The other day I invested twenty-four hours of my life in a pageant. And not just any pageant like Miss America or Miss Queen of the World or anything stupid like that. Miss Vanderburgh County 4H Fair Queen pageant. Yeah, intense stuff. I have absolutely no experience in pageants. I went solely to make sure that my friend, a competitor, was the best representation of American values. We skanked up her T-shirt to show off her boobs and waist, I curled her hair, darkened her makeup, and helped her practice appropriately bimbonic answers to questions.
I drove to her house out in the asscrack of nowhere. That night, we worked to make her speech sound wholesome and original. So of course we went with capitalism. We related everything important in her life to flavors of Mountain Dew. Then, to show how she is a good American consumer, we took fingernail polish and made jewelry out of old Mountain Dew coke tabs. Then after telling her how beautiful she was and how everything was going to be fine (lies and deceit) we went to sleep.
The day started obnoxiously early. I rolled out of bed and got to work making sure I looked presentable. Spending the day with a billion obnoxiously perky beauty queens is intimidating to me. While accompanying my friend through the Queen vetting process, I felt like that guy who sits in the corner and massages the boxer during time-outs. "You got it tiger!" "You have way bigger boobs!" Just normal encouragement. The majority of the pageant lasts entirely too long. I started giving the other girls nicknames in my head. There was a girl in a white suit who radiated old money. She became "Trophy Wife". Others included "Terrified to Be on Stage Girl," "Girl Who Walks Like a Horse," "Unfortunate Looking Girl," and of course, "Bitch."
After all the preparation and effort, you know who comes out on top? Bitch, followed by Trophy Wife. From this experience I have gathered what it takes to become a queen.
So, to all of you who have the burgeoning desire to become a pageant queen of your pointless county fair, I will share with you the tips and tricks that ensure the dimmest and most endowed blonde girls win.
1. Be blonde. If you aren't dye your hair. (Note: just for local pagaents. For Miss America be ethnic looking)
2. If you are overweight, stop that. I fully support being fat; I think it's an American value, pageant judges disagree. They are probably communists. Or Nazis. They liked blondes too.
3. Instead of writing a fresh, original, and honest speech every year, write complete drivel that panders to the judges and use that same speech over and over until you win.
4. Be a bitch. If everyone hates you it means the judges LOVE you. You won't win Miss Congeniality but Miss Congeniality won't win.
5. Never, ever mention how you have a boyfriend, fiance, or a male friend. This means you are immoral and a whore and the judges don't like it.
6. Have a 4.0 but be unable to intelligently answer any question thrown at you. Good, wholesome, American, Christian girls are supposed to be pretty and obedient, not smart. If you are smart it shows the judges you haven't spent enough time in the kitchen and church.
7. WORLD PEACE IS ALWAYS THE CORRECT ANSWER
Follow those seven simple rules (it may be hard if you already follow rule #6) and you will probably win.
Friday, September 9, 2011
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Zumba (HP premiere day make-up post)
Now, everyone knows how I feel about fat Americans. We are doing our best to serve our nation. However, in a lapse of judgement, I went to a workout class with a friend. This wasn't your typical, Richard Simmons, jazzercize class. No, this was Zumba. Now, I don't know the origin of Zumba but, judging from its name sounding like a water slide at Holiday World, I'd say it's African.
When I arrived my worst fears were confirmed. My friend and I were easily the youngest people there; by thirty years. Everyone is the class seemed to be doing their best to make America #1 but had fallen off the bandwagon. I was hoping hard work and sweat would be enough to get me back on that lazy train.
The teacher was a small woman who reminded me faintly of a sprite. She was very excited to sweat and I couldn't figure out why. She jumped right into turning on reggae music about chocolate and pretty women. This upset my African theory because it was all in Spanish. She started doing these steps and bends and expected everybody to just immediately know what was happening. As I started 'dancing' I couldn't help but feel as though I was having a multicultural experience. The name was Africa, the music Hispanic, and the dance steps were most certainly white.
I didn't even start breathing heavily until thirty minutes into the class. When I looked around I saw all of the women looking exhausted. Now, I have a small dance background and I started to recognize what I can only describe as a creative bastardization of actual dance steps. Some steps were tap moves done horribly wrong. I had to un-teach myself proper tap to do the moves correctly. I'm also used to having steps named in french or being named after the originator. In Zumba, you experience moves like the "machete" and "chocolate." Names that give you absolutely no indication of what you are supposed to do. My teacher would yell out these names and expect me to know what dance move best represents a physicalization of a machete.
I left the class feeling like a proper white American. I danced embarrassingly bad, pretended I was working out, and used exotic names and music to pretend I care about other cultures. So I think Zumba is a great American institution. Also, it's no risk to America becoming the fattest country.
When I arrived my worst fears were confirmed. My friend and I were easily the youngest people there; by thirty years. Everyone is the class seemed to be doing their best to make America #1 but had fallen off the bandwagon. I was hoping hard work and sweat would be enough to get me back on that lazy train.
The teacher was a small woman who reminded me faintly of a sprite. She was very excited to sweat and I couldn't figure out why. She jumped right into turning on reggae music about chocolate and pretty women. This upset my African theory because it was all in Spanish. She started doing these steps and bends and expected everybody to just immediately know what was happening. As I started 'dancing' I couldn't help but feel as though I was having a multicultural experience. The name was Africa, the music Hispanic, and the dance steps were most certainly white.
I didn't even start breathing heavily until thirty minutes into the class. When I looked around I saw all of the women looking exhausted. Now, I have a small dance background and I started to recognize what I can only describe as a creative bastardization of actual dance steps. Some steps were tap moves done horribly wrong. I had to un-teach myself proper tap to do the moves correctly. I'm also used to having steps named in french or being named after the originator. In Zumba, you experience moves like the "machete" and "chocolate." Names that give you absolutely no indication of what you are supposed to do. My teacher would yell out these names and expect me to know what dance move best represents a physicalization of a machete.
I left the class feeling like a proper white American. I danced embarrassingly bad, pretended I was working out, and used exotic names and music to pretend I care about other cultures. So I think Zumba is a great American institution. Also, it's no risk to America becoming the fattest country.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Gnomes, Elves, and Conspiracies, oh my!
So though my post time may be lying to you and reading as though I wrote this yesterday, an actual Thursday, it's a shame. A lie. I wrote this on a Friday morning because I worked and then was out all night. That's another lie to seem cool. I was sitting in my basement watching movies with a friend. See how less cool that is? However, I am eating as I write this, so at least that's consistent.
Anyway, I was working at my large, nameless corporation with a giant Thanksgiving parade, folding things. I was folding, and folding, and folding, until one of my co-workers laughed and said,
"Those shirts are always messy. We don't seem to sell very many though."
I turned to him and, very seriously, replied, "That's because the store gnomes hate when the shirts are neatly folded. It is an affront to their gnomey religion."
He laughed awkwardly and then sidled away.
It sounds ridiculous, but think about it. How do you explain the worlds greatest mysteries? How do these shirts no one buys get thrown across the store without anyone noticing? How do your headphones get tangled when you put them neatly away? Where do all those elf cookies come from?!
I have a theory.
Gnomes, elves, faeries (or fairys for those who are WRONG), they are all the same thing. There are two main types of these small, fiction-esque creatures. There are the nice ones. These are the elves who make us cookies, the popping cereal guys, the elves who sneak in to help poor shoemakers make more shoes. They seemed to be completely happy with human society (hey, the cookie and cereal guys are even capitalists!). These are the gnomeelffaeries that should be allowed to stay and coexist with humans. The next type should be exterminated to the full effect of the pre-Geneva convention war-crime law system.
I fully believe that every small inconvenience is the fault of a gnome. When my pants go missing? Gnome. Headphones a mess? Gnome. My purse is emptied of all my credit cards and money? Gnoooooome. It is my belief, (and as an American I am therefore permitted to treat it as fact) that gnomes are religious fanatics. They have to have things in a certain disorder. Headphones must be tangled because their god Hopensfieldyrh has stated that if headphones ever are all untangled at the same time then the world thread will unravel and the seams of the universe will come apart. Clothing must be moved or unfolded due to another god, Looqui, the elfin god of mischief. If an area of clothing remains too clean then he will fly into a rage and eat first born females.
This is all nonsense, of course. Every female in modern civilization knows that MEN are the first-borns anyone cares about. And "seams of the world" coming apart? Please. It is common knowledge that the Earth that we know is built on the tears of the suffering of innocents.
So, the next time you see an elf, gnome, or faerie, observe it. Determine which type of gnome it is. If it seems to follow capitalist laws, leave it be. If not, capture it and force it to watch situation comedies and televangelists until it is properly civilized.
Anyway, I was working at my large, nameless corporation with a giant Thanksgiving parade, folding things. I was folding, and folding, and folding, until one of my co-workers laughed and said,
"Those shirts are always messy. We don't seem to sell very many though."
I turned to him and, very seriously, replied, "That's because the store gnomes hate when the shirts are neatly folded. It is an affront to their gnomey religion."
He laughed awkwardly and then sidled away.
It sounds ridiculous, but think about it. How do you explain the worlds greatest mysteries? How do these shirts no one buys get thrown across the store without anyone noticing? How do your headphones get tangled when you put them neatly away? Where do all those elf cookies come from?!
I have a theory.
Gnomes, elves, faeries (or fairys for those who are WRONG), they are all the same thing. There are two main types of these small, fiction-esque creatures. There are the nice ones. These are the elves who make us cookies, the popping cereal guys, the elves who sneak in to help poor shoemakers make more shoes. They seemed to be completely happy with human society (hey, the cookie and cereal guys are even capitalists!). These are the gnomeelffaeries that should be allowed to stay and coexist with humans. The next type should be exterminated to the full effect of the pre-Geneva convention war-crime law system.
I fully believe that every small inconvenience is the fault of a gnome. When my pants go missing? Gnome. Headphones a mess? Gnome. My purse is emptied of all my credit cards and money? Gnoooooome. It is my belief, (and as an American I am therefore permitted to treat it as fact) that gnomes are religious fanatics. They have to have things in a certain disorder. Headphones must be tangled because their god Hopensfieldyrh has stated that if headphones ever are all untangled at the same time then the world thread will unravel and the seams of the universe will come apart. Clothing must be moved or unfolded due to another god, Looqui, the elfin god of mischief. If an area of clothing remains too clean then he will fly into a rage and eat first born females.
This is all nonsense, of course. Every female in modern civilization knows that MEN are the first-borns anyone cares about. And "seams of the world" coming apart? Please. It is common knowledge that the Earth that we know is built on the tears of the suffering of innocents.
So, the next time you see an elf, gnome, or faerie, observe it. Determine which type of gnome it is. If it seems to follow capitalist laws, leave it be. If not, capture it and force it to watch situation comedies and televangelists until it is properly civilized.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Of Work and Food
I currently work at a large, retail story that annually hosts the Thanksgiving Parade in New York (unnamed here for legal reasons). I sell clothes I can't afford, clean out fitting rooms filled with clothes I can't afford, and put away clothes I can't afford. I also deal with some of the most obnoxious old women I have ever met in my life (no, lady, your coupon doesn't work and it won't work if I scan it eight more times). But I wasn't always living the dream.
As I am a college student, people assume I'll do anything for money. Generally, they are right. Once I ate a cap full of red pepper flakes for whatever the Asian sitting next to me had in his pocket. I choked but I made 78 cents. For a hundred bucks I once put on a ridiculous outfit and handed out free soda to innocent civilians coming out of Wal-Mart. To my surprise, some people REFUSED to take my free soda. Two things Americans love: free stuff and calories. I was giving these people BOTH and they have the gall to refuse? With that attitude we will never become the fattest country in the world (we're third). That's about the only first place ranking America's still got a chance at! It's damn near treason.
I like my America fat and in first place. I live in the fattest city in the country. That means I could soon live in the fattest city in the WORLD. Then, when I travel abroad and people make snide comments about America I can counter with "Oh yeah? Well I live in the fattest city in the world. What's your city first in the world at?" These yahoos with their "healthy living" and soda-free lifestyles are going to ruin that for me! Pacific Islanders are already beating us with spam!
I am a true American. I ate cheesecake while I wrote this. What have you done for America today?
As I am a college student, people assume I'll do anything for money. Generally, they are right. Once I ate a cap full of red pepper flakes for whatever the Asian sitting next to me had in his pocket. I choked but I made 78 cents. For a hundred bucks I once put on a ridiculous outfit and handed out free soda to innocent civilians coming out of Wal-Mart. To my surprise, some people REFUSED to take my free soda. Two things Americans love: free stuff and calories. I was giving these people BOTH and they have the gall to refuse? With that attitude we will never become the fattest country in the world (we're third). That's about the only first place ranking America's still got a chance at! It's damn near treason.
I like my America fat and in first place. I live in the fattest city in the country. That means I could soon live in the fattest city in the WORLD. Then, when I travel abroad and people make snide comments about America I can counter with "Oh yeah? Well I live in the fattest city in the world. What's your city first in the world at?" These yahoos with their "healthy living" and soda-free lifestyles are going to ruin that for me! Pacific Islanders are already beating us with spam!
I am a true American. I ate cheesecake while I wrote this. What have you done for America today?
Thursday, June 23, 2011
My first "Anything Can Happen Thursday"
This morning I was alerted to the fact that, apparently, owning five toothbrushes that are molding in a sink full of clogged water with a toilet that has leaked what I was told was mud (but believe is fecal matter) all over the floor is not a "hygienic space." I have been told this from several people at whom I have screamed to "NOT GO IN THERE." However, nothing was ever really done about it until today. If you are one of the select few who love me enough to still be my friend after catching a glimpse of my personal filth then this will be shocking for you. If you've ever seen my bedroom or dorm, you can imagine what horrors await in a room whose sole purpose is to excrete bodily substances. My bathroom is now what I consider irrationally and uncomfortably clean. According to my parents it's a little messy.
I realize that by societal standards my bathroom was perhaps a little bit vomit inducing to those who don't understand my logic. But to society I say this: I have not been to a doctor for seven years.
Now why is that relevant? Well, aside from my crippling fear of doctors, I attribute my superb immune system and steely intestinal fortitude to the amount of germs I handle on a day to day basis. I have probably come into contact with more types of mold, mildew, dirt, decomposing insects, and bodily fluids then most bio-hazard crews. AND I never had to wear a suit or breathing mask. That's because it's always been in my nature to be a one-woman disaster. I walk into a room and immediately the damage is irreconcilable. Misguided society tells us that mess is bad. But from my experience, mess has made me a host of parasitic organisms who might otherwise have been homeless. And I think everyone has benefited from that.
Also, I ate almost 2/3 of a loaf of bread today.
I realize that by societal standards my bathroom was perhaps a little bit vomit inducing to those who don't understand my logic. But to society I say this: I have not been to a doctor for seven years.
Now why is that relevant? Well, aside from my crippling fear of doctors, I attribute my superb immune system and steely intestinal fortitude to the amount of germs I handle on a day to day basis. I have probably come into contact with more types of mold, mildew, dirt, decomposing insects, and bodily fluids then most bio-hazard crews. AND I never had to wear a suit or breathing mask. That's because it's always been in my nature to be a one-woman disaster. I walk into a room and immediately the damage is irreconcilable. Misguided society tells us that mess is bad. But from my experience, mess has made me a host of parasitic organisms who might otherwise have been homeless. And I think everyone has benefited from that.
Also, I ate almost 2/3 of a loaf of bread today.
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