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.

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.

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.

Snow White Disgusts Me

I will never ever never let my kids read Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. Or watch the movie. Or own the Barbie. Never.

You want to know why?

Because it's disgusting, that's why.

At first glance it seems okay, right? The seven little men living alone in the woods is, admittedly, a little weird, but who are we to judge? But that's at first glance.

The other day, my mom and I were pondering over this particular work of fiction. Why? we asked ourselves, do the dwarfs have such strange names? And why is Snow White so nice? And why did Disney deviate so far from the original story in the creation of the movie?

Then the oh-so-true truth dawned on us. The sick, horrible truth: Snow White is a commercial endorsement of drug use, psychosis, and mild disorders.

Allow me to expound:

Doc

He's the pre-med dropout/alcoholic. After showing up drunk to class for the third time, he was "let go" from his courses. And given a restraining order. When the dwarfs realized Doc couldn't act as their supplier anymore, they moved out into a secluded wood to wean themselves off their addictions. It didn't work. Doctor Dipso's constantly red nose (I mean come on -- he can't get sunburned in a mine), beer belly-paunch, and onsetting wet brain do little to disguise his addiction. (Not to mention, an alcoholic doctor. Come on, man -- spare us the irritating cliche.) Luckily for him, the A-type personality and delusional optimism that keeps his drug circle droogies in line also keeps Grumpy's knife at bay.

Dopey

It's a sad day for humanity if I have to explain this one. He's the hippie pothead, originally too scared to try anything hardcore, and now too brain damaged to care one way or another. He's the luckiest of the seven, as the forest provides a fertile environment to grow and harvest his marijuana, so he never has to go without a fix. The green-suited dope fiend is probably also sharing in Doc's booze supply (note beer belly, red nose, and vague, swimming demeanor).

Sleepy

He's the resident barbiturate addict. Ironically, he wasn't a druggie before moving out to the woods, but his brothers' compulsive and violent withdrawal behaviors sent him running for escape . . . which he found in sleeping . . . all the time . . . with the help of downers. Sleepy has been known, at times, to substitute alcohol for drugs, curling up with a bottle of Scotch (Doc's Scotch) and crying himself to sleep. It's a clinical depressive thing -- you wouldn't understand.

Sneezy

Tell me, what drug is taken through the nose, hurting the nostrils and causing uncontrollable nosebleeds and sneezing? That's right -- he's on a regular diet of Bolivian Marching Powder, this one. Unfortunately for our little cokehead, during the making of Snow White he was in the habit of blowing a rail every night, leaving him with sick hangovers right out some cliche drug movie and nasty-tasting postnasal drip during filming. (His inexplicably retarded behavior -- EXPLAINED: the man was using Doc's liquor stash to counteract splitting cocaine-induced headaches. He did fabulous considering how plastered he was.)

Grumpy

Originally, Grumpy was a heroin addict. Seeing as how his dealer wasn't willing to tramp into the happy bunny forest where the dwarfs relocated to exchange the goods, though, he made the switch to methadone in hopes of coming off his dependency altogether. He failed. As a result, though he's been spared the seemingly inevitable opioid withdrawal syndrome, the methadone has left him and without any of the euphoric effects of heroin, leaving him a right crotchety old jerk (and completely stabilized, mind you, meaning he can continue his pissy behavior right up to his death).

Bashful

A chronic sufferer of social anxiety disorder, Bashful turned to self-medication within the SSRI family of drugs when Doc got his hands on some Paxil. (Side note: Bashful used to be a rather trim little thing, but as paroxetine causes serious weight gain, he's now running (no pun intended) at about forty pounds over.) His condition being so severe that the ingestion of any more pills would result in heart failure, Bashful also frequents Doc's alcohol supply -- Coors Light, to be exact, which keeps a nice buzz going without causing (too) serious an impediment to his mental faculties, and also doesn't contribute (too) heavily to any further weight gain.

(It may be worth mentioning here that most of the dwarfs are burgeoning alcoholics, courtesy of Doc. It was unavoidable, really, given that alcohol is the universal substance to abuse.)

Happy

I'm of the personal opinion that men this morbidly overweight should not even attempt cultivating facial hair, as it makes them out to be some sort of deranged Santa. And by God, I was right. Albeit, in this case, it's more of an overly-friendly a la Captain Kangaroo, potato sack shoe-wearing, strangely shaped hat-sporting deranged elf of Santa, but my point remains, nonetheless. Anyway, I think it should be clear to anyone with two brain cells to rub together that that not only is Happy a chronic overeater, but is also, not surprisingly, on "happy pills." Ecstasy. Lord knows all the symptoms match up: enhanced sense of self-confidence and energy, feelings of closeness and the desire to touch others, as well as peacefulness, empathy, and acceptance. Now if only there were medical terms to explain away that blasted horn he insists on playing, and we might actually be getting somewhere.

Snow White

If you thought the dwarfs were bad, just wait till I fill you in on Snow White. Although she doesn't participate in substance abuse (on a regular basis), Snow White does have deep and concerning psychoses. First and foremost, she displays indulgence in fantasies and escapism (through manual labor) to such an extent that she is barred from reality. We first see this shown in the beginning when she is singing that "one day her prince will come" while performing tedious and straining cleaning under the abusive jurisdiction of her stepmother. These could very well have stemmed from a desperate attempt to put up walls against her stepmother's maltreatment, having evolved in such a way that she has mentally separated herself from this plane. Another point of interest is her weak-to-the-point-of-nonexistent personal boundaries and a thwarted maternal drive that we see manifested when she joins up with the dwarfs. Perhaps these are just subsets of her fantasies (refer to her seemingly inherent need for a prince?), or another thing altogether, but we've got trouble in River City either way.

I won't even bother asking if I've converted you, because I know I have. And because I'm not quite satisfied with the low amount of potential scarring this post already contains, here:

Ms. Bowie wishes you a Merry (very belated) Christmas on behalf of myself.

Oh yeah -- and Happy Valentine's Day and all that jazz. Huzzah. (If you're cynical like me you call it Singles Awareness Day, and we should meet over coffee sometime.)

Well, Brandon, You Were Right

I'd like to consider myself a humble individual. I'd like to think that when a times comes that I am proven wrong (a rare occurrence indeed), I'm able to suppress my ego and admit it.

Now is one of those times.

Brandon: You were right and I was wrong. David Bowie really is a woman.

He (she?) was pictured here with actor Will Smith at a charity gala in NYC on Wednesday.

Well snaps and claps to you, Brandon. I never saw this one coming.

I'm just . . . stunned, really. I mean, I had my suspicions all along, of course (not that I ever admitted those to anyone), but I never expected him/her to come out even if he/she did turn out to be . . . you know . . . a female.

This is devastating and more than a little awkward.

(P.S. Is it just me or is Bowie looking a little fat?)

Mother Earth Is Having Hot Flashes and they Murder Fuzzy Mammals

The polar bear pads softly through the freshly fallen snow, his shiny black nose up in the air to sniff out potential prey. He cocks his round head to the side, hearing a splash down by the water being picked up on the breeze. At the thought of a juicy ringed seal, a smile makes its way up the sides of his fuzzy face. He runs down to the water’s edge, the wind pulling his shaggy coat back and compressing pudgy blubber rolls on his skin. The bear seeks out the seal he heard, but finds nothing. His stomach growls – begging for food – but sustenance is nowhere to be found. The polar bear collapses on his side, tears escaping the corners of his coffee-colored eyes. His world is dying, torn apart by the effects of global warming! Why did humans have to be so selfishly cruel? Are Hummers worth the weight of his life? The bear’s stomach seizes up, and he releases a choked sob as the ice melts beneath him. The last of his strength gives out as he’s dragged down to the icy depths of his watery grave. Ernesto the polar bear will never see his little cubs again, never again frolic in frozen fields . . . all because of the brutal reality of global warming.

He's now dead, and you helped kill him, you sicko.

Name Change Game!

I am officially (not really) changing my name from Zeabbrah Wourlde to Lassin Sayne. Okay? Okay. Just wanted to give ya'll a heads up so you're not like, "o.O wtf?" I wonder sometimes how I came up with a name like "Zeabbrah" in the first place. Seriously. It makes me feel like a blogging deaf mute. "Eieeye cahnn spheagk ghoowd toowo."

So I have a comment question for you today: If you could change your first and last name to anything, what would it be? I mean, if you could be Johnny Dazzles or Xenu Friedrich Appleseed would you?

Hairdressers Are the Devil's Lapdogs

I just got my hair cut. It was supposed to be amazing: choppy, layered, very punk-awesome. Instead, it turned out looking like the sick love child of a drunken one-night stand between Jareth the Goblin King and Joan Jett.

I hate hairdressers.

           

Teletubbies Are G

So, I put up a poll about a week ago on the sidebar that I forgot to tell you about. It was about which Teletubbie was the best. Anyway, two of you voted, and Tinky-Winky and Dipsy tied at one vote each (woo!).

What I'm curious about is why? My favorite is totally Laa-Laa -- she seems like the only normal one. I always thought Tinky-Winky was a girl, so when I found out he was, well, a he, it really ruined it for me. I guess Dipsy was my favorite male by default, then.

Next time I do I poll I pinky-promise I'll tell you.

Note to Self:

1. Stupidity is not considered a legal provocation for aggressive action. (Read: no stabbing the people sitting next to you.)
2. It's nice to be nice. (Read: some people can't help being total jerks. You are not allowed to hurt them, so just shine them on. When you get home you can write them all into a short story and kill them off slowly.)
3. Sometimes you have to be your own best friend. (Read: despite what people try to tell you, talking to yourself is not the first sign of insanity. You're perfectly fine. Really.)
4. The teenage years are when boys start taking more pride in their appearance. (Read: those guys in your classes are completely normal. Color/pattern-coordination, hair styling, and . . . um, hip-swaying . . . are all part of the male development. Don't think twice about it.)
5. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. (Read: although you can't understand it, some people honestly do find the Jonas Brothers attractive. But don't worry -- just like the Backstreet Boys, they too will fall out of style. Until then, keep suppressing your gag reflex. Please.)
6. Genius often comes before its time. (Read: the people who misunderstand your writing are just too underdeveloped to understand. You don't need to change a thing about yourself.)
7. Vladmir Putin doesn't know you exist. (Read: no matter what your dreams try to tell you, a 5'5" ex-KGB world leader is not going to hunt you down and murder you. It's okay. Just breath into your hyperventilation bag.)

You Don't Understand Our Love . . .

Since no one seems to share my fascination with Gary Brunson, I've chosen a new man to be the love of my life:

Isn't he just gorgeous?! 

. . . Yes, I am joking. 

. . . And yes -- unfortunately, that really is man. Bill Kaulitz, singer in the emo, teen pop, and glam rock German band Tokio Hotel, to be exact.

Mom, Dad, I Want You To Meet the Love of My Life

I've met the man I'm going to marry. I'm absolutely, irrevocably, unconditionally in love with him. He's intelligent, ambitious, witty, independent, and charming. 

He's every perfect quality I could ever imagine in a man, such as he is.

Some might say I haven't known him long enough to be so sure of my affections for him, but to hardly know him is to know him well -- he presents his whole self up front and without worrying what others might think of him. He is his own man, and proud of it. 

My whole world has suddenly become brighter. 

Dis iz Mah Kitteh

It was worryingly hard to find a more modern poem of mine that didn't make me sound like a suicidal high school dropout, so I had to settle for publishing something I wrote for a project in 5th Grade. If you liked reading my failed effort at poetry, then there's plenty more where that golden nugget of "art" came from, so just let me know. (One, an ABC poem, includes a butterfly getting eaten by a spider. I was ten and already killing off characters in my writing. Was there ever any hope for me?)

The above is a video I took of my kitty-cat. Her name is Journey (No, before you ask I did not give her that retarded name -- that was what it was when we got her from the Humane Society. If I were to name a cat, it would be called Spandex.), but I call her: Flinko, Fwinko, Baby, Angel, Lovey, Bubbles, Sweetie-Heart, Babboo (variation of aforementioned "Baby"), Dear, Deary, Deatest, and Amazing Tomato (pronounced AH-mah-zing tah-MA-toe, long story), among others.

She's part Siamese, has big, bright green saucer eyes, is about four years old, and very affectionate. She acted like a Crack Baby when she was a kitten (she crawled up the freakin' chimney the day we brought her home), but she's calmed down to a semblance of normality now. Isn't she just adorable? I friggin' love cats. They're fanatstic creatures.

May I be frank with you? I think cats are better than dogs. They're cleaner, quieter, sweeter, and mellower (yes, it's a word). I know several people who said they would run a cat over with a lawn mower if they ever got one (sicko, sadistic dog-lovers), so I am aware that not everyone thinks felines are God's gift. Not to say I don't think dogs can't be great companions too, but they're just so much work!

But what do you think: cats or dogs? I'm a kitteh funattic mahselfe. (Yes, Lolcats is amazing.)

A Few Prozac Lolz

Considering Russia won't be taking us over since Obambi was elected (pretty funny story behind that if you ever wanna hear it), I figure that I'm now at liberty to laugh at their Prime Minister:

You have to admit, the man has a sense of humor . . . even if he is nightmare material in every other aspect of his life. I have a bizarre fascination with Putin -- know a good bit about him, too, if you're ever interested.