Women Being People

For the longest time I refused to use Twitter because I had very important things to say that could not be confined to a unforgiving word count. Then I begrudgingly sold my thoughts, ideas, and overall wittiness to the social media leviathan (follow me: @leahreuber). While I don't tweet with any sort of consistent pattern, I do occasionally find myself writing a long ass series of tweets related to a singular topic. Most of the time these are inane and absurd, such as my recent tweet series on foods that would be served in a Hell themed restaurant (ex: the Antipasti Christ), and sometimes they are poignant. Last night I caught myself tweeting one of these series which I became more and more invested in as the words became more and more intentional. This tweet series was centered around how the media sensationalizes every god damn thing women do in an attempt to appear pro-woman or feminist. Instead the outlets just come off as pandering and pedantic; fervently attempting to let subscribers know that they too, think of women as people sometimes. I have the firm belief that if we collectively stopped aggrandizing normal behaviors and functions these mythical "women" creatures will stop being fabricated minor characters in the scene and start being leads in the play. Below are the tweets that made up the tweet series and call out the bullshit that the media use to catapult themselves out of the overtly misogynistic narrative and into the covertly misogynistic narrative. 

"Feminist" things the media can stop reporting on in order to actually be feminists: 

People having babies.

Women's body types: thin or thick. 

Women doing literally anything unrelated to gender. 

Women being shitty to each other.

Women being good to each other. 

Women getting haircuts. 

Women enjoying things that are enjoyable. 

Women being single.

Women exploring multiple relationships over any given period of time. 

Women expressing their own gender.

Women expressing their own sex and sexuality. 

Women enjoying their sexuality. 

Breastfeeding.

Women being good at stuff. 

When women and womanhood is no longer portrayed as one dimensional, suddenly being a woman is considered normal and not some achievement unlocked by being awarded a participation award. 

Rat Von P

Let me tell you a story about the one time I pissed off a D-list celebrity. Now to avoid any sort of Internet warfare, I will refer to this celebrity not by her real name but by a pseudonym. Let's  go with....Rat Von P.

To give some relevant context to this story, it is important to note that I am particularly devoted to the Instagram makeup community. Makeup is my primary hobby and Instagram is the ideal social media channel to learn about new products and techniques. Rat Von P has two popular accounts on Instagram: one for her personal self and the other for her professional makeup brand. I have always found Von P to be rather desperate and annoying. She seems like one of those women who heavily relies on the phrases "I prefer to hang out with guys" and "I'm not like most girls." I briefly followed her personal account but found it just about as unfulfilling as her actual life might be. I maintained a connection to her professional brand account because her makeup truly is phenomenal. Whichever chemists she hired to curate her products and then pretend she had a role in their creation are very talented. 

During a lapse in new product releases the account began to post boring stock photos with pedantic and uninspiring Von P quotes on them. Imagine a photo of a black and white rose with the words "I think oxygen is important" off center, or an abstract shot of shattered glass with the text "the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell." These are not the actual quotes but a sample of the caliber of statements that would be attributed to Von P. Her thousands of followers would practically wet themselves over the sublime brilliance of her perspective on existence and humanity. One day, after being plagued with far too many of these posts, I commented on one of the photos saying the account should knock it off because these photos were self-serving and irrelevant to the brand. A few hours later I received a reply from the moderators of the account (not Von P herself) stating that the unfollow button was in the upper right corner and I should use it. Duh. The "duh" was their touch, not mine. Feeling as though the response was disproportionate to the comment, I replied stating that I found their remark rude. I was promptly informed that they were going to block me, and they did. 

Later that evening I noticed that Von P was relatively active on Twitter so I decided to see if I could draw her attention to the rude behavior. After a series of five or so tweets directed at Von P regarding the incident, she took notice and engaged in what I like to refer to as the most unnecessary pissing match to have ever occurred. Von P remarked that "you are the one my moderators told me about" and that she didn't need my negativity or want me to purchase her makeup. Now, employing my favorite tactic to piss people off is remaining calm and composed, dangerously docile in comparison to their palpable anger, I cooly explained that her synopsis of the situation was rather reductive and inaccurate. I rarely encounter a "fight" worth participating in so I quite enjoy the art of gradual provocation disguised as genuine communication and understanding for the sake of eliciting an absurd and embarrassing response from the other party. Sure, it doesn't lead to resolve but it teaches others to never, ever, fuck with me. 

Von P finally wrapped up her angry tweets moments before I blocked her as the exchange was not gainful. To this day she is the only person I have blocked on social media. After her display of misplaced anger, I revisited her page to find she was still tweeting about me, as she could no longer tweet at me. Need I remind you this all began because of my perceived negativity...

Moral of the story: D-list celebrities have very fragile egos that malfunction when their irrelevant attitudes are addressed publicly. Therefore, you should always tap on the proverbial glass and see how long it takes for a social media meltdown to occur. In this case it was less than 8 hours. 

A Note on the VS Fashion Show

As many of you may know, the Victoria's Secret Fashion show filmed this evening and debuts on December 8th. Which means I am being proactive in addressing the body shaming and body policing bullshit.

First and foremost, calling the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show a "fashion show" is like saying Gigli is the pinnacle of cinema. The VS Fashion Show is as much about fashion as MTV is about music. VS sells bouncy boobies and cheeky bums set to popular live music performance once a year. Let's tell it like it is. That said, Victoria's Secret is a consumer brand in a capitalist market. They make a shitload of money off of over-priced bras and slightly less shameful looking sweatpants, and they are really good at it. Victoria's Secret sells an image and that image requires svelte bodies with curves in all the right places. That's their thing. That's what they sell. Furthermore, the extravagant winged body suits and capes that walk down that runway aren't exactly daily wear for anyone who isn't Batman. This should be common knowledge.

The VS Fashion Show models are some primo genetic specimens, that's undeniable. That said, the brand opts for whomever is (pop) culturally relevant at the time and can reel in the most TV views and Twitter mentions, hence their usage of Gigi Hadid and one of the ubiquitous Kardashian offspring. These aren't normal people. They live lives many of us will never understand or experience. Their existence and their bodies are nothing short of stellar but that doesn't give anyone the floor to body shame these models as a whole. I loathe Hadid and Kardashian #4 or #7 or whatever she is; they suck. BUT, their disappointing personalities and failures to contribute to society doesn't mean their collective bodies are up for critique. The same applies to everyone else on the fucking planet. This is probably the dumbest matter to even address. We are all massive sacks of skin, bacteria, bones, and fluids, just in different measurements and distributions. Therefore...I am going to stop everyone right fucking now before they break out the "real men like curves," "she looks anorexic," "eat a cheeseburger" comments. First, "real" men like whatever they want and unless you are talking about sentient mannequins then I have no idea what you mean by "real" and if sentient mannequins exist then we have far larger issues to address. Second, anorexia, bulimia, and other types of disordered eating are serious medical and mental health problems and not fodder to mask your personal insecurities. Third,  donuts are better than cheeseburgers and you don't know someone's food preferences you fascist.

The VS Fashion Show is for entertainment purposes only, just like the Super Bowl. Don't use these individuals as measures of your own self-worth or material for your unsolicited critiques. I shouldn't have to tell you not to be a dickhead, but here I am.

Snowy Bliss

I haven't blogged in a few months simply because I had run out of things to complain about. I'm not entirely sure how that is possible because on a daily basis 90% of my spoken vocabulary and 100% of my facial expressions are directly associated with things that piss me off. My last post seems to have been at the beginning of August and was all about how much I hate summer, therefore, it would seem quite appropriate that my first out-of-hiatus post be about how winter is infinitely more tolerable than its seasonal counterpart.

• Winter is all about being cozy, and that opportunity presents itself in many forms. First and most importantly, there is the option of clothing. There is a very strict and distinct limit to how much of my body I can expose in order to alleviate temperature discomfort in the summer. In the winter, though, the limit does not exist and I can put on infinite layers until my spine collapses underneath the weight of fuzzy sweaters. Additionally, winter clothes are far more attractive than summer clothes. The fabrics are better quality, the colors are more appealing, and there is more to cover. In summer its all about nylon, spandex, sweat stains, and pretending your shorts aren't lodged in your colon.
• During the winter everyone is cold and wants to minimize the amount of time they are exposed to wind, snow, ice, sleet, and otherwise aggressively low temperatures. I find this particularly satisfying because it also minimizes anyone's inclination to stop and talk with me. I can gleefully ignore others and not feel the least bit of remorse, as our conversation avoidance is really doing them a favor. 
• Honestly, that last point is so important to me that it should also be recognized in this point.
• My makeup prowess isn't questioned in the winter as it is in the summer. In the summer my makeup melts off my face like some sort of Barbie meets Easy Bake Oven experiment. In the winter my makeup is frozen to my face, maintaining its integrity.
• Winter food is fucking amazing. There are so many cold weather holidays to celebrate and no one cares if you get fat, they only care that you are slightly more corpulent than them. First we start with Halloween and its surplus of boss ass candy. Then we wobble into Thanksgiving which is a celebration of comfort food (except pumpkin pie because that shit is nasty and should be banned). Then we roll right in to Christmas which is basically Thanksgiving Part 2 with Presents. Finally, we cap it off with New Years Eve which is the birthday party for hors d'oeuvres. And every other day in between is intended to be filled with creamy soups, sugary baked goods, and anything else that will expedite your pending cardiac arrest. 
• Perhaps one of my favorite parts of winter is the extended darkness and overall dreariness. I love lying in bed all day without pants and void of all human interaction. No one expects me to participate in social niceties like they do in the summer. 

Satan's Asshole, AKA Summer

You know what's great? Dripping in sweat before 10 a.m. Burning your hands on your gear shifter or steering wheel. Your skin sizzling as a result of the sun just being its ol' asshole self. Those things are awesome. Great. So great. So. Fucking. Great.

I live in Iowa, so for about 6 months out of the year I complain about how much I hate summer. This state is like some special seasonal anomaly where 2 days out of the year are perfect spring or fall weather. The other 363 are equally divided in to Satan's Asshole hot and Santa's Left Nipple freezing. I am one of the few people who really enjoys winter. When the temperature is below freezing and it is dark for the majority of the day, I am at peace. I personally identify with that kind of weather. My heart feels at home in the bitter cold abyss. Summer on the other hand, can go fuck itself.

Let me break it down for you; the many reasons that summer is offensive to all of my sensibilities.

It is flat out uncomfortable. Personal hygiene is pretty far up there on the list of things that are integral to me maintaining to a tolerable temperament. Showers are meant to be relaxing and cleansing, but in the summer all they do is blur the line between "am I sweating or just post-shower damp?" The answer is always the former.

Makeup application is futile. I have invested a lot of time and money in to my makeup collection, but because of the Sun's Violent Vengeance, my face can only withstand the bare minimum of powders and pigments. Every day I apply makeup in hopes that I won't look like I spent the last thirty-two years in a maximum security prison. Every day I am reminded that nature always wins.

Clothing options are limited. Much in the same way that summer doesn't do any favors for my face, it does the same for my wardrobe. Nothing is comfortable because naked isn't considered socially acceptable. No fabric has the breathability that buck ass naked does, and therefore, each additional layer feebly mocks the thermometer.

Summer activities suck. Literally the only thing that I enjoy doing in the summer is visiting the Farmer's Market, and even that is pretty low on the "enjoyable" scale due to the amount of unpleasant children (i.e. all of them) around. Everything else it just a weak attempt at entertainment.

• Pools are gross. They are always overcrowded and filled with equal parts children and pee. 
• Outdoor physical activity, like volleyball or hiking, is painful and requires way too much forethought to be enjoyable. Forgot a water bottle? Enjoy your impending doom. Didn't apply enough sunscreen? Have fun with five days of excruciating pain on the largest part of your body.
• Picnics are 100% disgusting. Eating outside is just miserable in general. There are bugs, the wind always seems to be hellbent on giving your picnic an combined area of 100 square feet, the temperature is either just too hot or just too cold, and finally, food generally requires temperature control and my large intestine is not about to play a game of chicken with some suspect looking potato salad. 
• Large bodies of natural water, such as lakes and rivers, seem like nature's olive branch for summer fun. No. It smells bad, you can get flesh eating bacteria, e.coli, and it's like submerging yourself in to one big sewage treatment facility. You know what else they have? Fucking snakes and big ass fish that you can't see beneath that murky water's surface. Hard pass.
• Water parks and amusement parks are overcrowded, overpriced, and straight up stressful. Literally no one enjoys standing in line for hours, paying $5 for a bottle of water, and listening to Timmy and Jane screech about not being tall enough to ride the teacups while they contemplate pissing their pants.
• Grilling is dumb. Here is your slightly burnt tasting food. Enjoy.

Summer is the earth's way of telling humanity to rethink it's behavior and reconsider what is defined as "enjoyable." Unfortunately, we take that as some sort of pissing match and try to finagle logic into being outside during such an uncomfortable time. Enough people have joined in on this facade that I am also expected to pretend I enjoy it. I won't perpetuate the lie anymore. Stand up people! And then sit down again because it's hot out and the air conditioning is on.

Death by Dentist

I sincerely don't apologize for my recent hiatus. I quit my old job and have since moved to a new town and new job and entertaining you wasn't one of my top priorities, you fucking savages. What has inspired me to come out of hiding, just like a post-2007 Britney Spears, is the recent trophy kill of Cecil the Lion. If any of you know me personally, which based on my readership statistics is a lot of you, I am pretty invested in animal rights. I have been a vegetarian for 12 years, volunteered for four years at an animal shelter for special needs critters, and currently shower my 10 year old asshole cat (Wilma Jean) with poorly received attention and admiration. I have broken a remote control when attempting to divert my attention from those sad-as-fuck ASPCA commercials. I have advocated for movies to have "fictional animal cruelty" disclaimers because if a dog dies in a movie I have to sacrifice my emotional well-being for the next 24 hours. I take insects outside instead of smashing them under my shoe. People suck, but animals don't. That said, it is pretty evident that this whole Cecil the Lion incident has been emotionally rousing. But this isn't about Cecil, this is about the absurd ego-stroking hobby that is trophy hunting.

Now, I'm not exactly a fan of any type of hunting that isn't exclusively for survival. In the 21st century it is absolutely unnecessary, but I'm not here to argue with you about that because I don't give two and a half fucks about your contrary opinion. I'm choosing to pick on exotic animal trophy hunts specifically because there is a solid consensus that it is fucking deplorable.

If you aren't familiar with Cecil the Lion, which is seemingly impossible unless you literally only use the internet to read my blog (as you should), I will educate you. Rich ass Minnesota dentist goes to Zimbabwe. Dentist and guides wound lion with a bow. Dentist and guards track lion for 40 hours. Lion is lured out of protected land and killed, beheaded, and skinned. Internet flips the fuck out. Dentist goes back to U.S. and into hiding because people are p-i-s-s-e-d. Zimbabwe government leaders call for the extradition of dentist to stand trial. Dentist has previously been charged for poaching activities. Now you're all caught up. I should also say that this post has nothing really to do with the aforementioned dentist or any other specific trophy hunters (like Donald Trump's smug ass son). It has to do with the absurd fucking practice in and of itself.

I have a hard time comprehending exactly how someone can look at something like a lion, jaguar, elephant, rhino and be like, "I'm gon' kill that, mhm." Humanity has done a pretty stellar job at desecrating the earth, and now it's like we are on some sort of special achievement mission to single-handedly kill the shit out of everything else. Furthermore, it's some sort of weird ass honor to chop these creatures' heads off and display in your living rooms. Like, "it's so beautiful, let me murder that." That is how you should feel about cheese plate, bread bowl, or medley of pies, not a god damn endangered animal you shit bird.

Some are quick to argue that such activities bring much needed money in to these various countries' economies. You know what else is good for the economy? Literally any other tourist activities. There is also the sentiment that these hunts weed out ill or old animals from the herd and make the herd stronger. That would be a pretty strong argument if this was some sort of Mad Max survivalist dystopia wasteland. Animals, if you weren't aware, have been pretty damn successful at managing their own business before and without human intervention. You are bad at having opinions.

Ugh, humanity, I just really need you to stop being a bunch of turds.

Movie Time!

If you know me personally, then you know I love movies. I'm not much of the "going out type" unless that entails shopping or eating, exclusively. I take much solace in being alone, not wearing pants, and laying on my couch and watching Netflix for upward of 4 hours at a time. That said, I've put a lot of time in to movie watching and would dare say that I would rank in the top percentiles of every Buzzfeed quiz about film knowledge and trivia. Actually, one of my favorite classes I took during my undergraduate years was Film Studies. It was the only film class my school offered and the professor looked like a turtle but had some of the most entertaining personal stories I have ever heard. After taking the class I briefly considered pursuing a graduate film degree but quickly closed that door as I realized it would require me to shove my head so far up my ass I might asphyxiate, either that or my neck would snap under the unrelenting weight of my own ego, and that is large enough already. Therefore, it seemed appropriate that I share my top 10 favorite movies with you, in no particular order. (I promise they aren't all horror, even though those are the best).

Doomsday (Action):
Such a underrated movie. Set in a post-apocalyptic wasteland where resources are scarce and a viral infection has desecrated the greater population, the centralized government sends one boss ass bitch and a crew to look for a cure. It's like zombie movie meets Mad Max.

Watch the trailer here.

Shaun of the Dead (Horror Comedy):
If you ever ask me what my favorite movie of all time is, this will always be my answer. As much as I love horror, I hate almost every horror comedy I have ever seen. This movie would be one of two exceptions (the second being Tucker and Dale Vs. Evil). Clearly, this movie must be pretty impressive if it can break through the barriers of typically shitty horror comedy and ascend to Leah's Favorite Movie of All Time. In Shaun of the Dead a zombie virus outbreak hits London. The story follows best friends played by the best comedic duo of our time: Nick Frost and Simon Pegg. The friends venture into the dangerous streets in search of Pegg's girlfriend and his mother. The team of misfits then heads to the only safe haven they can think of: the Winchester, their pub of choice.

Watch the trailer here.

Hot Fuzz (Action Comedy): 
I am pretty serious in my allegations of Simon Pegg and Nick Frost being a brilliant comedic duo because this movie is one of their's as well. An impeccable and uptight police officer played by Pegg is moved out of the big city and in to a small village in England. The new location is pure and seemingly without fault. Pegg and his dopey companion officer played by Frost soon uncover exactly what allows this village to remain virtually void of crime.

Watch the trailer here. 

Bronson (Drama Biopic):
The biopic of famed criminal Charles Bronson as played by Tom Hardy's penis. Seriously, so much dick in this movie but when it's attached to Tom Hardy it is hard to be offended. This movie follows Bronson's life through unique story telling and is absolutely brilliant. I dismissed this movie for a few years because the descriptions never did it justice, much like this description is also successfully doing. The best I can do is tell you to watch it, unless full-frontal dick is going to make you clutch your pearls.

Watch the trailer here.

Deep Blue Sea (Sci-Fi Horror):
I love animals. I also love mutant animals. Deep Blue Sea delivers mutant sharks, Samuel L. Jackson's most memorable on-screen departure, and LL Cool J as a chef with a pet parrot on board a deep sea research rig. Every word in that last sentence is fodder for an awesome movie. I will freely admit that Deep Blue Sea is often panned as a terrible movie and part of me likes it for just that reason. Scientists are studying a new strain of uber-intelligent sharks in the middle of the ocean. A series of unfortunate events causes those ravenous fish to hunt down the scientists and crew as they search for safety. But actually, I'm not trying to be funny. I really do like this movie.
Don't watch this movie if you plan on taking it too seriously, but do watch it if you ever had that childhood fear of sharks in swimming pools.

Watch the trailer here. 

Bad Milo! (Comedy Horror?):
Before you watch this one, note the question mark after horror. My definition of "horror" is relatively narrow and I can certainly see how this might qualify as such for others. Bad Milo! is the charming story of the ass monster that lives in our main character's anus and presents itself whenever its host is feeling particularly stressed. Milo then tracks down the source of the stress and adorably murders it, then crawls back in to the colon from which it came. This movie isn't nearly as campy and stupid as it sounds, in fact, I watched it three times in three days. It's hilarious and silly without being so much of the latter that it loses its any semblance of a plot.

Watch the trailer here.

Requiem for a Dream (Drama):
I promise I don't just love this movie because my future husband Jared Leto is in it. Mostly. If you ever needed a reason not to explore the rabbit hole that is hardcore drugs, then this movie will make destroy any curiosity you may have had, and then some. There are very few movies that will leave you with a pit in your stomach days after watching, and this is certainly one of them. The story follows young lovers played by Jared Leto and Jennifer Connelly. The two become wrapped up in their passion for each other and drugs and soon spiral out of control. The movie also follows the mother of Jared Leto, who embarks on her own downward spiral. There is no happy ending. On the plus side, it has some great orchestral music.

Watch the trailer here.

28 Days Later (Horror):
My favorite zombie (technically infection, and there is a difference) movie of all time. Also probably my favorite pure-horror movie of all time. Model-esque actor Cillian Murphy wakes up in a London hospital unaware of how he got there, and more importantly, where any of the staff and patients are. A desolate London furthers his confusion as he soon encounters crazy eyed and ultra-violent people. Murphy bands together with a handful of other survivors in search of safety. Violent, magnificent music, terrifying, emotional, and unique.

Watch the trailer here.

Whores' Glory (Documentary): 
I felt obligated to include at least one documentary on the list to show that I am an intellectual beyond guts and gore; I also know about sex! This documentary focuses on the disparate sex trades in Thailand, India, and Mexico. It's equal parts intriguing, heart breaking, and uncomfortable, which makes it all the more important to watch.

Watch the trailer here.

The Birdcage (Comedy):
Nathan Lane and Robin Williams star as a drag queen and gay nightclub owner in Florida. Their son falls in love and intends to marry the daughter of a very rightwing, very conservative US Senator. This movie is/was easily one of Williams' best performances. To further attest to my love of this film, I named my parent's resident yard squirrel Agador Spartacus, the faux name of the "butler" from this film. It's cheerful and entertaining, two words never ever used to describe Your's Truly.

Watch the trailer here.

Commence the watching!

Feed Me

A haiku, by Leah, if you ignore the basic syllable structure that defines haikus.

Food is love
Food is life
Food is not meant to be shared

I take food very seriously. My grocery shopping is methodical and intentional. My restaurant orders are calculated and premeditated. Delivery is not a chance opportunity, but rather, a willful choice. My food is not to be fucked with unless you have a certain death wish. I can have a fork in your aorta faster than that mozzarella stick makes it to your lips.

As we have clearly established, I basically hate 100% of everything. I really, very much, sincerely loathe when any one attempts, or even suggests, that my food become their food. You had your chance and you chose poorly, now you must live with your decision. I will not fall victim to your questionable judgement, this is a fate you must accept and a journey you take alone...from across the table...with the waiter to bear witness.

My vehement reservations regarding food sharing isn't just me reverting to primal instincts, it is the result of cause and effect, trial and error, learning from my mistakes.

I can vividly recall a handful of occasions where I have offered a portion of my food to a second party. Unfortunately, that other party did not have the same respect for the food that I did and so carelessly wasted whatever morsels were left. For example, imagine someone asks to try a slice of your pizza. It is delightful pizza that is perfect in every way: crisp crust, salty cheese, acidic sauce, evenly distributed toppings. Everything about it is perfect. It is the Jesus of pizzas. Your friend excitedly takes a bite but reels back in disgust at your choice of black olives and mushrooms. They forcefully swallow the bite and proceed to drop the remaining slice on the plate like some sort of disgusting peasant in the pizza feudal system. Their blatant revulsion to your pizza taints the rest of the slice and you, the champion of its triangular perfection, are unable to take back that which was once freely given. It is like the first time you can detect in your parents' eyes how much they actually hate your finger paintings. Your heart, and stomach, slowly shatter. Sure, it may be dramatic, but you all know exactly what I am talking about.

There are also the times that you encounter The Taker. The Taker does just that, takes. She doesn't ask, suggest, propose. She grabs, generally nonchalantly, from your unexacting plate. Sometimes it is just a single fry, other times it is a bite of cheesecake. Either way, it is unforgivable and barbaric. Sometimes the individual will even have the audacity to continue to look you in the eyes and consume the kidnapped nutrients. It takes every ounce of self-control for me to not reach across the table and slam their head into the table with relentless vigor and enthusiasm.

Finally, there are The Sneaks. The Sneaks find their natural habitat in your home. Their behavior is simply impossible within the confines of a restaurant or other dining establishment. Your delightful personality has put these individuals so at ease that they feel entitled to whatever you may have in your refrigerator, cupboards, or pantry. I once observed an individual drink an entire half gallon of orange juice while hanging out in my residence. How is that deemed as acceptable behavior? Food costs money and fuck off if you think my grocery shopping is done with you in mind. The Sneaks also have the habit of breaking in to otherwise untouched or unopened food. That hunk of smoked gouda from Trader Joes that I treated myself to after a particularly miserable week at work? Go ahead, asshole, break off an ounce before I have even had the chance to pretend I was going to eat it with fancy wine and crackers instead of Wheat Thins and iced tea. Personally, The Sneaks are the worst type of people. They are the most clueless, reckless, and crude of the whole bunch. I hope they all get salmonella and violent diarrhea at the same time and can't think fast enough about which end gets the toilet and which gets the trash can.

If you steal food, you are a bad person.

Leave Leah Alone

Sometimes (all the time) I get really riled up about the 1 billion things that piss me off on a regular basis. It is like my life is the Truman Show, but instead of watching me progress through my existence as normal, everyone attempts to push me as close to violent rage as possible to see if I will actually be compelled to murder.

Before I go any deeper I find it absolutely vital that I qualify what I consider to be the measurement of my patience. In all honesty, I am not an angry person. Very rarely do I find myself miffed or Hulk-smash pissed. Usually if I am angry I am in a mess of rage-tears because I can't control my emotions and everyone sucks. It genuinely takes a lot to send me over the edge. That said, I am almost always irritated. Without a smidge of hyperbole, my resting state is generally somewhere between, "wow, you are fucking insufferable" to "natural selection missed you and that disappoints me." I wouldn't dare say this is a bad thing as it provides me with a source of witty, albeit wicked, commentary and a solid reason to never socialize with anyone out of a sense of "obligation." Side note: I hate the idea of obligation. I'm not obligated to do jack shit so fuck right off. Anyway, I am just in a constant element of wondering why the decision making skills of everyone around me leaves so much to be desired and why I, of all people, was burdened with bearing witness. 

The most broad category of that which tests my ability to remain willfully non-violent is the infinite arena of stupid questions. Any person who ever said "there is no such thing as a stupid question" is the reason the phrase was created. I can, without the slightest degree of hesitation, assure you that there are such things as stupid questions. In fact, I would even argue that stupid questions are notably more common than questions that are worth their weight in expression and contemplation. 

Before asking me a question, consider the following: is this information readily available elsewhere, perhaps Google, the biggest search engine humanity has ever seen? Have I already provided the answer to this question? Do you actually need an answer to this question or is this your piss poor attempt at small talk? Is someone currently on fire? Will someone be on fire in the near future? Are you on fire?  

If you answered "yes" to any of these questions then your social and emergency response skills are severely stunted and you should not, in fact, ask me the question. 

Similar to questions, there is small talk. Good god I fucking hate small talk. I do not care about the weather. I do not care about your hell spawn. I don't care about what you did over the weekend. I don't care about your plans to sacrifice virgins. I don't care about your current state of indigestion or what item from the Taco Bell dollar menu caused it. I do not care about your opinion on a highly charged social and/or political topic that you have no substantial or relevant educational background in.

What is so uncomfortable about silence? Why is it impossible to allow a standard greeting to be nothing more than a "hello?" If being within friendly proximity to another person makes you physically unable to refrain from filling the air with idle conversation that literally neither party is invested in, then you may want to reconsider your place and purpose in the social stratosphere.

Take those last two points and put them together and you have my next aggression generating behavior. I absolutely abhor when others try to reel me in to a conversation through a leading question or statement that essentially requires some sort of calculated response on my behalf. Examples of this include, but are not limited to: What are you doing on Saturday from 11 a.m. to 9 p.m.? He is not on my good side after this weekend. Or, my personal favorite, a long and audible sigh that indicates frustration, disdain, and a hapless need for my validation. If you really desire some sort of interaction with me, and hopefully you don't, this is not the way to go about it. I know what you are doing and I will ignore you and make you uncomfortably rethink your methods of interaction. I will shame you without uttering a single syllable. Once again, I am under no obligation to soothe your ego or inquire about how many times your baby shit his pants this weekend. Move along and invest your efforts elsewhere. Your attempts to interact with me will be rejected, mocked, and leave you feeling like you just poured salt in a papercut you didn't know you had. 

Lord of the Rings: A Critique

Today I fulfilled what appears to be my birthright as a member of this generation: I finally watched Lord of the Rings. Technically, only the first two of the trilogy but I would like to write this post before my fiftieth birthday, so excuse my premature assessment of the series.

Holy fucking shit. How does anyone sit through these movies and at the end tell themselves that the past 10 hours of dreary walking was enjoyable? If you like these movies you are certainly fucking lying to yourself. I'm under the impression that people say these movies are marvelous epics because they are based on books which are marvelous epics. The transitive property doesn't fucking work that way in showbiz. The movies have impressive CGI and makeup, but that doesn't give them a free ticket to IMDB's Top 250 Movies of All Time list.

First, let's talk about the sheer length of these movies. I pulled up The Fellowship of the Rings this weekend thinking that maybe I would have to set aside 2.5 hours, max. Nah, we were looking at almost 4 fucking hours a Elijah Wood's uncomfortable "O" face which apparently supposed to pass for the "surprised" expression. The fucking credits alone were almost a full 25 minutes. That's fucking absurd. That's not a movie. That is looking at yourself in the mirror while you rub one out and cry. Furthermore, viewers are almost two hours in to the movie before they even establish that they are going to go on this quest as a group, a fellowship, if you will. The preceding 120 minutes was about as exciting as foreplay with Larry King.

Next, the names in this trilogy as just begging to be mocked. Which is really lovely because it is a service I am so readily able and willing to provide. Obviously, this pleasure isn't brought to us by Peter Jackson, but by dead ol' JRR Tolkein. Regardless of who was clearly knackered off their ass on gin at the inception of these names, they deserve my critical assessment.
So first we have our protagonist Froyo and his creepy uncle, or something, Dildo Baggins. He also has some other buddies who are practically interchangeable. There is Samsung Galaxy and Mary Poppins (two people hiding in one oversized trench coat). Finally there is the motley crew featuring Giblets and Legoland, and sexy Acorn. I am even furthered entertained by the fact that Tolkein just seemed to phone it in with Mt. Doom. One too many episodes of He-Man and that is the best we can do for a central and vital plot location in the film.

Finally, while I certainly love the fantasy involved in this adventure, I can't help but address the implausibility of this whole situation. Am I really supposed to believe that a motherfucking wizard can't destroy the ring himself, or at least employ some of his wizard abilities to assist? No? Okay, so we will just send a whole bunch of short, hairy, teenagers to get the job done. Hope you don't fuck up because the fate of Middle Earth rests in your sweaty palms!

To be fair, I didn't exactly decide to watch these movies because of any inherent desire or need of enlightenment. I just really enjoy movies and thought that I couldn't be hyper-critical of a set of films I had never seen. The only real experience I had with Lord of the Rings was the Lego Lord of the Rings game for Wii. Which is very exciting because Sean Bean's character gets stabbed with a carrot or chicken instead of an arrow. Additionally, the movie Clerks II set me up with a perspective that was more than successfully fulfilled. Please, I beg you, watch.

I just can't get in to it and I will not lie about my dissatisfaction. I'm surprised this movie didn't have fucking Beyonce in it. That's how much I hate it.

Bullshit Brew

So, beer is a pretty popular thing. I live and work on a college campus which means I am basically surrounded by it, knowingly and unknowingly, at all times. Remember that made up fact about having a spider within five feet of you at all times? Basically, imagine that being true for Natty Light and you have every 24 hours of my life. Beer is seemingly more ubiquitous than water and I certainly can't fucking understand why because beer taste like carbonated piss.

The basic concept of beer is absurd to me. If anyone tells you something is an "acquired taste" you should probably look in to something else. You shouldn't have to "acquire" the taste of anything in order to enjoy it. That's how people get in to the hobbies of murder and bank heists. Who in their right mind tries something, thinks its gross, then tells themselves, "I'm going to keep purchasing and consuming more of this until I find it tolerable?" People who like Beyonce, that's who. Liking something because it's an acquired taste does not make you unique or interesting, it makes you annoying and unoriginal. Forcing yourself to like something because others do is just really fucking dumb.

The first time I had beer I thought it was absolutely repulsive. Not only does it taste bad but it also smells bad. It is like consuming dirty, carbonated water, at room temperature. What is even more perplexing is that people consider it refreshing. No. Ice cold water after a run is refreshing (I am only assuming because fuck running). Bubbly piss water consumption for no reason is not refreshing. The second time I had beer I was so intoxicated that it didn't exactly matter what I was drinking. To this day even thinking about beer makes me feel nauseated, so no, I don't want to try your peach IPA banana fermented stout with a sunflower chaser, or whatever the fuck adjectives you are using to make it sound palatable.

Don't try to tell me that Beer A is better than Beer B either. There is no difference. That is like saying Hepatitis A is far better than Hepatitis C. That is an irrelevant form of measurement. Beer "aficionados" are some pretty pretentious assholes too. Beer tastings, beer tours, beer centered events in general are just annoying. I would put $50 on your not being able to tell the different between Bud Lite and whatever arrogantly named brew you are being sold for about $8 more.

Now, don't tell me I shouldn't have an opinion on this because I don't know shit about alcohol. That is a gross falsehood. I've been to England and Ireland on more than one occasion and those fuckers know how to drink. Beer doesn't get any better no matter what side of the ocean you are on. I even drank fresh Guinness from the top of the Guinness brewery. And you know what? It still fucking sucked.

If you have already acquired the taste, keep on keepin' on. If you haven't, don't bother or feel embarrassed by this implied inadequacy. You are just fine and can go spend your money on something that doesn't taste like it came out of a urethra.

Social Pariah Status

I think I am finally prepared to bring you what is arguably my most controversial topic of all time. It has been a long time coming and I have waited anxiously for the opportunity to share my thoughts with you. I worry that I may need to go in to hiding for disclosing my thoughts, but I can't hold my tongue any more. I feel like a fraud hiding behind my scathing and bitter commentary without addressing this growing concern. It is time for me to throw caution to the wind and express what has been weighing so heavily on my mind for so long.

Beyonce fucking sucks.

So. Much.

It is next to impossible for me to fully articulate my feelings on this topic because I don't have the proper outlets to regularly shed my negative feelings about "Bey." Every time I broach the subject I am shot down by her loyal followers, drones, workers "beys." My disdain has turned me in to a virtual pariah, practically instigating a modern day witch hunt. I don't have a following of loyal supporters. My views are simply my own and I can no longer keep them shrouded in the depths of my mind for fear of social suicide.

There are a handful of light criticisms of Beyonce, most of them related to her contradictory feminist statements and behaviors, her lavish life style, suspicious ties to the Illuminati, her relationship with biped parasites Kim and Kanye, and her piss poor Photoshopping abilities on Instagram. My condemnation of Beyonce is directly rooted in my inability to understand any merits of her popularity. 

Beyonce is arguably one of the most popular and highest earning pop stars of the current millennium. I could back this up with numbers but am too lazy to Google her net worth. I don't want my computer getting the idea that I have any personal investment in her Forbes ranking. While most celebrities are void of any modicum of talent, I can at least understand a fraction of their marketability to the masses. In my experience, Beyonce offers nothing but really poorly timed photo opportunities. 

Photo credit: News Asylum

Beyonce is a mediocre signer, a mediocre performer, she lacks any interesting controversy, her music isn't catchy, and she is vacant of personality. Yet, somehow, everyone is so far up her asshole they are putting their money directly in her back pocket. I am so confused by her popularity that the previous sentence doesn't make any fucking sense. I am entirely unable to understand what makes her so god damn interesting to the 6.2 billion people in the world. I doubt I will ever understand the appeal unless the world takes a turn for Clockwork Orange-esque reparative therapy. Beyonce is truly the epitome of overrated. Furthermore, there is no way she was ever actually pregnant with Navy Vine or Cobalt Plant, whatever the fuck its name is.

The Key to Creativity, Confidence, and Appeal

This past month I participated in what people in the makeup world call a "no buy." It is a predetermined amount of time, generally a month, where the makeup obsessed forgo purchasing any new makeup products. I had never done one before, but when I began to notice that I was buying new products simply for the sake of having them, it was time to reacquaint my slew of brushes with their elderly powder brethren. Also, I was really fucking broke because the holidays, combined with a delayed new year pay date, left me playing the part of the frugal adult. I started off really strong and closed out of full online shopping carts on many occasions. I even spent 45 minutes in Sephora without buying a single product, though that isn't to say I didn't want to. I had one misstep about 10 days before my month of self-imposed beauty embargo was over. Miley Cyrus released her Viva Glam limited edition lipstick through Mac, and based on Mac's habit of poorly planned releases, I had to nab it. That said, I forced myself to keep it in the package, unused, until the first of February. I will have you know that I accomplished my secondary requirement. Additionally, all proceeds of my purchase go to AIDS charity, so all y'all judgmental fucks can blow me.

Anyway, during this no-buy, I found myself reflecting on a question I had seen posed a few times before: is makeup feminist? I will settle this question, once and for all, with my unadulterated word-smithing abilities. In other words, lots of swearing and telling you want to do...ya' fuck.

The context of the aforementioned question comes from the idea that women who choose to wear makeup, do solely for the purpose of appealing to men's sole desire to put their genitals in our mouths, in hopes, that one day, they will decide that they want their genitals in only one woman's mouth for the rest of their lives. Nothing short of charming. Furthermore, it is asserted that makeup is intended to pander, placate, and force women into servitude to overpriced powders and creams in an attempt to express beauty, which is equated to value. I call bullshit on every fucking word in that previous sentence (the only exception being the overpriced part, Jesus H. Christ, that shit is expensive).

[Deleted]

You see that little deleted parenthetical statement up there? I found myself writing for a half hour an extensive diatribe about my concerns with certain types of organized feminism. When I finally hit a stopping point, I realized that I would rather not use my blog for heated, political leaning commentary. I would rather address social issues in a hilarious, yet scathing, manner. If you want to know my thoughts on feminism, you are welcome to sit through my hour long and certainly circular argument both for and against it.

Moving right along.

I wear makeup because makeup is fucking awesome. Sometimes I just identify with neon pink eyelids and fierce as fuck arches. Other times I want lips blacker than my heart and lashes longer than War and Peace. Being able to identify how I want to look from one day to the next is awesome. There are literally limitless combinations that form identities I can come in and out of with a few wipes of makeup remover.

Makeup makes me feel pretty. Wanting to feel pretty is neither feminist nor not feminist. It has nothing to do with feminism. It has everything to do with self-confidence and being a fucking rockstar. When I walk in to a room and everyone turns their attention to the woman with the blood red lips and perfectly symmetrical liner (I'm referring to me), I feel empowered. Makeup gives me the power to focus attention on myself (my favorite) and force others to acknowledge that they are now sharing oxygen with this badass. No one ever forgets my name.

Brace yourself for this one: makeup makes me attractive to other people. Once again, believe it or not, this is neither feminist nor not feminist. Wanting to connect with people on a social and intimate level by appealing to their aesthetic preferences is not an insult to my existence. In fact, it is 95% of the reason I am here writing this today: my ancestors fucked because they looked attractive to someone else. I have physical preferences in the opposite sex and it doesn't bother me in the least that they have physical preferences as well. I also have emotional and mental preferences but those don't seem to be nearly as pressing of an issue, by comparison.

That's really all there is to it. Makeup inspires creativity, confidence, and appeal. There is nothing inherently wrong with any of those things. Not wearing makeup can also inspire creativity, confidence, and appeal. Once again, there is nothing inherently wrong with any of those things. If you want to wear makeup, please do. Contact me for some solid recommendations. If you don't want to wear makeup, then don't. Spend your money on other cool things.

Don't let anyone else tell you how you should feel about makeup. Unless it's me, because I just spent an hour typing up a blog about why my opinion on the topic matters.

Cinnamon Flavored Death

Cinnamon Flavored Death. No that is not the name of some gritty 1970's grind house movie. That is what I call anything cinnamon flavored that is not a pastry item. That covers your Red Hots, Hot Tamales, those terrible red "sprinkles" that people hide on Christmas cookies because they just want someone to ruin the holiday dinner with vomit, Big Red gum, and the rest. It's gross, it's unappetizing, and it is a mere facade of what candy is supposed to be. It is disappointment in its purest form.

I have a handful of very specific, very unique food aversions. We all know I hate when sweet foods are warm, I've never had a PB and J sandwich, and dark chocolate is Satan's aphrodisiac. What makes my distaste for non-dessert cinnamon flavored items interesting is that it was born not of natural causes, but of one night of bad decision making.

My senior year of college, when I was 21 (really, I'm not rounding up for this story), my best friend and I visited a mutual friend at another college. In proper host fashion, my best friend and I were offered extensive amounts of libations, including the dietary culprit in this situation: Goldschlager. If you are unfamiliar, Goldschlager is a cinnamon flavored schnapps with little gold bits floating around in it. Imbibing in enough of this potent potion makes you feel warm, cozy, and very very very...relaxed. After becoming increasingly "relaxed" my body decided to depart with my gold lined stomach contents. It was the first and only time that an alcoholic beverage has taken the initiative to remove itself, forcefully, from my insides. A few trips to the porcelain puke receptacle and I was doing alright. Unfortunately, to this day, I cannot tolerate the faintest scent of fake cinnamon flavoring. If someone pulls out a piece of Big Red gum during a meeting, and I am privy to its dominant scent properties, I have to force my tongue to the roof of my mouth in order to keep myself from making a scene and actually releasing my lunch all over the floor. Once I was leaving a sushi restaurant with my brother and went to grab a mint from the host podium. I was just crossing the threshold to the parking lot when I popped the mint in my mouth and was met with my scenes of my life flashing in front of my eyes. I spit out the after-dinner abomination and began to dry heave in the parking lot, like a true class act.

The only moderately pleasant thing about this whole experience is that fake cinnamon items tend to be dyed an equally unappealing red color, so they aren't particularly challenging to avoid. Tasty cinnamon flavored items (pies, rolls, cakes), that involve use of the actual spice, not its reject sibling, are brown...like cinnamon.

In summation, faux cinnamon is bad and if you enjoy it then you should feel bad you plebeian waste of space.

CK Reuber

I am going to tell you a story about how my mom is a motherfucking rockstar wizard from outer space with infinite wisdom, humor, and compassion. I like to describe my mother in those words because those are the closest I can get to an accurate written description of her. The only other way I can think to describe her is as the nice version of me, which is also pretty accurate. My mom is a fucking sorcerer and could destroy Gandalf McDumbledore in battle. She is just rad as fuck.

When I was growing up, CK Reuber and I had the typical mother-daughter relationship, maybe a bit more amplified than average, but typical nonetheless. We got along rather well, for the most part, although I did go through the "asshole teenager" phase which put small strain of the relationship. When I left for college our relationship really solidified itself and we have been #besties ever since.

What makes my mom so awesome is her limitless ability to deal with Yours Truly. I can be a little much...all the time. I require constant attention and reassurance while simultaneously acting like I am completely okay without those things. Can you imagine trying to raise a feisty child who is a complete contradiction of herself 100% of the time? I am always whining for mozzarella sticks or coffee and expect her to drop everything to give me a hug on demand. I am super annoying and she deals with that.

Perhaps one of my favorite things about CK is that she inspires confidence in me. She has never made me doubt myself or anything I was doing. She was supportive when I decided to major in the 3 most unemployable academic fields. She let me dress and do my hair and makeup like I was on fucking crack and meth popsicles. She was never that mom who had backhanded commentary about my outfits, my weight, or my interests. That shit makes all the difference.

One of my other favorite things about CK, as it relates to her relationships with others, is how she makes everyone feel like they matter, because to her, they do. (That is important to clarify because I still hate everyone). My mom can know someone for ten minutes and they are confiding in her about their biggest life stressors. She listens, she relates, and she cares, and that is some seriously rare shit to come by.

Continuing on with things I love about my mom is that she doesn't give two and half fucks about any conceptions of how women with kids are supposed to act, dress, and what they can enjoy. Homegirl wears black and white polka dot Converse and Doc Martens to work. She swears like a sailor and secretly enjoys Keeping Up With the Kardashians.

CK allows me to let my freak flag fly and I think she should be knighted or given sainthood. She is fucking amazing. I'm sure your mother is good and all, but mine is 100 fucking times better.

Questionable Taste

I have quite a few unique quirks and idiosyncrasies that I like to think are more endearing than annoying. One of those peculiarities is my fixation with terrible horror and sci-fi movies. Think Two Headed Shark, Piranhaconda, Rubber, Dead Snow, Tusk, Deep Blue Sea, and the like. I don't like them for the sake of being weird and/or interesting because I'm not a douche like that. I like them because they are so fucking ridiculous they are magnificent bastions of cinema. Don't judge a movie by its horribly photoshopped publicity.

I started watching horror movies at a very young age. Perhaps a young enough age to cause people to question my parent's tactics for raising a child. Regardless, my dad and I would watch Tales from the Crypt on the regular and we bonded quite closely as a result. It was our thing. Some people build model airplanes with their dads, others harbor resentment over a missed dance recital, but I built my father-daughter memories on a foundation of severed heads and disemboweled corpses. Our affinity for horror meant that early in my adolescence I had already seen most of the classics (Freddy, Jason, Michael) so I had to tap in to some "creative" subgenres to quench my blood lust. This meant that the Sy-Fy channel and I became well acquainted. 

At first my tolerance for these god-awful movies was the same as anyone else: I seriously questioned how the funding for these movies was generated and exactly how many drugs each actor/director/writer/producer was on during its inception. The more I watched and the lower my standards became, the more interested I was in the next anthropomorphic-animal-hybrid creature feature. My tastes became weirder and weirder and it wasn't long before I understood the socialist underpinnings in movies like Dead Snow 1 and 2, or the global warming skepticism in Mega Shark Vs. Mechashark. Now, in the present day, my Netflix queue is filled with one-star rated films and their  C-list celebrity actors. 

One of the first movies that fit in to this category and I loved unironically was Deep Blue Sea. It is still one of my favorites. The movie takes place on a marine research rig in the middle of the ocean. The scientists on board are studying mako sharks and their aggressive nature. A severe storm and failed rescue attempt (because of course), along with a breached rig, leaves the crew trying to escape against uber-intelligent sharks with a penchant for mindless slaughter. This movie even features Samuel L. Jackson and Ice Cube. Another one of the "classics" is Anaconda featuring Jennifer Lopez, Owen Wilson, Ice Cube (he knows how to pick 'em) and Jon Voight. Lopez and Wilson, among others, are floating down the Amazon River to shoot a tribal documentary. They encounter Voight who manipulates them in to taking a specific route that will allow him to track a massive, record-breaking, person-eating, anaconda. Then there is Dead Snow which chronicles the escape and defeat from Nazi zombies protecting their treasures in Norway. 

Aside from my history with these movies, I am not sure what continues to draw me to them. It isn't because I enjoying telling people that I spent my weekend alone in my apartment, without pants on,  watching Mega Shark vs. Giant Octopus (seriously, why don't I have a boyfriend?). The CGI is just as bad as the acting and the plots are always remarkably shallow. I would like to think that I derive so much enjoyment out of these movies because it gives me a chance to let go of any semblance of critical thinking. For an hour and a half all I have to worry about it how Brooke Hogan is going to escape a sinking island and outsmart a shark with two heads at the same time.