Put Up or Shut Up: A message to Gwyneth Paltrow and all other rich assholes doing the Food Bank Challenge
I think I’ve well established that I have a love/hate relationship with Gwyneth Paltrow. In other words, I love to hate her. I mean I don’t go out of my way to hate her; usually I’m minding my own damn business and not giving a flying fig what that high-priced skank is doing until she blows up all three websites I look at every day. And to my credit, I totally ignored the whole to-do about her steaming up her vagina, but the “oh I’m going to live like a poor person for week” really got into my craw.
For all of you who live under a rock and don’t know, dear Gwyneth accepted a food stamp challenge from Mario Batali to live on $29.00 worth of groceries for one week. I guess $29.00 represents what people get for food stamps for one week, and Mario Batali hates Gwyneth Paltrow so much, he set her up for certain failure. This reminds me of last year, when people were videoing themselves wasting dumping ice water over their heads to avoid donating to the ALS charity. You know, to raise awareness and all. Because nobody was aware that ALS existed before that. Ahem, Lou Gehrig.
Anyways, dear ol’ Gwynnie took the challenge to heart and headed straight to her local Trader Joe’s and picked up some kale, rice, beans, and SEVEN limes to sustain her for an entire week. Apparently, Ms. Paltrow was fully stocked on Patrón before the challenge ensued. I was really saddened to see she wasn’t able to finagle some sea urchin on such a limited budget. And I bet her dentist is just beside herself with all the acid erosion those pearly whites are going to be getting from sucking on so many limes this week. I hope she doesn’t get holier-than-though fruit mouth.
I’d really love to hear what this hard-working, single mother of two was trying to accomplish with this tweet. Are we really supposed to believe this is what her diet is going to consist of for this week? With such a paltry protein showing, I’m betting she won’t even have enough energy to summons the nannies to get the children off to school.
Let me tell you about my mom. She was raising three young girls when she found out she had cancer. My dad was not in the picture, and my sisters’ dad decided he wasn’t sticking around for cancer. So my newly single working mother with cancer had to go on food stamps to support all of us. As a teen-aged girl, I hated going to Big Bear with her to do grocery shopping because I saw the looks and sneers people gave us as we held up the line to pay with food stamps. And back in the day, they were actual paper fake-money looking things. Not like the debit card looking things of today. Everyone knew you were using FOOD STAMPS. And as they waited for the cashier to perform the extra steps FOOD STAMPS incurred, you were subject to everyone in line examining your groceries and passing judgment on you because it didn’t fit their idea of what you SHOULD BE EATING since they were footing the bill.
Let me tell you, living on food stamps is not glorious. Yeah, I’m sure you’ve seen the occasional person buying steak with food stamps, but I assure you, that’s not the norm. I’m fairly certain that most people would prefer to NOT be on food stamps. It’s fucking embarrassing that you can’t take care of your family without government assistance. Each week, right there in the grocery store line, you are announcing to the world that you have failed at the American Dream, and you’re subject to all those behind you passing judgment on your failure and deeming you not worthy of the food you’ve purchased.
Showing that you can live like you’re poor for one week should NEVER be a challenge you pose to another person in AMERICA. I don’t care if it’s under the guise of raising awareness or not. It’s a DISGRACE to all of us that HUMAN BEINGS in the UNITED STATES OF AMERICA are going hungry every single day. It’s fucking despicable.
And it’s even more despicable when you’re a multi-millionaire challenging other multi-millionaires to live on $29.00 worth of food for a week. Put your money where your mouth is. I don’t know about you, but I’ll be writing a check to my local food bank tomorrow… right after I mail an even substantially larger check to the IRS.
I encourage you to do the same.
So I’m sure you’ve heard all the hoopla over Indiana passing their so-called Religious Freedom Act, which critics have been blasting because they claim it opens the door to allow businesses to freely discriminate against certain groups of people without any sort of legal repercussions. Does it indeed do that? Hell, I don’t know. I only listen to about half of what comes out of politician mouths, because it seems to me they just tell you what you want to hear and whether or not what they say is put into action is an entirely different story.
Now, do I think discrimination is bad? Sure. There was a time when our country thought that women shouldn’t be able to own property or vote and black people shouldn’t drink out of the same water fountains or attend the same schools as white children. Absolutely ludicrous, in my opinion. I am by no means a religious scholar, but I WAS raised Catholic and DID attend one year of parochial school in the 4th grade. I don’t remember reading the Bible on a regular basis (do Catholics do that?); however, I distinctly remember some talk about Jesus hanging out with lepers and hookers. And there was this one time he made wine out of water. That Jesus seems like a cool cat to me. His followers, however, are a whole different story, sadly.
It seems many of us think that gay people shouldn’t be able to get married. Personally, I think everyone should be able to experience the hell that is marriage. Why should that special right only be reserved for straight people? Last time I checked, suffering was super popular with the religious folk. After all, Jesus loved all the miscreants and ne’er–do–wells, so why shouldn’t we? Aren’t Christians supposed to be following that cool cat’s lead? Someone fill me in on what I’m missing…
My only problem with someone using these so-called religious freedom laws to refuse to, let’s say, bake a cake for a gay wedding or what-not, is that these same people who claim they are just abiding the laws of their religion seem to have an à la carte philosophy when it comes to these matters. They don’t want to bake a cake for two men in a loving, monogamous relationship who want to proclaim their love for each other in a joyous celebration, but they probably wouldn’t have any problem making a cake for the retirement party of a priest who’s molested countless children. They probably wouldn’t bat an eye at making a cake for the anniversary celebration of an adulterer. Or even the greedy little businessman needing a cake for another grand opening. Nope. All those people would probably get cakes. Nice grandiose and overly extravagant cakes. Fornicators, greed mongers, and lustful gluttonous sloths may all have cake! Hallelujah!
After a quick search on the Goggle, I noticed there are many states with such laws, and Florida happens to be one of those states having such a law. I think, perhaps, I will move to Florida and open a bakery catering to all the sinners who need cakes for their special occasions. After all, sinners need cake too, and quite frankly I’m tired of the bi-polar Ohio weather. I don’t know about you, but I think sugar (and booze) takes the sting out of being a sinner. I can’t be perfect like Christ, and a delicious buttercream frosting is probably the next best thing, so…
Be on the lookout for my new bakery opening soon in Key West. It’ll be called Helle’s Sinful Creations. We won’t deny delicious cake to any patron. We don’t care what kind of sin you are committing as long as you pay with cash or credit. Obviously, we can’t risk taking your personal check, but a cashier’s check will be just fine. Make sure you try our pièce de résistance: a decadent and luscious devil’s food cake covered with a rich bourbon-flavored cream cheese frosting. It’s so delicious, you’ll think you’ve died and went to heaven.
And let’s face it, that’s the closest you’ll be getting to heaven, you sinner.
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.