I hate trends

I hate trends. They're stupid. This stuff really wasn't cool when it came around the first time, it's definitely not cool now, guy with nut hugging skinny jeans holding hands with the girl with the collared, sleeveless, button-down shirt in a dumb print that ties at the bottom. It's extra long at the buttony part just so you can tie it. Anyone else have one of these damn things?

It was terrible. I always ended up wearing mine with those stirrup leggings. You know, the ones that have the big ole elastic strap for under your foot. That's the reason we ladies of my certain age seem to fear the stirrups on the table at the lady doctor. It's not because their gonna shove a mag lite and a garden shovel up there, it's some mad Vietnam-style flashbacks of those pants. And they're not fooling anybody. We all know you have sock suspender thingies built into your pants. We can see them.

 

 

Not. Fooling. Anyone.

 

But back to trends, there's one I'm really looking forward to. I've noticed the trend for trends is moving closer and closer to GRUNGE!!! I could rock the hell outta that! All my pants already have holes in them and I didn't have to pay extra for distressing! I still have a closet full of crappy t-shirts, and have you been to a thrift shop? Flannel ahoy!

 



I've actually seen it peeking out of the celebrosphere.

Soon it will filter down to us peasants and I will be BADASS! YEAH! Who says moms can't be cool? I already sometimes forget to bathe. It would be no problem for me to stop brushing my hair. And Nirvana is cool. I'm there.

A brand new outlook on life or at least a new life aspiration.

I might be there already, but I have so much more to aspire to.

I was thinkin', shaving my legs sucks. Once when I was a kid, my first step mom told me that the reason we shave our legs now is because prostitutes in the Old West used to shave off said fur off their gams. You know, like smooth for his pleasure. Yeah, cause that's all a roughed-up, old, gnarly, grizzled cowboy wants is smooth, lady legs.

Anyway, I was commiserating with Number Five today, and as we were eating Fruit Loops out of the box with our hairy legs kicked up on her table to see who had hairier legs or hobbit feet (I win!), we were talking about hair removal. We were talking about ripping it out with molten wax, using a "laser",

 

 

 

or just continuing on with our normal routine of using an extremely sharpened slice of steel to cut hair off, I dunno, like half our bodily surfaces. Totally safe right. That's when I had the idea! The idea that's gonna change my life. I totally thought of it when I was looking at my pits. Cause pits are stinky, and hairy pits are stinky, and squirrel, and you know who has stinky, hairy pits?

 

Scummy hippies!!!

 

 

 

Plus, taking care of hair like a scummy hippie is free!




Also, if you want to keep reading, I'll throw you some Existentialism with Ashley.
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So, those hippies rocked harder than anyone. They totally lived life like life was given to you to live, not given to you to waste away on computers, she says while typing away at a computer. But I was wondering, are we hurting ourselves by reaching broader audiences easier. What is there to strive for, to live life for? Where do ambitions come from now? And what's next? If someone in Bangladesh can read my blog about hippies, where's my ambition to reach a wider audience, to "get my message out there"? Then I think about all of the brain power we waste on these idiot machines and how, essentially, our lives are stored and lived out in megs of stuff or yaks or rams or something, but basically that we can smush our entire lives, our whole being, into a teeny tiny computer chip the size of a finger nail. Whoa! That's heavy. I don't want to be a computer chip full of compressed data though. I want to twirl around and spread my arms out and soak up the sun, you know, all that scummy hippie stuff. And I realize that when I say "hippie" what I really mean is the romanticized version of hippies we're all fed now. I'm not an effing retard, I know that it wasn't always sunshine and roses, but by god the romanticized hippies sure seemed to enjoy... everything.

Dear God! The lactation of farm animals!!!

So... this evening, the hoods wanted chocolate milk. Fifteen minutes and a lot of whining later, I got up and made it. Then it was amazing! Dudes, chocolate milk. Like whoa.

That brought on a few problems. Yeah, I have problems with chocolate milk. I might be Communist.



 



 

Anyway, we used to be vegan for like a year or two and in the process, I got really snooty about milk. Things like milk is an unnecessary part of a daily diet. And, you wouldn't go suckle a cow would you? Or even, that cross-species and that's wrong. Plus, have you ever breast fed? Ouch. Imagine that for. ev. er.

But the more pressing issue is umm... well... it's something I share with the fictional and awesome Dr. Leonard Hofstadter.

It gives me a tummy ache... It's not cool. Though there was a perfectly timed fart aimed at the kid when she asked what was wrong. I said, chocolate milk makes me fart. She said it makes you fart? I farted. You just can't ask for much more than that out of the universe can you? A glass of chocolate milk and a well timed fart... Paradise.