Thursday, March 29, 2012

Eleven jokes your OCTOPUS will LOL over!

Let's face it. Vaginas are about as attractive as an octopus wearing a headband.

Even the word itself seems like an obscenity. I hate the sound of it so much I'm going to refer to it as an OCTOPUS from this point on so I can stop hearing the word "vagina" echoing in my brain, infecting all my other thoughts with germs and STDs. So every time you read "OCTOPUS" think "slimy monstrosity of female anatomy."

But Manda Banana! All girls have one; it's just a natural part of life!

False. First of all, nobody actually calls me Manda Banana. That's just a nickname I created to make myself seem cute to online strangers. Second, the reason you provide is actually the exact reason why there's no point in talking about your OCTOPUS. Every girl has one, end of story, no need for story to exist, let's talk about other things.

Except everyone else loves talking about their OCTOPI. Every time I see a Cosmo magazine screaming "Eleven fun things to tell your OCTOPUS in the morning!" while I'm innocently waiting in line at the store trying to act superior and like a person who does not read Cosmo, I'm like, why? Is this part of female empowerment, loving your OCTOPUS so much that you have to sing to it in the shower?

Because if so, tie an apron around my waist and I'll stay in the kitchen where I belong. Except for the time I'll spend making babies.

People always tell me, oh, childbirth is such a beautiful miracle! And I smile and nod, wondering if they'd find it a beautiful miracle that I could shove a bowling ball up their OCTOPUS. I mean, I'm sure it is wonderful that you can create a baby, carry her inside your body, and push her out your OCTOPUS nine months later. That's awesome. But please forgive me if I decline to watch the video your husband took of your delivery, because squeezing a head out through your OCTOPUS looks like a child with a rubberband around his face.

Told you so?
Personally, I can't handle even thinking about turning my OCTOPUS into a rubberband so a kid can walk out of my stomach.

My view of anatomy may be a bit troubled. Uterus, fallopian tubes, vulva, clitoris, cervix... what is all that? I'd rather not know, so collectively, they're an OCTOPUS.

But you should love and embrace every part of yourself!

Well, I don't. Some parts are icky. I don't care who you are, I know for a fact that you do not have an attractive OCTOPUS. Whether you're a 12-year-old virgin, a teen idol recently discarded from her spotlight, or the 19 Kids & Counting lady, an OCTOPUS is an OCTOPUS and it's not something to love or embrace. The only "sexy" thing about it is its function as a sexual organ.

Maybe my opinion on this makes me an 87-year-old granny, but I just don't appreciate the openness girls have with discussing their OCTOPUS issues. Do they not have gynecologists they can talk to? Or mothers? Or a deaf-mute landlord? Surely they know someone better suited to help with their problems and listen to their list of feminine product preferences than some girl they've only met twice and thought her name was Amber. So please don't come to my work and ask me to recommend something for your itchy OCTOPUS while you have your hand down your pants and your fourteen sweaty children are destroying my brand new sunglasses display.

While you're telling me that Summer's Eve douches give you a yeast infection and Tampax's super plus isn't quite big enough and sometimes maxi pads smell funky, I'm mentally playing Rock Band guitar on expert to "Octopus' Garden" by the Beatles.

Monday, March 19, 2012

oh ok yea lol

Everybody likes to feel important, funny, and interesting. I base this observation on the fact that I like to feel important, funny, and interesting. Even while we're simply engaging in the least personal of all interactions, texting, we crave the witty banter, the flattery, the back-and-forth comedic insults that assure us that the other person understands what we're saying and feels the pull to respond, continuing the conversation and allowing you to say more and more things, however nonsensical or offensive they become. So what if all you're discussing are the various shapes of pasta noodles? Obviously the person you're texting either loves the topic of pasta, or likes you enough to let you rant about it rather than blocking your number and telling everyone they've never met you.

But then there's the other side of it. On that side live the cold-hearted biotches who couldn't care less that penne noodles are the best kind for alfredo-based pastas. They'll take your well-formed opinions, and do worse than ignore them.

They'll one-word you.

Say you're a bit desperate. Just pretend. You reeeeaaaally want the guy you're texting to think that you're witty and charming, but you go overboard just a little bit in your attempt to act natural, and end up with this train wreck for a conversation:

Your Unfortunate Crush: "So what are you up to?"

Ridiculously Nervous You: "Practicing my kung fu skills. I just watched Kug Fu Panda so I'm feeling pretty inspired. Not about being a panda, but about learning kung fu. I mean, if a Jack Black panda can be trained, there has to be some hope for me, right? If not, I think I might just give up on life and become a dog whisperer. Or a ghost whisperer. Or a ghost dog whisperer. Hahahahahahahahahaha."

Your Unfortunate Crush: "lol"

...What does it mean? Why would someone respond with such a low level of care and humor, not to mention personality? Here is a loose interpretation of the bland lol, drawn solely from my own experience in both receiving and sending it:

Your Unfortunate Crush: "Has anyone ever told you that you need to not say so many words? You're probably the least funny person I know of. And I've seen three Rob Schneider movies. I don't even read my messages all the way through when I see your name on my phone."

The best way to respond to that douchebag is with the silent treatment. If he can't appreciate your ridiculous humor or understand that your ramblings (and your impressive pit stains) are a product of smitten-induced nerves, then he's a clueless unsympathetic moron unworthy of your sharp wit.

Now check this one out. You text one of your buddies some sort of information or fact that isn't really conversational. Just a sort of friendly FYI.

Helpful You: "Hey! Just wanted you to know that we're all having dinner at Sleazy Mike's tonight! You're welcome to join us if you're interested!"

Ungrateful Party Guest: "ok"

OK? How is that a useful reply? Is that his lazy way of RSVPing, or is he simply acknowledging that he did indeed receive the message? Let me clarify all that for you with a brief insight into the subtext of this text.

Ungrateful Party Guest: "I don't care."

That's right, your sweet thoughtfulness and exclamation points don't phase this guy at all. He just wants to be left alone, probably so he can watch dark foreign subtitled movies through his obnoxiously long bangs and write exclamation-point-free poetry about his tragically lonely life. Because he doesn't care, and you can't make him.

The Siamese twin of "ok" is the even lamer "oh," but little difference exists between the two of them as far as their deeper meanings. They both bring any textversation to a screeching halt and hurt your feelings, and that is always their intention. Especially if shortened to "k" and "o" and accompanied by the rudest and most abrupt of all punctuation: the period. Slap me in the face, trip me down the stairs, spit in my hair, but please, spare me from opening my phone to an "o."

Now say you've had a really terrible day and you just need to vent. So you go through your contacts and start ranting to some poor soul.

Frustrated You: "I just don't understand the world. Like, can't school just be easier? We don't all need to be rocket scientists, ya know. Then my stupid boss wrote me up because he said being an hour late to work is unacceptable, but I had to curl my hair, ya know?"

Poor Undeserving Friend: "Yea"

Sure you're a bit hysterical and your friend did nothing to to warrant your lunacy being poured out upon her, but a little sympathy or encouragement wouldn't kill her. So why is "yea" all she has to say? Here's what she's trying to convey to you:

Poor Undeserving Friend: "I will agree with anything you say if it means an end to this conversation and your senseless whining. I don't understand your problem, I don't see your point of view, and I don't want to."

Ouch. Think twice before counseling that biotch next time she's freaking out about her latest pregnancy scare. Because now you get to be the bad guy.

Slutty Careless Acquaintance: There's probably a 98% chance I'm going to have a baby. I just don't know what to do. Life is so unfair, I've done nothing to deserve this. Except for all that unprotected sex. Will you be the baby's godmother?

Vengeful You: Yea.