And they lived happily every after. The End.

Well, monkeybirds, it's been quite a trip. I'd type my fingers right off if I were to try to tell you everything this blog has done to help me discover myself and grow as a person. Like all good things, though, it must come to an end, and I've let it go on much long enough without putting a proper finish on it.

So here's to you, all you who've read my blog: you've been great, babes, real top-notch. I couldn't have asked for a better group of readers for my debut into the writing world. Thanks for sticking with me, lovelies, and I hope we can look back at the crazy things we've shared with fondness and laughter.

xo Lassin Sayne

Lady Gaga (What Else Is There to Say?)

Since upon seeing this Lady Gaga photo I've had the following conversation, in one form or another, with myself.

LASSIN SAYNE: Wuzzah? I don't even know what to say. She looks insane. (Heh, I guess the world is in working order.)

LASSIN SAYNE'S BRAIN: PANCAKE HAIR.

LS: Not sure I want to go with the obvious "E.T. phone home" joke here . . .

LSB: Pancake. Hair.

LS: Lady Gaga joins the Justice League, incapacitating enemies with the blinding combination of her hair and outfits . . . nah, that's kinda tragically hacky . . .

LSB: PANCAKE HAIR PANCAKE HAIR.

LS: Hottest new skein-o-yarn hair accessory in case a frantic knitting tournament erupts in the middle of her interview?

LSB: PAAAAANCAKE HAIR.

LS: Her hair stylist was viciously craving a jelly donut?

LSB: PANCAKE HAAAAAIR.

LS: Gah, it's hypnotic in its monstrosity; I can't think of what to say. Sometimes there just aren't words.

LSB: I CAN THINK OF TWO WORDS THAT WOULD FIT QUITE NICELY.



P.S. I actually had this post done yesterday, but the only computer I had access to wouldn't let me operate Blogger. Sorry about that.

. . . Boys Go to Jupiter to Get More Stupider

A long-disputed and highly controversial subject in our society is the question of whether males or females are the superior gender. I am here to tell you that, without question, it is most definitely the latter. Three facts that prove girls are better than boys beyond a shadow of a doubt are that they are more highly esteemed as models, are more determined to look good, and make better mothers.

If there’s one thing modern America has taught us, it’s that models are a more evolved subspecies of humans, and we should all want to be like them. Naturally, one could infer from this that if a person were easily recognizable as a model, he or she would be the best of the best – the ultimate Homo superior, if you will. Now, if I were to ask you who Tyra Banks is, you’d probably answer “the host of America’s Next Top Model” or “that chick on Sport’s Illustrated: Swimsuit Edition,” depending on if you’re a girl or boy. Simply, I’m sure you would be able to identify her as a model. However, if I were to ask you to tell me who Travis Fimmel is, could you? Is the name ringing any bells? Well, Fimmel is currently ranked the number one male model in the world. My point in this demonstration is, of course, that in putting two allegedly famous models together, a female and a male, you only knew of the former. If, indeed, a model is a sign of excellence, then men have been made Mercury to women’s Jupiter.

On a similar note, women tend to go to greater lengths to present themselves in a more attractive manner. It’s a proven fact that attractive people are more successful in life than their average counterparts. Though at first glance the average woman spending $471 a year on beauty products compared to Joe Sixpack’s $198 may seem wasteful, in the long run it will actually allow her a better shot at a well-paying job. This not only makes females smarter for a larger initial investment in appearance, but also ultimately more successful. Although it is true that things like the addition or absence of floral scents from shaving cream make such stark differences in the figures mentioned before, you have to ask yourself the question: Wouldn’t I be more receptive to someone who smelled like roses? Wouldn’t I be coerced more willingly into a pointless purchase if I was satisfied in matters of olfaction? I think you’ll find that the answer is yes, yes you would be.

Of course, nothing measures success like good mothering. Although all of us need to be told to wipe the blood from our lips and man-up when we get into trouble, there is also that small and irrational part of our psyche that wishes to be comforted when we’re in pain. And let’s face it – although Dad was great slapping that cold steak on your eye the first time you got whapped with a baseball, he isn’t gonna be there to rub your feet and feed you chicken broth when you have the sniffles. A very important part of child development is TLC. It’s what trains us to value negotiation over brute force; what keeps us in check all those years down the road when that that kid in our Algebra class won’t stop talking about his new video game and our pencil is poised to strike. When you get down to it, mothers are the only ones who can offer that ever-so-important tender, loving care. They’re the ones who’ll wear the luridly flowered aprons and cook the slightly-burned bacon that make a house feel like home. They’ll never tell you the truth about your school photos, and always compliment your English essays. You’re your mommy’s googly-bear, her snuffle-dove. Honestly, Pops will never hit that level of endearing smothering, no matter how hard he tries . . . unless he’s Clay Aiken, but I shouldn’t get into that now.

Being a decent human being, of course, I believe that both genders must have equal representation under the law, but I think we can all agree that when we strip bare the pillar of humanity, doing away with sociopolitical nuances and attitudes, women leave men in the dust. But don’t worry boys – if there’s anything people like Chris Crocker have been a shining example of, it’s that you can shed that cumbersome coat of masculinity and release your inner diva.

"Loving the Alien"

"Leonard Nimoy’s quizzically handsome, slightly inscrutable, deep-voiced Vulcan Spock -- a man so arch he had permanent raised eyebrows -- was . . . [a] kind of missing link between the British TV alien time traveler Doctor Who (who debuted in 1963) and Yoda, Spock, the Vulcan with the ears of an elf, the bangs of a mid-'60s turtlenecked nightclub dandy, and the manners of an extraterrestrial Zen guru, was, symbolically speaking, humanity “evolved” into a creature of ultimate, impeccable logic and wisdom. Of course, such perfection isn’t really attainable, or even necessarily desirable, which is why the flaw in Spock’s nature, his human side -- the bits of emotion that niggled away at his placid demeanor -- were what made him sympathetic. Yet within the temperamentally integrated rainbow coalition that was the crew of the U.S.S. Enterprise, Spock, the suavely rational brain man, represented something new: the coming of geek chic." -- 'Star Trek': Why Spock is cooler than ever by Owen Gleiberman

"Chibi Spock" by aurorblackcat on DeviantArt

I have a new and ever-growing love for Mr. Spock. Some ask me, "But why Spock? Why Spock?! The ears, the ears!" To that I say, "Hm, nyah -- shuddup, I can't hear the TOS episode over your yapping." I can understand how some might not find Spock attractive: Leonard Nimoy (the actor who played Spock -- the original Spock, the real Spock, thankyouverymuch, Zachary Quinto) is not conventionally handsome, by any means; he's an indifferent character, ostensibly incapable of showing emotion; in the same vein, he's acutely logical, possessing such an unyielding sense of rational -- completely untainted by feeling -- as to make him seem cold and perhaps even cruel; and let's not forget the ears and eyebrows. However, I think it's crystal clear why Spock is so mind-numbingly attractive. And I will share that knowledge with you. You're welcome.


Seeing as how this is the biggest and most obvious reason for Spock's appeal, I'll get it over with right off the bat: The man (Vulcan?) could out-think Einstein any day of the week and twice on Sunday. Our boy Spocky is an intelligent little thing. He's served as a Science Officer under two captains, in addition to First Officer under one. With a brain that vast, you'd never be intellectually bored. Such dedication to bettering one's mind shows a sense of commitment and passion, both of which as hugely important factors to Teh Appeal.


Spock is notorious for his ostensible incapability to display emotion. Given that, if he ever told you he loved you, he'd really have to frickin' mean it. All the females I know need that sense of sincerity behind a declaration of love, which Spock is more than able to provide.


Spoiler alert (from 27 years ago)! In Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan, Spock dies while saving the Enterprise from the Genesis Device which Khan had activated to destroy it. He ultimately saves the ship by restoring its power, but dies from the radiation released by the damaged warp drive. In the funeral held by the crew, Spock's body is shot into space . . . eventually landing on the Genesis planet, which converts his body so that he is once again a (living) baby. Moral of the story: Not even death will do you part -- Spock can love you forever.


Although he is often presented as gentle and reserved, Spock contains an arsenal of wow-worthy physical abilities. Never mind heightened strength, stamina, and agility, he can incapacitate someone by pinching one's neck! That is very nearly a superpower. How. Freaking. Awesome.


Despite the fact that it will likely require a bit of coercive maneuvers on his will and body, Spock will sing a beautiful, tantalizing, elegiac melody for you. In addition to his vocal talents, he is also a master of the piano and Vulcan lute. Haven't you always wanted a strong and silent alien hybrid to sing you to sleep? I know I have.

Spock has the capacity (and sometimes the desire) to share thoughts, emotions, and knowledge with other individuals through no more than the act of sticking his fingers on your face. He can do this with two hands or one hand. Do you know what this could entail? Telling you just what he thinks of you in that dress without any insulted and disturbed glances from passerbys. Knowing not only that it's not "nothing," but the exact "something" that's made you mad. It would be an endless mindscrew and utterly amazing. I have no shame in admitting that he can Vulcan mind-meld me to his heart's content anytime he wants.


In essence, Spock is a bold and confident man, and will easily go where no other has gone before. He takes on the Horta when Kirk proves to be too much of a latent, emasculated girly-man. His dangerous and cunning alter ego can attractively wear facial hair. He made out with a hot nurse on a chaise lounge. He has, time and time again, shown himself to be a man of poise and assertiveness. Given the utter confidence he places in the risks he takes, I wouldn't mind entrusting my heart to him. And should that ever prove to be a mistake, I have the trust in knowing that he is, and always will be, my friend.




P.S. Sorry for not getting this up yesterday -- would you believe I actually just plain forgot? Yeesh, I feel stupid. :P

Ch-ch-ch-changes for Teh Blog

1) Summertime has come into my life. The school year has ended, and I'm a free women -- until the 22nd, when I start up an intense French 101 course at my local community college. That aside, I've come to realize that, with my days being so freed up without the burden of a regular school schedule, I should probably get more on top of doing regular blog posts (And there was much rejoicing . . . Yay! Yay!). I won't promise anything, because that's never worked in the past (oops -- *wrist slap*), but I'm earnestly going to try to update twice a week: Mondays and Thursdays around 3 am GMT.

2) I run short on ideas. That hampers my ability to produce blogs that will satisfy my perfectionism and amuse/provoke thoughtfulness in you. That being said: PLEASE TELL ME TOPICS YOU'D LIKE ME TO WRITE ABOUT. Please, please, please make a comment with any and all ideas you have for a post, either with your Blogger account or anonymously. This will make it easier for me to turn out fast and quality work (you might be surprised with the amount of time it takes to formulate and shape an idea), as well as providing an opportunity for you to get what you want out of this blog.

With that, I sign off. I love my readers, all one and a half of you!

Superficial or Decisive?

I am a staunch subscriber to the idea that beauty if in the eye of the beholder. If someone were to ask me my biggest celebrity crushes right now I would say Robert Downey, Jr. and David Bowie; I think the most attractive women in Hollywood are Rachel Weisz and Gwyneth Paltrow. I've had people comment before on how there seems to be a discontinuity in my perception of beauty, and this is because my attraction to someone has very little to do with physical appearance, and almost everything to do with personality and what that entails. (Click here for a more complete entry on what I find attractive.)

Given that, take everything I'm about to tell you with a grain of salt. I've had a request to do a post on what I find attractive on the basest of levels, all ethics and interaction aside.


Onward and forward:

Males: I love men with large eyes. Shining, clear pools that draw you immediately to them without dominating the face. Blue eyes, especially -- I watch shows from the BBC with my family, and -- So. Many. People. Have. Blue. Eyes. Gah! It's like stealing a piece of heaven every time someone looks at the camera. I don't particularly care if a guy shapes his brows, as long as it's not too obvious.

The color of hair doesn't matter nearly as much as the cut, though I have found myself partial to blonds and medium-browns.

I couldn't find very good photos (the one on the top-left is especially crap), but David Bowie has the most gorgeous hair in the world -- just take my word for it.

It's very hard to say what I find handsome in a face, because so much of it has to do with disposition and character. However, I do like strong bone structure -- high cheekbones, squared jaw. A nice smile is certainly attractive, though I've realized that I don't particularly like full lips on a man; average, maybe even a little thin, is very nice. Dimples are adorable. I consider a straight or slightly aquiline nose preferable. Clear skin, of course, is very important, and I love it pale or lightly tanned, which I know sets me far apart from Hollywood's standard of beauty.

I'm not into a built up body on a man. I, like other girls I know, enjoy a lithe and lightly-muscled physique. The chest is most important, then arms, then legs, then abs. I find broad shoulders and tall frame attractive, but that's just because I'm relatively tall myself.

The big question, of course, is body hair. I am a huge supporter of men keeping their body hair, drawing the line at bear-like chest carpets and back hair. As I've mentioned on this blog before, chest hair can be extremely alluring in that I-am-man kind of way.

Females: My views of female beauty differ greatly from that of male. I'm not sure why, but I find very petite women with large eyes, full lips, and understated curves to be very beautiful (in a totally objective way, you understand).

I like dark hazels and dark browns best on women, which is odd because I'm usually adverse to brown eyes on men, and am most attracted to light eye colors. I've also come to appreciate females who have light or medium tans. I definitely prefer brunettes (ignore the weirdness of this statement, please), which is also strange because I like very few shades of brown on men.

In another category altogether, I'm fascinated by African women. I don't really know what, exactly, I find so beautiful about them. I think it has to do with the fact that their features can be so drastically different than the Caucasians I'm used to, and their skin so very dark. I was surprised when I realized this about myself, as I'm only ever attracted to men of European descent.

Obviously, my section of females will be shorter, and I don't make a point of dallying on the rainbow road.


Hope you enjoyed reading my perspective on physical appearance. If you agree or disagree with me I'd love for you to comment, even if you aren't on Blogger -- anonymous commenting is enabled. I find the human form a marvelous work of art, and I love discussing it (in an appreciatively objective way ;-) ).

Ciao.

Let's Face It, Bella Swan: You're Gonna Get Stuck With Eric

I find it tremendously funny how our culture has entered into a mindset for romance. It used to be that two characters who fell in love stood in similar lights in the eyes of society. I've come to realize, however, that this paradigm has shifted: We now create stories in which a mildly pretty, mature, sweet but sarcastic, intelligent girl -- who, though liked well enough by the majority, is no less considered strange -- lands the hero whom all the females desire.

Now, in principle, I don't have a huge problem with this. A writer myself, I understand that sometimes you need to appeal to the strongest base of readers (i.e. insecure teeny-boppers with hopelessly romantic spirits), but it's gotten to the point where I have to wonder: Are you even writing this for an audience anymore? While it's true that fiction (be it in a movie, book, or otherwise) is escapism, and therefore must, by and large, offer appealing scenarios, I think we've come to the point where we've not only surpassed "too much of a good thing," but dragged it into an alley kicking and screaming and brutally beat it to death with a two-by-four just to steal its lunch money.

NO! DOES NOT COMPUTE!

It seems to me that no self-respecting artist would continue to play on such a vaguely grating cliche unless they themselves have a personal investment in the story.

There's a fine line between unrealistic and fantasy escapism. One thing I've come to realize in my years of reading and writing is that authors are supposed to appeal to emotions, not (necessarily) situations. Simply put, you want the characters to act like real people even if they aren't in the same positions as them. (Your heroine is a rock star-by-day, vampire-by-night, polyglot psychoanalyst studying for her Master's at Cambridge? Fine, but does she eat a bowl of ice cream and cry over 10 Things I Hate About You when her boyfriend dumps her? Lovely, moving on.)

Let's be frank(er) for a moment: There is no way, in this world or the next, that a passably attractive, kind, academically-minded girl with an affinity for Native American tribal masks is going to wind up dating the quarterback, so let's stop pretending. There's sympathetic and there's insulting, and continuously shoving this plot down our throats consistently falls into the latter.

What I've come to believe is that, as very clearly illustrated in books such as Twilight, the writer places him- or herself into the story as the protagonist, and we're pulled through all the experiences and fantasies that could never be lived out in the real world. If this is the case: Come on people, this is pathetic. We're supposed to keep insecure delusions locked up with the princess owns form our fifth birthday.

Yes, yes -- Edward only ignored Bella because he was badly in love with her. Heheh, that's right -- right. The football captain just loved Stepheni e -- he was madly, possessively, dangerously in love with her! That's why he always glared at her in biology . . . *le sob*

How it would really go:

DaBo says: Don't believe the lies. Hot people date hot people, ugly people date ugly people, and never the twain shall meet.

Mariah stared at him through the hazy glow of the setting sun. Everything seemed perfect, somehow, despite what she had been feeling earlier. The fluid pull of his muscles as he ran, the hard look of content concentration on his face . . . she hardly knew him, and yet, she felt like everything important had already been revealed to her. AP History with Anthony had shown Mariah that jocks could have brains. She was m omentarily distracted as he ran a hand through his glistening raven hair. It was unfair, she mused, that someone should be blessed with such a heady meld of body and mind such as he.

Tentatively, Mariah stood from her spot on the bleachers and walked toward the parking lot, careful to be quiet. She wasn't sure she could live down having Anthony catch her watching him.

"Hey, wait up!"

Mariah froze, her breath leaving her in a whoosh of trepidation and excitement. That voice -- his voice. She turned slowly, heart skipping a beat as she locked eyes with him -- brown on green. His full lips pulled apart to reveal a beautifully lopsided smile.

"Aren't you in history with me?"

She nodded wordlessly, the ability to speak running off with her racing heart. He stepped closer now, and she could smell the earth and sweat on him, mixing seamlessly with his innate masculinity.

Her back was against the wall now, his face mere inches from hers. She clutched her books tightly to her chest, lips parted and eyes heavy as her breath came in rapid spurts.

"Mariah, right, I knew I knew you! We're doing that assignment together, yeah?"

Her eyes flew open, blinking rapidly as she tried to process why his lips hadn't connected with hers yet.

"Right, right. Hey, look, I promised my girlfriend that I'd take her out tonight, but I can't if I have to do that paper thing, so I was wondering if maybe you could do my part for me, yeah? I don't wanna make my angel mad." He flashed another diamond-dusted grin.

"Guh-I-ummmm . . ."

"Sweet! Thank you so much!"

"Buh . . . wah -- no?" She tried to form a coherent sentence as her eyes assessed his retreating form.

"Catch ya later, bookworm!"

"Wait! No, I can't do that! I have piano --" Her exclamations were cut short as the passing cheerleading squad knocked her down, kicking her into the wall in their oblivious excitement and haste.

The darkness closed in as shouts of "Two, four, six, eight, who do we appreciate?!" drew tears from her eyes.

In Which I Whine, and You Get To Listen Because I Love You

Sometimes I wish I could be beautiful. Traffic-stopping, breathtaking, silence-inducing, can-I-buy-you-a-drink beautiful. Judging by the copious aesthetic enhancement products on the market, I know I'm not the only one who feels this way. Now, I don't consider myself a particularly vain person -- sure, I have my moments (don't we all?), and I certainly take pride in my appearance (though not excessively), but I don't taunt and flaunt what the good Lord gave me . . . such as it is. :P Still, I find myself wondering what it would be like to be one of "them."

Yes, you're gorgeous -- now go hide in a corner.

Is it as flawless a life as it seems? Logically, I can tell myself no with just a sweep over the tabloids. But a little voice -- that niggling, soft, shallow voice in the back of my mind -- says that it would be different: It would be perfect. Could you imagine the dizzying power of having the male (or female) population at your beck and call? It would be sickening and delightful, I'm sure.

I'll confess something to you: You know that girl who everyone stares at when she walks into a room, and keep casting glances at her throughout all of class? I've always wanted to be her, even as a little girl. I don't know what that says about me. Naturally, I wouldn't change who I am intrinsically to become "her," but it's a nice little daydream to dredge up on boring days. Tell me I'm not alone?

I think I'll expound a bit on this last thought. There are different types of "her," of course: vapid but fun, self-absorbed and spiteful, shy and unaware, manipulative and outgoing . . . -- all beautiful. I find it odd how few very attractive people have truly balanced personalities. Nearly all of them can be cubbyhole-d within the first ten minutes of initial interaction. I find it a sad but inevitable fate for the majority of beauties. (Btw, this is the part where my daydream starts to waver, and the notion that's it's probably better not to look like an angel wiggles in.)

Oh, don't leave yet! I'm sure I could muster up some more self esteem for you to destroy.

Despite the obvious dissatisfaction stunning stars in the news have with life, I can't help but override my natural aversion to their personalities, and focus on their sculpted appearances. What would it be like to put on dress after dress and embody perfection every time? What would it feel like to have thousands of people telling you how beautiful you are on the streets, on the internet, in interviews, in magazines?

There are many times I wish I could have this life, just for one day. God knows I'd probably be disillusioned of the whole idea within two hours, but I'd like to experience it nonetheless, just to be able to say, "yes, I am soul-crushingly attractive and you hate me but you can't look away, can you?"

P.S. Yes, I know that life isn't all it's cut out to be, and no, I wouldn't change who I am or what I look like to anything in the world.

P.P.S. Wow, this post was all over the place, huh? Well, I blame the late hour for causing me to emotionally vomit all over the screen. I'll try to make things more fluid next time around.



OMG no DaBo? Will mend!

No need to thank me, ma'am, it's all in the line of duty.

Well That Was a Tree Solution

Listen closely, dear readers, for I have coined a new phrase. A brilliant and spicy new phrase that I hope to soon spread nationwide.

The shiny new idiom I speak of is a tree solution.

A definition for you:

tree solution (trē səˈloō sh ən): n. a thoughtless and unnecessary solution to another individual's problem that is acted upon, and though solving the immediate problem, results in more difficulties for the individual

I've taken this, of course, from the Greek myth of Apollo and Daphne. If you're unfamiliar with the story, the gist of it is that the god Apollo lusted after a nymph, Daphne, though she despised him. When he pursued her, she ran in fright, and when he nearly caught her she called upon her father for help. To save her from Apollo, her father turned her, irreversibly, into a tree.

So therefore, it is a tree solution. She's safe from Apollo's bed, but has to stay a tree forever. Yay.

No tree solution here, just prettiness. (Jareth!)
If you haven't seen Labyrinth, I suggest you watch it now, though not around impressionable young children.

It's Because I Want To Help You

I've decided it's time to step in and stop boys' (adorable) desperate flailing when it comes to being in a relationship. Although it can be sort of endearing how much they want to succeed, I think everyone involved would agree that it would be easier to just lay out a fool-proof list to win the heart of a girl. Obviously, because I am (usually) only one person, I can only list what my expectations are, but I believe that they ring true for most every woman. (Keep in mind that, as a Christian, my faith will be pervasive throughout my list. This is likely the major difference between what I consider important and what woman of other faiths or none at all do.)

David Bowie is my favorite boy right now, even though he fails about a third of my list (and is 62 *cough*).

1) He must be a Christian.

I don't care how good-looking, smooth-talking, suave or rich he is, if the man has not dedicated his life to Christ I will not give him a second glance. Because of my own weaknesses, I know that if I don't have a boyfriend who will uphold my faith then I may just lose it. It is vitally important that this does not happen. Therefore, a living faith has definitely scored numero uno on my list. (Not to mention that, as it happens, most of the true Christian guys I meet are smarter, nicer and funnier than the non-Christians, but I suppose those perks just come with the territory ;-).)

2) He must be intelligent.

I do not necessarily mean on tests (though it would be nice), but the person I choose to date must be obviously bright. I hate having to put up with pointless, dull conversations with people who have horridly limited vocabularies. You know the kind I mean, the ones who think "socialism" is a big word. Yeah. Gag me with a spork. It ma y, regrettably, be a streak of superiority that runs in me, but, whatever the case, the only people I can really become friends with are i ntellectuals of some flavor. I'm smart, and therefore he must be smart too.

3) He must be a conservative.

And yes, I do mean in terms of political alignment. I could never, not ever stand even sharing the same breathing space in a political debate with a devout liberal. Considering the world I've been raised in, politics have becom e very important to me. I do not care if he is Republican-conservative or Democratic-conservative -- because really, party affiliation means little at the base of things -- but if he is green, liberal, anarchist . . . anything besides conservative, I will leave him in a second flat. Knowing my idealistic self and how important those who influence America are to me, I could never put up with a boyfriend who did not support my political beliefs. (I would tell you why, but I'd just start hating on the liberal agenda and that isn't the time for that.) Having someone to analytically and intelligently discuss the news with without fear of a smackdown is always nice, too. :-)

So, admittedly, a terrible haircut, but the golden tan and toned pecs more than make up for it, right?

4) He must be ambitious and have potential/be successful.

I grouped these two together because I think in a quality man following what God wants him to do the two go hand in hand. I could never date someone who wasn't a visionary. I don't care if he's doing great when I meet him (I don't want him to be broke, mind you, I just don't care if he's the next Bill Gates or not), but he ne eds to show that he at least has the ability to keep a steady job that earns a decent amount of money while working for bigger and better things. I don't want his dreams to be something like opening a burger shack, but if his only ambition is to find an acceptable, well-paying job at some office and raise a happy family, I'm perfectly h appy with supporting him in that. I just want him to have a dream of contentment and see him actively pursuing it.

5) He must have a sense of pride.

"Dignity" might be the better word to use. I can't date a guy with low self-esteem. Because of some of my co-dependent habits I will be constantly trying to encourage him and it will become annoying and our relationship will go down in flames. He must have an appropriate sense of achievement and pride in what he's done -- con fidence, I suppose. Confidence and the ability to accept the good he's done instead of brushing accomplishments off like they're nothing. This might sound insignificant, but you try spending five minutes with a guy who says you're lying to make him feel better whenever you point out something nice about him. Every. Single. Time. You'll be ready to commit an armed robbery, believe me.

6) He must have a sense of humor.

Most intelligent people I know have senses of humor, but I thought I should make it its own number just 'cause humor is so important to me. If he can't make me laugh then he's not worth my time. Albeit, it's not hard to make me laugh, but to make a well-timed, tasteful joke, give a cute, quirky grin, and laugh along with me is something special. He'll have to be able to laugh at his own jokes (not obnoxiously, of course, but it refers back to confidence to acknowledge something intelligent and enjoyable he's said). Along with a sense of humor must also come the ability to laugh at himself. Not in a degrading way, but he just can't take himself too seriously. When I meet a guy who can laugh off a stupid mistake he's made, my faith will be fully restored in the male species.

"What does ravish mean?" Very young an (ostensibly) innocent -- you can't fool us, Bowie.
On a side note, I have this insane urge to paint henna tattoos on his stomach.

7) He must value relationships.

I don't mean he has to be the most romantic guy around, but he has to be able to see and accept that when you enter into a relationship there's testing out the waters first, of course, but if we're going steady I want him to act like it. This could mean we hold each other up in prayer, share our troubles, or offer advice without being critical. He must be involved -- this does not mean spending every waking minute with me. That would be creepy; there has to be room to breathe. But I expect him to introduce me to his friends (as I will introduce him to mine) and at least do something like hold my hand or put an arm around me in public. He has to understand that there will be problems and he must be willing to work through those with me and bring God into it. He has to be dedicated, I suppose, in short.

8) He must be sensitive.

I don't mean one of those guys who cries at the sun setting because "it's just so beautiful, man." That just sort of . . . worrying. But he can't be cold. I don't care if he acts detached in public really as long as he's able to open up and contemplate deeper things while we're in private or with close friends. He must be in touch with his emotions and ready to share how he's feeling with me. If I care enough about a person to date him, then naturally I'll be curious as to how he's faring emotionally, and offer help if I can.

9) He must like kids.

I don't really need to explain this much. I just think it's weird and a turn-off when people don't like the cheerful innocence kids -- I automatically get creepy, mean vibes from people like that.

Odd pose, but quite attractive . . . . quite attractive . . .

10) He must be clean cut.

Not a lot to this one, really: respectful of females, polite in formal situations, drug- and alcohol-free, polite to my parents and friends, physically composed (wears clean clothes that fit, brushes teeth and hair on a daily bases, takes regular and frequent showers), devoid of any criminal record, etc. Okay, so maybe there are a few things, but certainly nothing outlandish.

Here come the last four and the most superficial:

11) He must be taller than me.

I never really thought this was important to me until I imagined myself dancing with a guy three inches shorter than me. However shallow you may say it is, I would be embarassed to be seen with him. Just a few inches makes all the difference in the world.

12) He must have a nice smile.

I do not mean a million-dollar moviestar smile. It just really irks me to look at uneven, yellowed teeth, much less kiss a man with them. He just has to have good dental hygeine and relatively even teeth. I know, I know: superficial, but it really is a must for me. Don't ask me why, because I'm not completely sure myself.

Lalalala -- he can't hear you!

13) He must have nice eyes.

I just can't stand having to look at someone's piggy, watery eyes. It makes me sad. Even if the color isn't spectacular, I'd like them to be normal in proportion to his face and have that lively shine in them. Slightly big (I could like, actually), slightly small or a little buggy I can deal with, but they must at least look normal, healthy and alive.

14) He must be a normal weight.

By this I am allowing a little overweight -- like twenty-five pounds max. I little pudge can be nice, actually, depending on the guy, but I couldn't deal with a fat boyfriend -- because this would be a food addiction, and addictions kill relationships. See, it's not totally superficial.

I suppose this is a pretty long priority list, but in fairness, I wouldn't expect anything of someone else that I myself was not ready to give. As seen by the descending order of important, looks don't matter nearly as much as personality, because if a guy has a great soul then he'll start looking more beautiful naturally. I suppose this was a bit more of a serious post, but with "summer lovin'" fast approaching, I wanted to do a favor for all my male readers.

Seriously, how can you not love this, even just for the spectacle of it?

P.S. I could think of a whole slew of other things that are nice in a man, but I wanted to just give the skin and bones of "acceptable" and leave the tasty fat to bubble over the fire for my own enjoyment. No, I don't really understand the analogy either. It's late and my brain has checked out for the day.

P.P.S. Yes, I will fit David Bowie into every post possible. Get over it -- there's nothing you can do to stop the inexorable pic spams.

Obviously not real, but I thought it was a beautifully scarring note to end the post on.

Eyemakeup Makes Me Squee

I love eye makeup. I mean truly, deeply, worryingly ADORE it. The amount of time I spend on my own (though I never have as much fun with it as I'd like) is quite embarrassing. Pencils, liners, creams, shadows, liquids, gels . . . if it can accentuate the eye (with minimal long-term damage) I will wear it. I've told you all this to give you some background, because obviously, one so deeply entrenched in an orb-improving affair such as I would know a thing or two about the "do"s and "don't"s of eye makeup.

So trust me -- implicitly -- when I tell you:

Guyliner makes for uber-sexy squee time.

Some of you may say, "No, you're positively delusional. Guyliner is only for gender-confused, lithe pretty-boys with no dignity to speak of and too much time on their hands." To that I say, let me provide you examples of guyliner in action, so that I may beautifully and concretely change your mind forevermore. (Note: as always, when men are applying makeup to wear in public they must either be, a) famous, b) subtle, or c) emo [with the clothes to match] so please -- for the love of all that is holy -- do NOT try to imitate the mall emo band eye makeup to impress that chick in your sociology class. It will not work. It will make you look like a douche.)

. . . . .

Actually, you caught me. I thought I liked it, and then I did research and decided that no, not all guys should wear eyeliner. Sorry, Gregory, I just pulled a female switch-a-roo on you.

But there are men that look good in it! Just not most of the male population. However, I will, indeed, provide you will pretty examples. You've just wasted about two minutes of your life reading my confuzzled ranting. You're welcome.

circa 1978

BOWIEBOWIEBOWIEBOWIEBOWIEOMGILOOOOOOOVEYOU!!!!!! Marry me! Leave your wife! I'll raise your little girl! I'll give you another son! We're meant to be together! We have such beautiful features to mix! PLEASE! I ADORE YOU!

Um . . . heheh, just kidding. Right. Ahem. Moving on.



Gerard Way, you were my schoolgirl crush for a long time running. (You know why.) I had -- and have, if I'm being completely honest -- a huge thing for your makeup, stage and casual. However, I've decided you're just a bit too much of a high-talker for me. You know what I mean? You know what I mean. You're absolutely adorable, though, and I wish you and wifey all the best with the pregnancy thing. You''l make a great baby-daddy. No, really. You have to believe me. Of course I'm not mad -- we were never meant to be.



Okay, I'll be quite honest with you, Pete Wentz. I don't get all the fuss made over you. You're cute in that "short, guyliner-sporting rock star" kind of way, but certainly not as drool-worthy as the mags make you out to be. However, you do manage to pull of the heavy eyeliner, which is no small feat, so you get props for that. Besides, I like Fall Out Boy. (Ooh, and btw -- tough break with tying the knot with Ashlee Simpson, man. I'd say I understand your pain, but frankly I've never been drunk enough to do something like that. You're in my prayers.)



You -- I don't know who you are, actually, but you're rockin' the eye makeup like a sailboat in a storm and you're hot so you're here, (even if you do have almost unforgivably effeminate brows).

circa 1975

Oh, Freddie Mercury, if only you weren't gay and dead. You know I love you, even with your strangely endearing buck teeth and that inexcusable Village People mustache you grew in the 80s. My love for you in the 70s in abounding, though, with your black nails, heavy makeup, and leather pants. I'm sorry we lost you to the other side before we lost you forever, darling.

So, we have several lessons for today: 1) don't trust me about guyliner -- it's obviously a bad choice if you don't have the fame to back up the audacity and femininity of it (I mean, don't trust my previous opinion, trust this one . . . don't wear guyliner); 2) not all men who wear makeup swing to the rainbow end of the Kinsey scale; 3) if you're David Bowie, walk around shirtless more often for our enjoyment.

Put the Hot Wax Away, Boys

You know what bothers me? Hairless man-chests in movies. It's really, really starting to get to me on a deeply intrinsic level. I absolutely hate it. I find it perverse and disgusting how boyish and shiny they look all the time. It's just -- gah *growl*! I HATE YOU ALL!

Most men have chest hair. If you doesn't, fine. Congratulations. You naturally live up to Hollywood's ideals on man-body-hair beauty. And it's a good thing. It's a naturally-occurring, testosterone-showing trait of the male species that makes women think, "Virile male. He will make healthy children." Without it, there's a certain part of women that is left confused. Take for example the movie 300:

Look! Look at that! Wrong, wrong, WRONG! A Mediterranean male would not be smooth as a babe's bottom upon his chest. It is, frankly, unattractive. My eyes are pulled away from his fabulous red cape and intense method actor gaze to his bald, shiny lady-man chest. And chest hair is attractive. Look at this sucker:

Sean Connery? Hot. Oh yes, his chest hair too. Especially his chest hair, even. He's just so manly and . . . mmmmm. Ending this now.

I don't really have a point to this post. It was just something that really started to irk me, so I decided to share it with you, because I know you love hearing me complain.

And if you think I made this update just to showcase shirtless men then you are pervert.

Bring Out the Hickory Stick

Oh my gosh, I feel horrible. I cannot express to you, dear readers, how very sorry I am that I have failed you with my sporadic updating. I'll really, truly try to make this more regular.

I know I said that I would move back to political topics now, but suddenly I'm having second thoughts. I think (and give me your opinion on this) that it would be better if I continued to make this a humor blog with random political posts thrown in at random. If you'd like to hear more political posts, though, I suppose I could work them in. I've just reached a point personally where I no longer want to dwell on and whine over problems, but rather take an active approach in solving them. Not to say, by any means, that the two are mutually exclusive, but I feel (perhaps arrogantly) that I'm simply enabling what I perceive as the conservative do-nothing sickness by writing political satire.

Anyway, I've rambled enough. Give me your thoughts on where you'd like this blog to go, and have a very happy Sunday.

Oh, who's da wittle kitty? You are! You are! Ooo, you're just adorable, yes you are!

It's Annie the Musical in My Bathroom

I'm in the middle of cleaning the house right now, and as I went to put the surface spray away I noticed that my family keeps a toothbrush with the cleaning supplies. The strange things my family do disturb and amuse me.

Why Do You Cling To the Degenerate Shreds of Your Pathetic Ideals for America, Libtards?

I've abstained from commenting on politics for a while because: 1) I felt homicidal for a while there about the whole Obamessiah-in-the-Whitehouse dealio, and 2) I wanted to explore other creative writing ideas/commentary outside of politics. However, I believe the season for shameless abuse of the liberal agenda has returned, and I intend to re-acclimate myself to the political blogging environment with gusto.

Today, I will speak about Prop 8. Yes, I too thought it was over with back in November when we passed it, but apparently the Dhimmicrats don't share our sentiment. In my travels trolling across YouTube, I've found that the most delusional and stubborn* of liberals are still dragging their diseased claws across "Equality for All," in a desperate and laughable attempt to seemingly change the course of history and render the Californian people's decision void.

Gay gossip hound blogger is just trying to make the world a better place for his queer bros and hos! See how smiley-happy and totally non-creepy stalker-esque he is?!

Before I continue, let me get a few things out of the way: 1) I do not hate gays. I certainly do not agree with the lives they've chosen to lead, but I don't go around egging the houses of homosexual neighbors, either. In fact, I've met some very pleasant and enjoyable people who are gay. We've shared laughs and have carried on normal, non-controversial conversations. 2) I believe that homosexuals are my legal equals. I believe that they (given that they are American citizens) are entitled to any constitutional right that is extended to another citizen. Although I think what they're doing is wrong, I believe that homosexual partners should be granted civil unions if they choose to receive one. I do not believe that they're homosexuality inhibits their ability to work or be functioning, contributing member of society.

That being said, I also believe that homosexuals should not be allowed to: 1) be involved in the daycare, preschool, kindergarten, elementary, and junior high school education systems, 2) adopt children, 3) be married to a member of the same sex.

The last, of course, is what this post will be about. As I mentioned above, some of the Looney Left are still prostrating themselves at the altar of "gaysarepeopletoosotheyshouldbemarried." For all the reasons this is untrue, please check out the first post this blog ever saw. For a fresher, less political view on the subject, continue with me now.

Idiosyncratic '70s homosexual band, The Village People (wearing gay fantasy costumes *cough*).

First off, marriage originated as a religious ceremony. This means that the people it really matters to are religious -- and what I mean by "matters" is that, to them, marriage is the catalyst to have sex (sorry -- unavoidable), children, and in some cases safety from the streets, a job, and respectable social standing. To many religious groups, there is no alternative way -- no "different path" -- to take to achieve these things. It's set in stone, and nothing and no one can change it without open defiance and disregard to their religion. What I'm trying to say by all this is that to a lot of people, marriage is more than just a contract of love like it is to secular humanists; it's a door opening into a new world and completely different life.

Jumping to a slightly different topic, there is not one major religion that endorses homosexuality. Not Christianity, Judaism, Islam, Buddhism, Hinduism . . . Do you see where I'm going with this?

See: they're just like you and me! *joke, don't lynch me*

Well, if marriage to you is what I described above, then you shouldn't be homosexual. Period. It's not judgmental, it's not exclusive, it's just the way it is. This means that if you're gay, then not getting married isn't barring you from anything (except, perhaps, a shiny state certificate as proof of marriage and a lacy white dress and/or overpriced tux) -- you won't be forced to die a childless, homeless, jobless, lower class virgin like some of us forever-singles.

So bitch and moan all you want, but you're just acting like greedy kids complaining that Robbie has a shinier firetruck than you.

I'm aware that some people would argue, "So what? So it's a rite intended for religious people, but what's it gonna hurt to let the gays in? It's not like it will take away from the weddings of any straight people." And to that I say, "Kindly STFU, sir, you clearly don't know what you're talking about."

Please excuse this poor analogy I'm about to give you: it would be like if you wrote a book, and it had your name, your thoughts, and your ideas written in it. Anyone who gave even the briefest glance would be able to see what you represented. Now say some kid comes over and scribbles his thoughts and his ideas in the margins, and writes his name on front next to yours. Yes, the book hasn't technically changed -- it holds the same purpose, and accomplishes the same function as before. But it's been marked by someone else now, and people who look at it will see not only your original ideas, but all the ideas of the punk who vandalized your property, too. It's no longer in a pure form, but being shared by someone else that you don't respect or agree with. When people see the two of you sharing the pages, they'll assume that you're in it together.

"I'm gay as a daffodil, my dear." -- Freddie Mercury

Do you understand the point I'm trying to make? People would look on homosexuals allowed to marry as religious groups accepting the gay community, which couldn't be further from the truth.

Anyway, a bit long-winded, but I'm glad I'm back in the political swing of things. I hope to have similar liberal-shredding posts up soon. Comment if you're sick of hearing about gay "rights."

It was the gayest rainbow picture I could find, okay? I did my best.

*I know that this is an especially hard condition to envision, given how concerningly detached from reality any "normal" liberal is. For the sake of example, though, I implore you to imagine Rosie O'Donnell and Michael Moore's child times a gulloopatrillion. Actually, for the sake of your sanity, don't do what I just said. Just . . . run with the basic idea. But seriously, for all that is good and holy, please don't try to visualize that coupling.