Thursday, November 17, 2011

My dog, Scarlett, the F*ckstick

The girls take the best pictures of Fuckstick.

Lately, I have been using the word "Fuckstick," to describe various people that get on my nerves.  Mostly, I call my dog, Scarlett, Fuckstick, because she is so annoying.  I mean, I love her and all, but I am totally schizo on her ass, all the time.  One minute I am loving her and petting her, mostly at night and in the morning, but the majority of the time, I just yell at her and move her out of the way.

Somehow, Fuckstick has picked up on the notion that everyone else in the family has adopted, that if you bug me enough, you will get what you want from me.  Brad is the very instigator of this idea, natch.

Each night, Fuckstick sleeps with either Hallie or Mills, and EVERY night I have to have some sort of half-hearted conversation with the one who's night is not TONIGHT.  I think it's cute that Fuckstick takes up their whole pillow before they are able to get in bed.  She literally lays in bed with her head on the pillow like a people. (That is how we say it in my house, in HER voice, as in "I lika sit in the front seat like a people.")  She is so sweet at night and she can barely keep her double eyelids open. She is a Lab, and they have "double eyelids" to shield her eyes, when she is swimming, did you know that?
(Fun Fuckstick Facts, y'all.)

In the morning, she makes us all laugh, because her "reservoir" is full, again, and she is hellbent on destroying my day.  It's funny, at first, because Fuckstick will keep licking you until she gets her breakfast.  She even licks your pant legs.  It's odd and humorous at first, but then it just starts to annoy you.

Fuckstick uses licking as a form of aggression.  I have never seen anything like it.  If my daughter, Eva, is pulling her tail, she will lick Eva's teeth and tongue, and whole face until she falls backwards and does a back bend, and then she just stands over her, as if she is rabid, and continues to slather her with her newly acquired Butt mouth, until you have to turn away.  I mean, I am no Joe Pa, but I do ignore a lot of things that are unsanitary.

I love how she goes back for a last few licks.  Hilarious.

I guess, as a Mother, it should be MY responsibility to stop Fuckstick, but I have all but given up, and it allows me time before Eva starts bugging me about her breakfast.

Anyway, Fuckstick, usually eats her breakfast, outside by the garage, which I immediately shut once the kids walk to school, and she proceeds to terrorize every single person who dares to walk down our street.  You see, we are on the corner, so she sits out at the far edge of our yard so that she may have a full view of either street that is unfortunate enough to comprise our intersection.

She just sits there, like a Jeanie bottle, surveying the streets for unsuspecting dog walkers.  Most people know her by name.  I find it fascinating that children and adults, alike, will stop and kick the ball with Scarlett and call her by name, when I have never met them in my life.

I am painting a positive picture of Fuckstick, but now let me give you a glimpse into her dark side.  Sometimes, just for fun, if I let her out the garage/kitchen door, she will tearass across the yard, like Old Yeller at the end, bucking and attack barking, with her invisible fence collar swinging from side to side (it is supposed to be tight), and two tufts of hair will emerge along the spine of her back, and she will literally scare the shit out of some unknowing passerby, just for kicks.

One day, I noticed she had a young boy, who was innocently walking to school with his hoodie on, pinned up against my neighbor's bushes, afraid to move, across the street.  Even though they had a road between them,the boy was positively terrified.  Fuckstick was carrying on like she had discovered the Unibomber, and I literally thought he had peed his pants.

Naturally, I told him to put his hood down, so she would back off, but I ended up escorting him to the next block, after cajoling Fuckfstick inside, he was so shaken.  I guess Holmes will be taking another path to school after that episode. 

She did the same thing one afternoon to a new mother and her pram. I figured she deserved it for the shear reason that she even had a pram.  We do not live in pre-Civil war England, and prams last about two, three months tops.  To be honest, I am just a hater because I always had incredibly lame strollers that no one in their right mind would want to walk their babies in.

Actually, I have often fantasized, when I see some new suburban mom with her pram, of buying an antique pram, in which I would place some random piece of meat or a zuchini or something, dressed up in American Girl clothing with a face that I Magic Markered on it, only to have unsuspecting passersby, lean in, while I am taking a walk, and see their expressions on their faces when they discovered that I was pushing around a fully dressed legume.

This all stems from my fascination with street folk in large cities that do random things like that, that one would EXPECT, only I would be dressed to the nines, while I push my vegetable baby throughout the neighborhood.  I see street people as inspired, really, rather than damaged and mentally ill.  It is a fine line, mi amigos, a fine line, indeed.

I think applying "street people principles" to everyday suburban life makes for good entertainment.  Imagine the fun you could have on recycling day, when they find you curled up in a cardboard box along side your bin of bottles?  I could go on forever, here.

ANYWAY, this time,  Fuckstick broke through her invisible fence, only to stick her head in the stroller and slather the infant with sloppy kisses.  I seriously thought I was going to have a lawsuit over that one.  Luckily, she was traveling with a friend who was walking her dog, and her friend was able to calm the new Mom down, because she had not had children yet, so her dog was really important to her, so I assume, she saw Fuckstick as a sympathetic figure.

Here is a video of Fuckstick being told to get off of our bed.  Just to flip us the middle pad, she drags her back feet, which inevitably causes her schwina to rub across my (in this case) fresh bedding.  I have never seen a dog do this in my entire life, and I have to conclude that this is Fuckstick specific.  Feel free to correct me if I am wrong.

The first time she did this in front of Brad, he goes, "Oh my Gawd, did she just wipe her..." he stops himself, because some of the girls were in the room, and continues, "privates on our bed?"

The girls were roaring with laughter and I go, "Yea.  She likes to do it on your side the most."

Here's another one - with the bed MADE.

Yes, I actually MADE the bed, so that I could make a video of my dog wiping her schwina on our quilt.  What is wrong with that?  A lot of things.  Too many to count.  I think the making of the bed is the worst of them.

She only does this on our bed, and the only piece of furniture in the house that was made this decade, our couch in the basement.  (That's right, beeeattchhes, I'm all about the throw pillow and the paint colors.  Surprising?  I didn't think so.)  I would like to think that it is because they are both low to the ground, but who am I kidding.  This is Fuckstick we're dealing with here. 

Tonight, though, my daughter Mills said she was afraid that her friends would make fun of her, if she slept with Scarlett.  I immediately became defensive and asked her why she thought anyone would even THINK to make fun of her for sleeping with her dog.

Mills replied, "Because they might think that it is dirty."

My mind immediately went to the probability equation that one of her friends would know the ratio of dirt between our sheets and the dog, and then my second feeling was one of extreme protectiveness for Fuckstick.

That is how I know I deeply love her, and secretly think that the things that she does are amusing.

I retorted with, "Be your own person, Mills.  If sleeping with your filthy dog makes you happy, then your should shout it to the World."

Do you think she bought it?  She seemed to.

love it.

Thursday, November 10, 2011

Dr. Donaldson - The Sequel

Before pic.  Hint:  I'm the one on the right.  No, YOUR right.
Okay.  So last week I had my "consultation" appointment at Dr. Donaldson's office (  To refresh your memory, see post  We had arranged a time, where I would literally walk through what a normal ("normal" being the operative word, natch) patient would experience during a regular consultation.  I had decided on the "Mommy Makeover".  This entails a breast lift, breast implants, tummy tuck, and liposuction.

Dr. Donaldson informed me that he did not coin the phrase "Mommy Makeover", a surgeon out of California did, but "it just stuck", and now everyone uses it.  Kinda like "Xerox," I guess.  ANYWAY, just because you request the Mommy Makeover, does not mean that you receive everything on the menu.  Think of the breast implants as the main course and the rest as side dishes, based up on your "condition".

For instance, MY rock star body only needed breast implants, and if I really wanted it, a mini-tuck. I guess what happens when you grow another life in your uterus, is that your muscles in your upper torso, separate, and they do not go back.  The good doctor demonstrated this by having me do a half sit up, (yes, I was still half naked) as he pressed his fingers in the crevasse that has developed between the first four muscles of my nonexistent six pack.  This exercise was both illuminating and humiliating at the same time.  Yet, another reminder of what used to be - kind of like my sense of shame, and the definition between my butt and the top of the backs of my legs.  During the measurement phase of the consultation, Dr. Donaldson declared that I was "a perfect isosceles triangle" and that they see that only once a month.  To which I replied, "Stiiiillll got it," which I don't.  That's the joke, get it?

Okay, before you start imagining what he is talking about, let me elaborate.  He was saying that my breasts were equidistant, with the center of my neck.  It was just so surreal.  One minute you are (what I like to think of myself) a reporter, and the next you are taking your top off and your subject is face to face with your naked body.  It reminded me of my "casting couch" days during my "I'm gonna go to Hollywood and be a star" phase after high school. 

He had me put on what he called "surgical footies" while he measured me.  Is this weird?

Standard Procedure
Next Dr. Donaldson is taking digital pictures of my bare torso, which I now understand is going to be used as blackmail when I become a big star.  Of course, that will be after I get my double D implants, that will rest on the table as I do book signings.

It's funny, because the night of my consultation, I went to a party, and I was relaying some of this material there, sort of like a comic might try a bit out in a nightclub - only we were in a basement playing foosball.  Who cares?  Same dif.  Anyway, as I recanted some of the events of that previous morning, I was met with expressions of horror, confusion, and amazement.

As I tried to explain, that this was "an assignment for my blog" and that it was all part of a "business proposition,"  it became abundantly clear that I had been duped by my business associate Marcy Fleisher (, of  "Risk free PR", my ass. 

I was so afraid of "whoring myself out" for my blog, to gain free shit, only to whore myself for the general  amusement of the masses.  Now, that, I can live with.  But, make no mistake, my standards are much lower than the average "reporter". Again, no boss, no defined job description or expectations.  Sooooo freeing!

Maybe that is my new hook.  I could just accept assignments in which I make a total ass of myself and then I can relate my experiences to all of you.  Gawd knows that I am running out of material in my real life.  Not really.  I have a million degrading stories in my lifetime to keep this blog going forever.  And the beauty is, that I am making bad decisions every day, so this factory isn't about to shut down anytime soon.

Seriously, I took this challenge, so that I may learn more about not only the industry of plastic surgery, but also the motivation a patient has to actually make an appointment, and then follow through with a procedure.

After my peep show with Dr. Donaldson and his nurse, (who was AWESOME, by the way - she let me poke her implants, but that was strictly clinical) we sat down and he showed me before and after shots of several of his patients.  I assumed these were his "success stories,"  as each of the transformations were truly life changing.

At first, I amused myself by imagining local celebrities, and those who consider themselves celebrities, as the naked torsos were presented to me, one by one.   But, then I just became mesmerized.

Genetics play a huge role in a person's aging process, and let's just be honest, some of us, were apparently dealt the Joker card, me included.  I was shown women who had lost a ton of weight and their bodies did not "bounce back" as they would have hoped.  I was given the privilege of viewing the bodies of patients who clearly make it their job to eat right and exercise like a crazy person, but their efforts were not reflected.  I can totally understand where someone would want to have actual breasts that would fill out their padded push up bra.  Think that chick (the obvious hold out) on Baywatch that was so flat chested you wanted to hug her. Growing her hair out was a major improvement, but I can't say that if I were next to Pamela Anderson and heroin addicted, Yasmine Bleeth, I might reconsider my boobs, as well.

Basically, each set of Before and After photos began to tell a story to me.  Not of desperate women who were trying to attract I don't know what (well, yes I do - douche bag men), but women who are using the technology that is available today to change something about themselves that has always, or in the last few childbearing experiences, bothered them to the point that they have become debilitatingly self-conscious.

Now, I am no fool.  I know that this is not the perspective of all of the plastic surgery candidates out there (read The Real Housewives of Whatever), it is just a point of view I had not considered before. 

It is interesting to note, that while Dr. Donaldson and I were having our sit down, I was wearing two different types of breast implants (saline and silicone) that were two different sizes.  I kept squeezing them as we talked, which now, looking back, would have been unnerving to anyone else, but not old Donaldson.  He wasn't phased a bit.  Respect.

They were HUGE, by the way, and I had not experienced THAT size since Hallie's, my first child's birth, when the La Leche representative recommended that I pump AND breastfeed.  Both Dr. Donaldson and his nurse agreed that that was the size that my "broad upper chest" demanded.  Subtext:  your actual breasts are halfway to your belly button, and what is left is a virtual empty apartment building in need of some tenants.
Okay, this is Eve's birth, but you get the idea if you multiply those puppies by like 10.

So, while I am feeling myself up and chatting with Dr. Donaldson, I, of course, accuse him of not being able to look at my face, and this would be the challenge I would be presented with, if I did, in fact, get implants, and that it was extremely important that people respect me for my mind.  He assured me that a lot of people with big boobs are smart, but when pressed to name one, he could only come up with Dolly Parton.  (That last line didn't happen at all.  Okay, I am a reporter who makes stuff up.  Unprecedented.)

Anyway, at the end of our conversation, Dr. Donaldson related that he is very proud of "the opportunity to change people's lives."  I then asked him if he had a God complex, because at that point I decided I would act like an attorney, as well, as a reporter, and he just laughed.  That haughty, elitist laugh of his, where he throws his head back, and bellows a deep, throaty, condescending laugh.  I'm embellishing, again, he just laughed like someone who thought I was ridiculous.

I have my OWN reasons for not getting implants, even though my chest (and my husband) is literally begging for them.  Aside from not wanting to endure the risks of surgery, I would have a hard time reconciling my decision to my three daughters, whom I am trying to instill positive body images.

Dr. Donaldson also has a daughter, and he fully relates to this issue.  When I asked him if, when his daughter were 18 years of age, he would allow her to get breast implants, he replied, "After examining the reasons WHY she wanted the implants...if the issue were say, that she did not feel feminine or something, then, yes, given the fact that she is eighteen, and is legally afforded the right to make her own decisions about her body, yes, I would consent to her getting implants."

I think everybody knows that eighteen-year-old girls are going to do what they set their minds to, with or without the consent of their parents, so if they bother to consult you at all, is a step in the right direction.

I am having a recovered memory of when I was a Freshman in high school and I was not allowed to wear make up  (I know, how Footloose of my parents, right?  I wasn't allowed to date, either.  I danced a lot, though.) .  Rather than sneak make up in my purse like every other girl my age, I decided to state my case to my Mother, who was the real driving force behind the ban.  My Mom felt that I did not need make up, and that it was just opening up this Pandora's box that would enable me to look like a dime store hooker every time I left the house.

My argument was that make up is used to enhance your features.  It doesn't have to be this face painting exercise that was going on in the Girls Restroom at Eastern High. 

My Mom did the right thing.  She took me to the Clinique counter at Lazarus, and bought me some powder, blush, mascara, and a very natural, demure lipstick. The associate taught me how to apply it, and it is a very fond memory of mine with my Mom.  (We tended to fight in Malls, mostly, so this one sticks out.)  I also got skin care, which is a ritual that I have used every night and morning since.  I am fairly sure one of the sets, either the make up or the skin care, was a free gift with purchase, but whatever.  It was a great memory for two reasons, really, because I presented my case, she saw my point of view, and she compromised. 

The bar is raised now, obviously, and we will be discussing implants and Restylane with our daughters, instead of skincare and eyeshadow.  My guidance today is to decide how you feel about plastic surgery and other "enhancement" products on the market, currently, so that you are prepared to intelligently discuss these issues with your daughters.  Whether or not, you choose to compromise or not, is your decision.  All kidding aside, I saw my job in these two posts, as a presentation that represented all sides of the argument.

Anyway, I got the implants, and I have never felt more confident.
Shopping for halter tops with my new boyfriend.  Who needs Brad, now that I have these knockers?

Monday, November 7, 2011

Sista Wivery

She hates that headband, but her Mimi and I make her wear it.  At the end of the day, it really is all about US.  When she complains that it is tight, I always tell her, "Beauty hurts."  And it does. 
There's just somethin' about a little girl in a tutu that gets me everytime.

I was going to do this post on free things you can do with your children, but now I realize that that is too boring and positive.  Instead, I would like to talk about sista wivery.  Sista wives are like Sister wives, only cooler, see?  My sista wife, Jen, who is also my manager, (what you think that is too enmeshed? Enmeshment is the very embodiment of sista wivery.  No boundaries, get it?) and I share our children every Tuesday and Thursday.  Mia and Eva are both four-years-old, and they attend the same pre-school class, go to the same ballet/tap class, and they engage in the same "afternoon enrichment program" - Munchin' and Movin'.  This is all done for the convenience of their Mothers' schedules.  They basically did not know each other before this year, and my sista wife and I, decided they should be friends and spend all of their free time together.  Again, who needs to be Mormon to be or have a sista wife?  Not me.  I just have adopted a lot of their priniciples surrounding raising children with another family.
Mia and Eves.  BFF's because we SAID SO!

My sista wife, Jen, sends me a text every Monday, that details my schedule, regarding the children and their social lives.  She delivers this from her lightening quick Blackburrry, and I do whatever she tells me to do.  No questions asked.  Here is an example of a text:

Mon: Jen to and from (this means preschool)
Tues: Eva here AM, Jen to and from
Wed and Thurs: Johnna to and from, don't forget ballet.
We need pumpkins for school. 
Pick us up 2 at GE SW.

Gratuitous Guidance: Wtf  is GE SW?

Jen: Giant Eagle Sista Wife!!

LOVE IT!!!!!!!

Luckily, our children all get along really well, I think, because WE are such good friends and our children reflect different aspects of our individual personalities.
Look at her, all up in my Bizzness.

 I am a stay at home Mom, and my forte is menial repetitive tasks. (I also am proficient in taking orders from people who drop their s's and cannot pronounce their r's.  Example:  MOOOOOOM, you were aposed to find my 'pecial 'tuffed aminal for Shaowww Day!) If there is any change in my routine, it must be documented and then regurgitated to me at least four or five times before I will get it.  The fact that Jen just sends me an electronic memo is priceless.  We are so past apologizing for being direct or worrying if one person has more responsibility than the other.

As a result, we each have two girls that have something to look forward to, socially, twice a week, and we are each afforded a free day, sans the cost of childcare, to do whatever we want.  Our carpool is rock star status, and I am enjoying more freedom than I have ever dreamed of this year.

Now, if I can just get my sista wife to move in and share the responsibilities of cooking and cleaning.  Who am I kidding?  We would just end up drinking coffee and then wine all day, while we watched E!

Anyway, this does qualify as "Free things you can do with your kids" - only you are the one who stands to benefit the most.  Who cares?  It's a win-win.

Go get yourself a sista wife.  The parameters are as follows:

1. You need to be good friends with the mom, so there are no annoying uncomfortable pleasantries exchanged.  It's all business.

2. I think the children need to be at least 4-years-old.  Otherwise you are babysitting, and that just sucks.  In that case, just stick to carpooling.  Let them socialize at wherever you are taking them.

3.  Resist the urge to hang out together. Get your shit done.  You can always hang out with each other and your kids because you are friends, and you will anyway.

4. At first Jen and I were planning on "outdoing" each other on our playdate days, by taking the girls out to lunch or to the Zoo.  This NEVER happenned and the girls are lucky if their chicken nuggets are warm and they get to "skip" in the parking lot on their way into school.  My point is, just treat your sista wife's kids as your own, and don't try and make a big deal out of things.  It is just wasted energy.  At that age, kids just want to play.  Let them, and go back to watching your stories.

5.  Make sure any extracurricular activities the children do are in tandem.  Don't break the chain.  If you start to introduce them to new people and interests, it will become more and more difficult to manipulate them.

Hilarious.  This is obviously going South.  I need to stop.

Obvious Guidance Statement:  Get yo'self a sista wife, Fool!

Thursday, November 3, 2011

Unhealthy Obsession #2

Unhealthy Obsession #2: The series Homeland  ( on Showtime.  Seriously, this is the best series I have seen since The Wire.  I know, Connie Stidham, that is a strong statement.  So, let me state my case before you go all Woodford-fueled, ape shit on me.

First of all Homeland comes on Sunday nights after Dexter.  Seriously, y'all.  I would choose Showtime over HBO in a heartbeat.  They just have better shows and better movies.  HBO hasn't really been good since The Sopranos.

Oh, and by the way, the season finale, and really the entire last season, of Entourage SUCKED.  There, now I feel better.  What a sellout piece of shit show. It just turns my stomach. Whatever happened to writers having a responsibility not to tie everything up into a neat little bow, so that people can feel good.  We didn't.  We all felt bad, because that is not the way life turns out.  Turtle doesn't become a millionaire.  Get real, Turtle ends up turning tricks for smack on Hollywood Boulevard.  That is real life. And THAT would have made me feel satisfied. But, hey, I am just one person.  Mine are obviously acquired tastes.

ANYWAY, Showtime has A-list actors, not celebrities,  but actual character ACTORS, that are headlining EVERY SINGLE ONE of their series.  They even have Academy Award winning actors as guest stars and in supporting roles.  Here is a line up of shows on Showtime that I adore:  Homeland, Dexter, Californication, Shameless, United States of Tara (see post: ) , The Big C, and Nurse Jackie, of course.

Gigolos is good for a laugh, if you are entertained by the stupidest men on the planet conversing with one another, while they glisten from baby oil. One of the gigolos' name is actually "Brace".

No, it is not scripted (if you believe reality T.V. does not have scripts), it is a reality show - and people, gigolos have real problems, just like the rest of us.  They are just are tan year round, and have whiter teeth.

Gigolos definitely has it's place in my heart.  It is also extremely kinky, almost embarrassingly so - I am blushing a little just recalling some of the content, as I recommend this to you.  Let me just leave you with this, I had no idea executive assistants and paralegals had such large disposable incomes. I guess it's all in the budgeting, really. 

Oh Gawd, I just realized that with my readership base, I have just done a post promoting Gigolos, and not my favorite show, Homeland.  NIIIICCCCCEEE. Oh well, I can just do what I do here, what you choose to take away from my art is your own business.

Back to Showtime and their stellar lineup.  I think that House of Lies looks really enticing.  It's debut season begins in January.  It features Don Cheadle, who I am a HUGE fan of.  Shameless is headlined by William H. Macy and Emmy Rossum.  It just aired it's first season, and it is uniquely unapologetic. 

Homeland is on its 5th episode and I am positively obsessed with it.  I have actually caught myself wondering about character arcs and developments, while I am driving the kids around.  I have loved Claire Danes since My So-Called Life.  She had a little personal hiccup, when she took up with Billy Crudup (of Almost Famous fame) who had impregnated Weeds' (also on Showtime) star Mary Louise Parker, just a short 8 months before that.  She is now married to Hugh Dancy, who is British and HOT, and she seems to be on the right track with this series called Homeland.

Homeland is about Carrie Mathison (Danes), a bipolar FBI agent, in the anti-terrorism unit.  During her assignment in Baghdad, she caused an International incident, when she infiltrated a prison to extract intelligence information from an inmate and source there, and the last words he said to her as she was being dragged away by guards were, "An American Prisoner of War has been turned."

Fast forward to Marine Sergeant "Nick" Brody (played to perfection by Damien Lewis), is discovered in an underground prison in Afghanistan.  After eight years of captivity and torture, he returns home to two teenage children he does not know, and a wife who was just recently having an affair with his best friend.

Carrie (Danes) is convinced that Sgt. Brody is hiding something and may very well be the "turned P.O.W." described in Baghdad.  This series tackles so many issues that one would think that the viewer would get lost in the detail, but the characters are so believable and vulnerable and human, that although Brody may be a budding terrorist, you actually find yourself empathizing with him. (Listen, I would NEVER normally find a terrorist sympathetic, you just aren't convinced he is one.)

Homeland is a thriller in every sense of the word, as it presents you with each piece of the puzzle, accompanied each piece's opposing sides, and the emotions and situations that can blur a person's definitions of right and wrong. 

And when Carrie (Danes) breaks about a hundred laws by running her own personal surveillance on the most intimate and heartbreaking moments between a family that is trying to acclimate to their new broken situation, you are rooting for her, even though she is admittedly bipolar and prone to obsessive compulsiveness.

The back stories of each of these characters are fascinating and realistic and the series, itself, just makes for good storytelling, while tackling modern issues like The Patriot Act, torture, and corruption and politics within the military and governmental agencies like Homeland Security.

This is a suspenseful, intelligent, and well written and acted piece of material.  Give up your usual stupid reality show one night and give it a try.  All of the episodes are ON DEMAND and it's not too late to catch up!

Tuesday, November 1, 2011

Pinterested Much?

Love this.  So Free.

My three latest obsessions are the website Pinterest, the Showtime Series "Homeland" (, and free meals or free things you can do with your kids (

Let's start with the website "Pinterest"( My friend, Cindy ( , calls it "the biggest time suck of the moment," and it is.  First of all, I LOVE that they have to "invite" you to the site, which, of course, implies elitism, which I am a BIG fan of.  The fact that you have to be "invited" must be some sort of marketing ploy, because I am fairly sure that they do not do a background check, because if they did, I would have been turned away, natch.

ANYWAY, enough with my sordid historic dirty laundry, what's COOL about Pinterest (, is that it is NEW, and it has not been tainted by social media, YET.  It is on the verge, though, just waiting to be discovered by big business and advertising.  I just love that moment in "The Social Network" where Mark Zuckerbergs's (played by Jesse Eisenberg) business partner, Andrew Garfield (played by Eduardo Saverin) is pushing him to put advertising on "The Facebook" (, and he says, "No, we don't want to do that yet because we don't know what it is yet."  His partner responds, "Well, what is it then?" And then, the character playing Mark Zuckerberg says, "We don't know what it is yet.  It's just COOL."  That is the stage at which Pinterest is now.  It is just COOOOOLLLL.

It's funny because social media has become a necessary part of everyone's individual and business public relations strategy. Don't you find it astounding that what started out as a deranged college prank is now a cornerstone of marketing for everyone?

ANYWAY, I digress, AGAIN.  So, I was going to write about my three last time-sucks, but now I am realizing that they can EACH take up an entire post.  Yea for me, and you, I guess.

Pinterest ( is SOOO awesome.  You can surf it without signing up, but the social marketing element, I realized, is in the REPINNING.

I find it really funny, though, that I tend to find the things that my friends pin, the most "pinnable".  Wait, I need to stop here, I just got a text that I got repinned.

What's cool about Pinterest, is that it is more interpersonal than Facebook (  It has the "Like" button, but if you "repin" someone, it is more of a sign of respect.  Pinterest ( is about ideas that other people find interesting, whether it be art, music, recipes, interesting rooms, or ideas for a child's birthday party.  If someone compliments what you find intriguing , then, they are, in part, applauding what is in your soul.

I guess it will get to the point like Facebook ( has, where people will engineer the pictures or messages that they want others to believe about them.  But, for now it seems PURE, and it seems to support only feelings that people have about certain subjects, whether they originate a pin, or repost something they find interesting.

It just goes to show you that images are very powerful.  As much as I love the written words, sometimes there just ARE no words to describe something.  Like this, for instance.

I mean, they look really difficult to walk in, too.  Random.  Who thinks up this shit?  I know who reposts it, though.

What is also great, if you happen to own a Mac, is that you can just drag an image into IPhoto and share it with other people.  Like this.
How effing cool is this?  And so warm.

Love display o' liquor ideas.

This is for you, Mom.

Reminds me of Mills.

My dream house in Colorado.

My friend, Megan, turned me on to searching for improper and sometimes just downright filthy subjects, like beastiality, or penis envy.  Here's what came up.
The ONLY thing that came up.  Disappointing, really.

The caption reads, "Penis bush".  Hilarious.

How weird is that?  But, at the same time hilarious. I plan on putting this under "Inspired Ideas".  I mean, I am DYING to post this on Facebook (  Can you imagine?  Just posting this picture, and then adding the caption, "Penis bush is in full bloom.  Ahhh, I just love Spring."

But, then again, who needs Facebook (, when you have this blog, right?

My advice to you, today, is to get on Pinterest (, and follow me.  It is one hundred times better than Twitter, in my eyes.  I won't steer you wrong, I promise.  My social networking plan on Pinterest ( is to thoroughly entertain you without saying a word.

Enjoy the recesses of my brain, y'all!  Bring a flashlight.  It's dark in there.