Three "interesting" car sightings today:

1) Something something something VAG number number license plate. NOT a vanity plate. Goooooood.

2) Let's Do It stick-on letters applied majestically across (tinted) back windows. Uh. Do they? With just anybody? Because personally, I would not be extending that invitation to just anyone in L.A. Er, genital warts.

3) The Goddess is Alive and Magic is Afoot bumper sticker.
Afoot?! Afoot in their ass, maybe. More like ahead.

So my friend Garbanzo just sent me this: Why don't you try practicing random acts of intelligence and senseless acts of self-control?, which, if it isn't a bumper sticker, should be.

I want to make one that says, I Brake for Red Lights, especially as I'm nearly killed here in L.A. on a daily basis due to same.

Labels: hippies, Ill-advised car stick-on thingies, sluts

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Er, I meant, time. Yeah. Time.

I hate my new new job.

So far it consists of living in my boss' armpit and doing everyone else's job who decided to flake off/call in because it's a new year and they are enjoying their newly replenished sick/vacation/floating holidays.

No, I do not care if they are faking the flu or just got hit in the face by the airbag real hard, I call bullshit.

On the other hand, his armpit don't smell all that bad.

In other news, my friend just sent me this not-safe-for-mixed company (or, well, company) link: Your Independent Passion Consultant!

I told her I can see it now: Muffy J. Stickup: Passion Consultant. A far cry from her former side job as a Mary Kay lady, but with just as much pink.

Er, actually I told her, I am not so sure if I want to be erotically stimulated by an elephant. Even if he is really quite pretty.

At least, I assume it's a him.

And besides, her link was pretty tame. It's no Domestic Partner Black Vinyl Ripple Probe. I've seen far worse.
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Lately I have been rather ooked out (ook = -Stephanie).
Have been huddled under the covers watching absolute crap TV with multiple cat asses on my head, and I can safely say that nothing that comes out of our respective holes could match the ick factor in commercials today.

Two especially sick ones I've noticed crossing the hell over the line lately:

Afrin - Were those not two computer generated, animated boogers I just saw?! Please tell me it was just some bad clams I ate. If not, I expect to see a CGI kid wiping his CGI boogers on the wall, any day now.

These nose goblins are somehow worse than the Mucinex phlegm globber family.


Clearblue Easy - Very nice 3D looking pregnancy test in 360° view, boasting that it is the most advanced technology "that you've ever...well. You know," and then...AND THEN, a CGI stream of URINE - and it is NOT blue* - majestically cascades down, like Niagara Falls, from an off-camera, CGI muff**, and chaos ensues.

Ad execs? We've talked about this before. To review: 1) This Barbie (sadly, no longer available) came with a peeing cat - and featured a picture of it...uh, in action - on the packaging. 2) H&R Block, or similar, commercial in which a baby actually peed on camera. Or, a PA with a squirt gun did - but still! Listen up, suits: pee - even simulated, CGI pee = not okay.

Not before dinner, not after dinner, not anytime.

*it is not yellow, either, but...just you wait. I predict, this time next year: CGI poo.

**by the way? If you do not know where the vagina is, then you have no business getting pregnant.

To reiterate: bodily fluids - blue, red, green, clear, purple, or otherwise - on TV, or anywhere outside of a magazine in a plain brown wrapper - NOT okay.
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The badvertisers are after my leaky ass again. And they still think I'm bi. (-lingual, that is).

(Okay, so my ass is a huge target, but their target market, I am not.)

Yes, IT CAME IN THE MAIL:

Cleeck to make BIG-!
I think I'm going to hang this on my door, as a warning to others.
Very rough translation:

OPEN THE DOOR TO HAPPINESS-!
These are your days. The days in which you take everything to skin flower. [uh...heart?] And you go one week accustomed to the visit. But your days are much more than one week submerged in emotions. They are the essence of being woman. Your nature remembers… is perfect and it is not mistaken. So it shows your better smile. [Your "better smile" is in your pants?! -Ed.] Because happiness is not just a state of [mind?], it is a decision. It laughs, it cries, it shouts and ?!!!?? Be that as it may if it makes you happy. We are here for to help.

"Dias". Flowers. "The visit". "Happiness...is a decision".

What a crock.

This ad is like a cross between a Scientology brochure and fundamentalist Christian bullshit. I think they've been listening to women like this. And, I could do without "the essence of being woman," it is NOT flower-like, not at all. And I would sonríe a helluva lot more if I didn't have to deal with it, thanks.

See, getting things like the following in the mail does not make me want to go out and buy their product; it makes me want to find the person responsible and shove my Trader Joe's, inexpensive, unbleached, used organic vag bullets down their throat:

Please note the butterflies emerging from the pantyliner. Butterflies do NOT fly out of a cotton ponies - at least, they shouldn't. Unless they landed and pupated in there, or something, butterflies do not fly out of one's crotch.

Moths, maybe.


Waiter, there's leakage in my pantyliner...there's pantyliners in my leakage!

So, what are they trying to tell me - that I'm a) old, and b) premenstrual? That I need something to catch my clots and my pants accidents? That I'm basically one step away from bleeding out while pissing into my Depends® before shitting myself, and I should perhaps start thinking about putting my affairs in order, fuck off, and die. Thanks, Personal Products Company.* Thanks...a lot.

And now, for even more pants-wetting goodness: water, with oxygen...and LOVE!

H2OM Water with Intention "Love" - Only in L.A. Dude, I'm not sure I want love in my water. Shit's not sanitary.**

*"So, where do you work, Bob?" "I'm glad you asked, Rob. I work for Personal Products Company, a division of McNeil-PPC, Inc., a leader in the consumer oral and women's health markets with MONISTAT® vaginal yeast cures, and K-Y® personal lubricant, as well as a line of sanitary products." "Uh...grrreeeat. Hey, isn't that Midge over there? I think I'll go get a refill on my vodka tonic."

**I did not purchase this.
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I hate Klaus, the bald-headed singer with the Bozo hairdo. Still...eieieieiieieeiieee. And, bad boys running wild. And you better get out of their wee.

Well, that's what it sounds like he is singing. It does.

Stupid Germans.

Other than that, I got a new job. Same place, same time, gobs & loads more responsibility, not so much more moolah. Like a silly chicken-headed ninny sucker chump.

It is a "stepping stone" position. I just hope the "stone" is not actually stool.

So, last night, I had a dream that I was Hyacinth Bucket from Keeping Up Appearances, punting on the Thames with her husband. Then, I turned into me and Richard turned into my boss. Apparently, I had perched my Patricia Routledge-sized ass on some rusty railing, (which incidentally, had turned into a Formica counter covered with tiny cockroaches) and he [my boss, in boss form] started laughing and proceeded to clean off my pants, with my ass still in them. Right before I woke up, he said, "you've got to be more careful of where you sit."

Hrm. Better try not to read too much into this.
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