I’ve really wanted to write, but I’ve been lacking inspiration. Nothing funny has happened to me lately, and I haven’t been able to twist the crappy stuff into something funny. I could quite possibly turn it into an “Isn’t It Ironic” Alanis Morrisette-esque redux, but I decided the pending court case might be hurt by that. So… I was perusing my notes in my trusty blogging journal and I found a bunch of possible inspirations.
Most of these are notes scribbled whilst enjoying a few cocktails (cocktails increase my funny factor by about eleventy) or during the midst of the workday when I don’t have time to elaborate. So, in times like these, when I look back at those notes to try and write the actual blog, I have no fucking clue what in the sam-hill I was thinking when I jotted the note down.
Since I am unable to write a single cohesive piece from any of these notes, I decided to invite you into the dark spaces inhabiting my mind. Maybe you can figure out what the hell I was thinking. Or maybe you’re a doc and can send me an Rx to fix it. And if you’re an attorney or law enforcement official, just keep a-moving along to the next blog, thankyouverymuch.
So, kiddos, fasten your seatbelts, you’re in for a bumpy ride. Here’s Helle’s Top 10 Ideas that Never Turned into Blog
- Ray Hagins – Whoop Somebody’s Ass. Oh, I know exactly what I was thinking when I wrote this down. However, I work in the legal field and I am fully aware of the repercussions of putting these things in print. So just listen and enjoy. And if you feel the need to hum, well then, just hum away. Humming is free. Bail is not.
- Guys liking/sharing boob pics on Facebook. Maybe guys aren’t aware that ALL of their friends get notified when they like some hot chick’s half-naked pic on Facebook. I see lots of photos on Facebook that I like. However, I don’t always click the like button. When I see one of my guy Facebook friends has liked/shared one-hundred-fifty-three photos of half-naked women, I can only conclude that he’s a pig. A lonely pig. Who will continue to be lonely pig, until he dies, undoubtedly, in front of his computer with his hand wrapped around his… bacon.
- Di – scissors – chin hair. Di was a former co-worker. I must have caught her cutting her chin hair with scissors, and apparently, I found it so hilarious that I was going to write about it. Question is, what in the hell I was actually going to write. I dunno. Maybe Di can give us some input.
- Raccoon in garage. This thing is frightening! It makes noises at me, it’s huge, and it may have made me piss my pants. Other than that, I don’t know.
- Facebook Quizzes. What kind of wife are you? (Failed). What color is your mind? (Dark, I told you that at the beginning!). Which Dirty Dancing character are you? (Doesn’t everyone secretly want to be Baby?). What candy is your soul mate? (Lindt Truffles). Which TV mom are you? (I’m a combination of Roseanne, Lynette from Desperate Housewives, and Frankie from The Middle, but I really wanted the answer to be June Clever). What kind of human are you? (An empathetic angry bitch – that’s in the DSM-5, right?). What state should you live in? (One in which it does not fucking snow for months on end). What two words describe you? (Already covered in the What Kind of Human are You Quiz + an extra word). Maybe I need a quiz on why I’m taking quizzes to which I already know the answers. By the way, I’m crediting myself 10 extra quiz points for not ending that last sentence in a preposition, which I might add was quite the chore.
- Gracie (my daughter) called me saucy. Other than the fact that I am indeed saucy, I got nothing. I don’t know what prompted her to call me saucy, but I’d say she’s accurate. I’m frequently saucy, and I must have been especially saucy that night. Who knows. I don’t.
- Bathroom Air Fresheners Shouldn’t Smell like Food. Scents not good for the bathroom: apple cinnamon, pumpkin spice, vanilla, citrus. Scents good for the bathroom: linen, powder, lavender. Apparently, I don’t like walking into the bathroom and smelling dessert. It ruins the mood. And dessert.
- Melatonin Dreams. Don’t ask. There’s a reason I never wrote this one. If you can’t sleep, for the love of God, and all that’s good, drink some wine or take some Benadryl. Jeebus. I’m still scarred.
- Swagger and Summer’s Eve. It’s documented that I hate the word swagger and I am completely firm in my stance that this commercial makes me say WTF. Maybe I’m wrong, but I equate that word with LeBron James, thanks to the media. So, whatever, Hail to the V, Bron-Bron!
- See You Next Tuesday. If you aren’t aware of the acronym this saying represents, then you need to familiarize yourself with Urban Dictionary.com. Again, I’m sure I had a particular person in mind with this reference, but my lady-like (ahem) tendencies prevent me from exposing all the nasty details. If the acronym fits, I’m sure you’ll recognize yourself.
So, there you have it – the best of Helle that was never written. If you haven’t heard from me in a week, and I’m not responding to texts, please come to the Ross County Jail with $1,079.00 in cold, hard cash. Promise I’ll pay you back.
I’ve been getting quite a few hits this week on a post I did last year about creepy vintage Valentine’s cards. So, I decided to give it a swing again this year. I’ve found that vintage Valentine’s are just full of hints of cannibalism, threats of violence, and phallic symbols. So, if today’s modern cards just aren’t capturing the essence of the love your little black heart feels, then maybe you should look for your card on eBay instead of at the Hallmarks. And if you get put on the Homeland Security’s watch list, don’t come crying to me.
This is Danny, aka Creepy Cupid. He’s widely famed for his deeds, which is just a fancy way of saying he hangs outside unsuspecting people’s bedroom windows whilst being half-naked, wearing a mask, and armed with a gun, awaiting his prey. His pic also happens to be on a wanted poster at the post office. This might be a good time to check on your Grandma.
Well, I guess they don’t call it VD for nothing. If you get this from your Valentine, you should probably head to the clinic for your penicillin shot. And then notify all your other Valentines to do the same.
This is Jeffrey, and he’s planned a special V Day dinner just for you! Umm, unless your lover really is a butcher at your local Kroger and you’re absolutely sure that’s beef, I’d run. You might end up being next year’s V Day dinner. Just sayin’.
Nothing says “I love you” more than emotional blackmail delivered by a suicidal skunk. If you don’t love him back, he’ll show you! He’ll shoot himself in the head and for good measure, drown himself too! How romantic. And disturbing. Love shouldn’t involve 911 or the Crisis Help Line.
Is anyone besides me wondering why this little child is outside in the middle of February, half naked, with her hands and face in a peculiar area? And why is that snowman smiling? Looks like there’s about 7 different felonies happening with this snow job.
And people are upset with a little bondage nowadays. Back in the day, you’d get cut up if you didn’t want to be someone’s Valentine. See, people have been shopping at the hardware store for that perfect Valentine’s Day gift for 100’s of years. Don’t you people understand – love IS torture!
THIS IS JUST LIKE FERGUSON! Oh, wait, wrong blog…
Happy Valentine’s Day! And that’s no bullshit! Well actually, it is. I think it’s also a misdemeanor.
This is from your lover, who’s been convicted of domestic violence. He’s not allowed to possess guns or knives anymore. So instead, he’ll just use a hammer to bash in that pretty little head of yours to show you how much he really loves you.
Wait, is that Dave Navarro or Satan?
Oooh la la. I have no idea what she’s saying, but it looks like she’s aiming for 50 shades of red. Perhaps, that’s Christian Grey’s great-great-grand-daddy. Boy, that would explain a lot…
Is that a banana in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?
Happy Valentine’s Day kiddos. Here’s to hoping you make it through another year without getting stalked, eaten, stabbed, spanked (unless you like that), or shot. And remember, if you get a rash, get that shit checked out.
Just in time for the national day of love and romance, this Friday (the 13th, I might add) marks the release of the movie 50 Shades of Grey. Gauging from my Facebook newsfeed, a lot of women are either eagerly awaiting the release or proselytizing the decay and destruction it will bring.
I remember a couple of summers ago, everyone I knew was just raving about how I needed to read this book. I’m quite the avid reader, so I didn’t immediately discount the book. After all, I’ve read a few really good books that the devil her own self (Oprah) recommended and actually found one that I will claim to be one of my all time favorites. Generally, however, I find the more hype surrounding a book, the less I will like it. Maybe I’m a weirdo. Anyway, I eventually caved and laid down the ten bucks for the paperback version that I picked up at the Krog.
I have to say, I wasn’t impressed. Matter of fact, I didn’t make it past page 87. The dialogue was cliché. The characters were flat. The story line was predictable, almost as if it were following some sort of mathematic formula. I felt like I was reading bad 70’s porn minus the actual porn, and nobody would tell me what page I needed to fast forward to find it. In between wondering why I didn’t write such crap (because I could have) and wondering when the so called “mommy porn” was going to start, I wondered what all the fucking hype was about. Now granted, I only read 87 pages, so maybe it got better, but I doubt it.
We know from all the talk of our friends, and now the movie trailer, that an older man seduces this young lady, and he’s got some kink. He’s into the S&M, likes bondage, and wants a submissive woman to engage in some mutual sexual satisfaction. It appears she’s a willing party to these escapades. It appears they are both over the age of 21. They are not forcing unwilling individuals, minors, or animals in their activities. And correct me if I’m wrong, but they aren’t doing it in the middle of the city park in front of your kids.
So why do you care? If such things are of interest to you, then I suspect you’ll go see the movie. If they aren’t, then you won’t. Life will go on either way. Society will face no more (or less) moral decay because of the release of this movie than it would just for the fact that human beings exist and some of us are a little different than others. This isn’t going to force someone who’s not inclined to such activities to engage in deviant behavior.
Let’s put it this way. Say you really like oranges. You think oranges are the only fruit for you. You are so pro-orange; you can’t understand anyone enjoying any other fruit than oranges. Maybe your religion says oranges are the only approved fruit that you can eat. Or maybe your mom was just really strict, and only let you eat oranges. Let’s face it, oranges aren’t bad. They are pretty delicious, and there are orange-flavored things aplenty. You are content with eating oranges for the rest of your life. You have no desire to try any other fruit than oranges.
Then you meet a person, let’s call her Ann. Ann is a good person. She’s a successful lady, who does community service, works hard, and pays her taxes. What’s not to love about Ann? Nothing. Except she doesn’t like oranges. Ann happens to love kiwi. Maybe you can’t understand why Ann doesn’t like oranges, because you think oranges are fabulous, but does that make Ann a bad gal? No. Is your life negatively impacted because Ann chooses to enjoy kiwi instead of oranges? No. Is Ann slopping her kiwi juice all over your lunch or forcing you to eat kiwi? No. Then leave Ann be to enjoy her kiwi in the privacy of her own kitchen.
You can still enjoy oranges. The grocery store isn’t going to quit carrying oranges because a few people like kiwis. The Krog isn’t going to make you start buying kiwis just because they are selling them. You can totally walk right by the kiwi display without ever picking one up and I bet one million dollars, you will not give a second thought to all the people who are buying the kiwi and eating them right at this very minute. I bet every one of you orange lovers has a neighbor or three who enjoys the kiwi… or even bananas.
And when you think of it, that’s the whole point of being an American. We don’t have someone telling us we can only eat oranges. And thank God, because along with another eleventy million Americans, oranges give me heartburn.
After all, you don’t see a majority of Americans insisting that everyone in the world should have heartburn because they do and heartburn is a normal thing…
Nowadays, all motor vehicles come equipped with these neat little devices that let drivers around you know if you plan to change your direction of travel. They are called turn signals, and this device is usually some sort of stick to the left of your steering wheel that can be moved up or down. I’ve made some observations lately in my town regarding drivers and the use (or more accurately, misuse) of this little device. Because I had some time to kill have a lunch hour and I’m not actually eating right now, I’ve broken down these drivers into three different types. What can I say; it made me forget how hungry I was.
First, we have the non-users. Obviously, these people need shot. (I may be hangry). They willy-nilly maneuver in and out of traffic, doing whatever the hell they please, whenever they please, without any sort regard for the unsuspecting, law-abiding drivers with whom they share the roadways. I would suggest we take away the drivers’ licenses of these people; however, at least in my town, my experience is that these people don’t actually have valid licenses. And if they can’t be bothered with actually obtaining a valid license, should we really expect them to use a fucking turn signal? Let’s face it, most people can’t even put on pants to go to the Walmarts nowadays, and in my opinion, that is the epitome of giving up on life. Once you’ve done that, well I guess using a turn signal might be fairly low on your list of things to do.
Next, we have the guy who actually uses his turn signal. All. The. Time. He turns it on and never turns it off. Drives for miles while listening to that click, click, click. Maybe he’s blaring Pantera and can’t hear that little click. Or maybe he’s 80 and deaf, in which case he probably shouldn’t be driving. I was following this guy the other day for 2 miles. Blink…blink…blink… Finally, I decided the dude was not turning. I look over and see my boss and do my friendly “Hey, I know you honk and wave” when all of a sudden never-ending blinker dude decided to actually make a turn. Needless to say, I almost rear-ended him. Lucky for him, I have cat like reflexes. Because I’m young. And skinny. And Jesus loves me. Or his ’98 Buick LeSabre bumper would have been wrapped around his little neck like a silver bow tie. Should we shoot this guy? No, but maybe a mild, public flogging would be appropriate.
Finally, we have the last minute user. These people have a problem with commitment. They don’t know if they want to turn or not and they certainly don’t want you to know if they want to turn or not. They are probably the same people that can’t commit to a long-term relationship. They need to keep their options open in order to function in this crazy thing we call life. They also have trouble deciding what to order in a restaurant, probably because there are just too many choices. What if they make the wrong choice?! What if they get stuck on High Street when they really wanted to be on Western Avenue?! Should these people be shot? No. We should give them a hug and give them affirmation that it’s OK to turn. And if you end up in the wrong hood, you can always make another turn. You can turn until your little heart’s content. Matter of fact, you can drive around in circles for hours, as long as you use your damn turn signal and give us a little heads up about it.
Do you recognize yourself making any of these turn signal faux pas? If so, there’s a simple remedy! Use your turn signal when you plan to make a turn. Give the driver behind you a little head’s up of your intentions. If you aren’t turning, don’t use your turn signal. And if you don’t actually have a driver’s license, get the hell out of the driver’s seat.
Yesterday, I received an alert from the Weather Channel telling me there was a special weather alert for my area. There were some flurries in the area and with the super cold air, things might get slippery. Hey Weather Channel, you don’t say! It’s fucking January in Ohio following a considerable snowfall and more frigid than a nun at Sunday Mass. Things have been slippery for the last week because nobody around here knows how to operate a snowplow or the magic of sprinkling salt on shit. Thanks for the info. Here’s your sign…
This got me to thinking about stupid warnings. Have we really dumbed ourselves down so much that we need a warning that precipitation in January may lead to slippery conditions? The answer is yes, because you know this warning wouldn’t be in existence if not for some fucktard who sustained an injury doing some normal everyday thing and then sued the ass off of the entity they felt should take responsibility for their own personal failure as a human being.
Remember the McDonald’s hot coffee lawsuit? Lady orders hot coffee from McDonald’s. Spills it in her lap. Suffers burns. Result? She wins $2.86 million in her lawsuit and I haven’t had a hot cup of coffee from McDonald’s since 1994. Seriously, my last McLatté was lukewarm at best. I wouldn’t even take a bath in that shit. That my friends, was the beginning of the end times…
Let’s examine some of the best nominees of who should have won the Darwin Awards. Here we go!
The only reason for this warning was that someone put an actual human being in the washing machine and hit start. I’m just wondering what cycle they chose. Was it Bulky Items, Whitest Whites, Normal, Casual, Delicate, or Colors? Yeah, I already know I’m going to Hell, so bite me.
I had to include this one, because I’m a self proclaimed Grammar Nazi. If you get a parking ticket, and this sign is in effect, I suggest you take a picture of it and bring it with you to court. This is NOT legal advice. Purely grammatical advice. Wink wink.
Well, here’s one that doesn’t’ really require an explanation, right?
Never once while I was cleaning the bathroom, did I feel like I should take a moment to freshen myself up. But someone did…
Microwaves are in every household. They are great for so many things! Except for drying Fido.
Because you know some asshole tried drying their hair while asleep. I often do this in the mornings while I”m getting ready for work. However, I’m only half asleep due to insomnia or too much wine…
So, I’m sure you’ve run into more stupid warnings than I have. Share them here. We can either prevent people from doing stupid shit or we can make fun of people for doing stupid shit. In other words, we can be Saints or Sinners. I know which camp I fall in. Which one do you fall in?
Let me know… Love, Helle xoxo
It’s that time again, kiddos! With this year winding down, it’s time for my 3rd annual list of things I’d like to see go away in the New Year. I always have fun writing this one, and I hope you like reading it too. And if you really like me, you’ll tell your friends to stop doing these things and we’ll all be happier, which in turn will make this world a nicer place to live. It’s my little contribution to humanity . . .
- Hack. If you’ve spent any time with me, you know that I LOATHE hearing this word in reference to something that is supposed to make life easier. When did we start doing this? When I hear the word hack, I think of someone hacking into your bank account and stealing all your money. Or hacking your iCloud and stealing all your nude selfies. Hack = bad stuff. Tips that make life easier = good stuff. Let’s stop calling these awesome time saving tips “hacks.” It’s not even a pretty word; it has a negative connotation. There are eleventy-hundred words in the English language; can we pretty please with sugar on top find a better one to use?
- Driving under the speed limit. This is really becoming a huge problem for me, especially on the morning drive to work. There are a couple of places I have to travel to regularly that don’t allow for passing slow drivers. Since I started working on finding my Zen, I can deal with a little bit of dickhead driving, but geez Louise, if you can’t drive 35 MPH, then you probably shouldn’t be on the road. And even worse than not going the speed limit is not going the speed limit in the left hand lane. That lane is reserved for those of us who drive above the speed limit. In other words, if you can’t drive at least 55, get the hell over. Namaste, dickheads.
- Gwyneth Paltrow. So if you read me regularly you know how I feel about this little gem of a human being (if you don’t, click on read me). I can imagine it must be hard to grasp the concept of reality when you grew up with a diamond encrusted platinum spoon in your mouth, but for the love of God and all that’s good, can she just consciously uncouple herself from the human race? Her website is THE most pretentious thing on the Internet. Recipes containing sea urchins?! Monogrammed panties for $75?! That’s just cray. And she thinks it would be so much easier to just be a “regular” working mom. For that, she can bite my regular, non-monogrammed panty covered ass.
- Passive Aggression. Trust me, I get that we live in stressful times and sometimes you just feel angry and you need to release it. Totally get that! But do me a favor and own your angry when it happens. It’s a normal emotion and there’s nothing wrong with being angry. Personally, I’d rather deal with a screaming crazy person than a passive-aggressive cock monkey. Say what you mean, damn it! Don’t mask it in sarcasm, sullenness, and bitchy comments. Oh wait… I may need to rethink this one…
- Pajama pants in public. Yes they are comfy and cozy and if I didn’t have a job, I would wear them all day, every day. Lovelovelove some fleecy, funky pajama pants. The ones I’m wearing right now have black and white jail stripes and rubber duckies. But alas, I am in my home right now, enjoying an adult beverage while I write this, and not at court or doing shopping at The Wal-marts. If you wanna be comfy while doing those sorts of things in public, buy some friggin’ sweatpants, or at the very least, some pajama jeans. On a somewhat related note, you shouldn’t wear yoga pants unless you are actually at yoga and/or only weigh a buck o’ five.
- Anything Kardashian related. WHY are these people famous and why isn’t their 15 minutes over yet? I mourn the fact that our society has fallen to the new low of only requiring someone have lots of money and a big ass to be famous. Matter of fact, you don’t even have to have the lots of money part to be famous anymore (i.e. Honey Boo Boo’s mom). I don’t give a rat’s ass about Kim or her big, dumb ass (and I’m not talking about Kanye), or the other sister who keeps having babies by the club-hopping loser. And what the hell is going on with Bruce Jenner? He’s scaring me. If he doesn’t stop the plastic surgery, he’s going to end up looking like Michael Jackson reincarnated.
- The Two Lane Drive Thru at McDonalds. This certainly is not working for me. I’ve talked about it at length, and it seems to be one of the most popular posts I’ve written, so I felt it deserved another mention. My Mickey D’s did finally put up some cones, but that hasn’t stopped the McAsshat shenanigans in the drive thru. Just the other day, someone cut the line (through the cones!) and then that same douche stick didn’t even have the common courtesy to let me out of the inside order lane into the I gotta pay line. NEVER pick the inside lane! It’s an invariable wasteland of hangry people. Just ask the manager at my McDonald’s, because I called her one day from the drive thru lane to tell her so. Note to self: I need to start packing my lunch.
I think I’ll end on lucky number 7 this year. But that doesn’t mean you can’t add to the list! Let’s hear what you want to abolish in 2015. In the meantime, I hope all your dreams and wishes come true in the New Year. Happy 2015, Loves.
P.S. A friend of mine requested that I reiterate that we still hate the hashtag and YOLO. Because apparently, none of ya’s are listening to me on the things that needed to go away in 2014 and those things are still really bothering her. You’re welcome, Heineken.