely to eat your young too.

THIS Guy: Hollywood Douchebag who is just there for an entertainment industry party completely unrelated to comic books:

This guy is easily identifiable by the spray tan, blazer-$100 t shirt-sneakers combo, the look he gives any door guy that doesn’t know him (Fuckin San Diego, Man.  This would NEVER happen at Voyeur!) and either a UTA business card or an IMDB guest star credit.  Worth ingratiating self with if you came unprepared on the guest list front (I’m the first to judge, but the last to turn down an open bar), but not worth doing anything that will make the next industry mixer interaction awkward.

THIS guy: San DieBRO:

I think this is an excellent time to remind everyone: What Happens at Comic-Con, Stays at Comic-con…except for incriminating Facebook pictures and Herpes.  Any guy who starts sentences with “Dude…”, wears Hollister or has to drive north to get to Orange County is an Oh No girl, No.

So moral of the story: Even if you do manage to find THIS guy: (Cute by Comparison after 3 days in Comic-Con and 4 drinks in the Gaslamp District)…

…they’re all there to find THIS girl (Megan Fox or anyone else who looks vaguely like Wonder Woman):

…so just get yourself back to LA where the pickings don’t look so slim anymore.

Happy Nerd Hunting!

Are there alternate endings for The Hills?

July 15, 2010

I begin this entry a little late, as my DVR did not record The Hills series finale this week, and I had to hunt it down on MTV.com.  Yes, even my DVR is judging my television choices.  Though I can’t think of a more perfect ending for such an iconic television program that what was so craftily orchestrated by Mr. DiVello, I’d like to offer up some options for the haters.  I will refrain from addressing the “Spencer and Heidi Natural Born Killers” entry, because it seems way, way, way too likely to joke about. So here it is: fan fiction for reality TV.

Alternate Ending 1: The Lauren Conrad Lost Ending

In the vein of Lost, Lauren Conrad plays the role of Desmond, where she realizes something before all of the other characters and gathers them in a location so they can all “pass over” together.  In the Hills Lost, however, that location isn’t a church, it’s the Roosevelt, and what she realizes is that being on reality TV is stupid and they should all pass over into the real world.

Alternate Ending 2: The Seinfeld Ending

They all end up in prison.  This might have sucked for Seinfeld, but I think it would be doing society a bit of good to put the people of The Hills behind bars for just a little bit.  Even behind the bars of rehab would be fine.  What a spinoff that would make…

Alternate Ending 3: The 6 feet under ending

No…no, I don’t want to kill them (really), but in my philosophical opinion, if you stop filming reality stars, they cease to exist.  So, with this in mind, I’d like to make a montage of the breakdowns the characters have the moment they think the camera has turned off for good.  Cover that red light for just a few minutes and film the realizations that they are no longer relevant.  Put that acoustic “Unwritten” cover on in the background.  Hilarity ensues.

How to make your legs shiny like Gwyneth’s

July 15, 2010

The easy answer to this is douse the shit out of them with baby oil, but if you’ve been reading the GOOP newsletter, you know that Gwyneth is all about organic.  Even unscented baby oil isn’t organic.

While we’re on the topic, a few words on the GOOP newsletter so we never have to talk about this again.  In addition to being the spokesperson for SLAT (Shiny Legs All the Time), Gwyneth writes this self indulgent very informative newsletter entitled GOOP, where she deals with important issues like Vitamin D deficiency, cleanses, and the proper use of the word “knackered.”  I like to figure out what acronyms mean on my own, but I really was stumped so I had to Google this one.  The results were astounding.

It doesn’t mean shit.  From the words of Ms. Paltrow-Coldplay herself: “It is a nickname, like my name is G.P., so that is really where it came
from. And I wanted it to be a word that means nothing and could mean

Ok so we’ve dealt with that sitch: GOOP means nothing and anything.  Thanks Gwyneth.  You and Celine must have been in the same philosophy class at I Am the Most Beautiful Woman in the World in My Opinion University.

But back to the original question, which is not directly addressed in GOOP.  It’s easy enough to figure out how to make your legs shiny (again, baby oil), but in order to figure out how to make your legs GWYNETH shiny, a cross reference of the internet and GOOP is required.

Here is what this scientific research revealed.

Foods: Eating strawberries, tuna, tofu and tomatoes makes your skin shinier.  Who knew?  Gwyneth, that’s who.  When she’s not doing a weird cleanse or fast (which she likes to do a couple times a year, according to GOOP – for funsies I assume), she incorporates all of these foods into her recipe blog.  So…real shiny comes from within.

Almond oil:  Almond oil makes your legs shiny, and is way more organic and douchey sounding than baby oil.  I’m sure a lot of you would have gone straight to olive oil, but not Gwyneth!  I’m sure she also read the about.com article on massage oil options where it is clearly stated that “olive oil had no effect on epidermal barrier function.”

Sweating profusely: Ok let’s face it, both the shine and the muscular impossibility of those legs suggest that every moment of the day that GOOP isn’t sitting, she’s working out.  That shine is probably just the biproduct of her exercise labor, and another way to remind you that her life legs are better than your legs.

Thanks to Jeanne for putting us all on a quest to have GOOPy legs.