Who Says We Oversexualize Women?

The Duel Life Of Hair

Ya know, hair has it kind of rough. Now I'm not talking any crazy piece of hair on the body, because well, we know some have it rougher than others... No, I'm talking about hair on your head. In general, everybody is a big fan, right? We prefer not to be bald, lots of hot girls have nice long flowing hair etc. In short, hair is a good thing. That is, until it loses its spot on your cranium...

See, when hair is on someone's head, it's beautiful, gorgeous, handsome, whatever. But now think about hair off of someone's head and it can become one of the most toxic pieces of material on earth. Think about it, hair in the drain? ew Hair in your food? nasty Hair in your mouth? puke.

So my question is, why the change? Why does a once beloved object become one of the most disgusting, possibly up there with band aids not on a person's skin (total ew).

Here's my possible explanation. Hair becomes alive after it leaves your head. Huh? Counter intuitive, I know.

But think about it. How does hair, once it leaves your head, end up in the weirdest, nastiest, god forsaken places in the world. I mean, hidden in a wedding cake? Come on. You know that little fucker (the piece of hair that is) intentionally made it's way in to the dessert for the most specialist of special days. I can just see it crawling from the the kitchen floor (ya know, after falling from the chef's head), up the metal post of the mixing table, sliiiiiding up the side of the bowl and eeeeassing it's way in to the cake batter, biding it's time in the oven, cackling (if it had a mouth) and drumming its fingers together like an evil genius (if it had fingers), all the while waiting for that moment when some party goer gets a huge frown on their face, a look that then turns in to disgust, and sometimes all out fear when they realize what's taken place inside their mouth.

And how embarrassing a ritual is it to pull a 10 inch piece of hair from your mouth, whilst your half chewed cake still sits on your tongue. Clearly dignity points are lost here (along any hopes of making it with the bridesmaid sitting next to you now hurling in to her purse).

So I say fuck it. Let's all go bald. Shave our heads right now and screw those nasty oil producing, grey turning little fear mongers.

All I say is... you go first.

PS I know I started out this rant feeling bad for hair, but after writing all this, they deserve what they get.

Mini Shopping Carts

So, I don't know how many people are going to "get" this, considering I have no idea how widespread these objects are that I'm about to discuss. BUT, who the fuck cares. I am, of course, going to talk about - the mini shopping cart.

Now, if you're all like "uh... what that the fuck is a mini shopping cart Latham?". About two months ago, I would have been all like "I don't know, but it sounds pretty fucking stupid random person asking me a question". But now, after living in LA and spending a small fortune (including $7 gallons of organic milk - fuck) at the always wondrous, Whole Foods, I'd be able to easily explain that "mini shopping carts are in fact, shopping carts that have had their designers dictate that the height and width of the shopping cart need to be proportionally of a smaller dimension than that of they're more common, and in many cases, more effective older siblings. In short - they're smaller."

Now, pushing around a shopping cart is about as emasculating as it gets. So you can imagine how these mini carts make you feel. yeah. it's like going in to a strip club and telling the stripper - hey, here's two grand, blow my mind; and she turns around, bends over, and farts (now I'm not exactly sure how that's emasculating, but man is it gross).

Anyway, basically what I'm getting at is that pushing one of these things around makes you feel kinda self conscious (like how that guy who just read that stripper part felt self conscious when he popped a hooterific boner). So, as you might imagine, the inspiration for this whole spiel was due to my pushing one of these carts around at a local Whole Foods this past weekend...

So, I'm pushing this cart around thinking "man, I look kinda silly pushing this cart around - I mean, not as silly as a polar bear who forgets to wipe (white fur - euw), but pretty fucking silly. And definitely something I should remedy". And what did I come up with? Fucking mini shopping cart dancing. Now, if you're a little pissed off because you read this far and that is what you waited for? You, my friend, have not tried mini shopping cart dancing. In short, I would describe it as a combination of: one part moon walking, two tenths wake boarding, a dash of gay club dancing, one tenth seizure induced by a japanese cartoon, two twenty fifths drunk alcoholic piss shivers, aaaand a whole lot of self humiliation.

So the basic premise erupted from my complete inability to push a shopping cart and not run, pushing the cart and riding behind it as it pulls me. I mean, I know this is a bit juvenile (back that ass up. sorry), but doesn't everyone still get the urge to just "ride the wave" of the shopping cart experience? I mean, I'm not the only one right? I know I'm not, so this shouldn't be too hard to imagine for many of you. In this case, I just decided to put dance moves to the experience and I came up with a few moves so far that I thought I'd share: first off we have the "run, push, trip, almost run in to shelf of refried beans and suddonly come upon cute girl to whom you try and look a bit debonair - shuffle", next, the always popular "push, ramming of gut into cart handle because cart with stupid stupid wheels ran into random nut on the grocery store floor - spin" and last but not least, the classic "run the old lady out of the aisle while dragging your feet behind your cart frantically trying to look rad - bop"

As you might have guessed, I'm still working on a few of the moves, but I'm expecting to go pro by about this time next year. I mean they have fucking cheerleading on TV; like they wouldn't put mini shopping cart dancing on ESPN 2. Shit, with the success of Dancing With The Stars, I'm fully expecting to get a call from the head of ABC about 10 minutes after I post this. In the mean time I'll be practicing my next move - I think I'll call it the "wait wait security officer, I was just in a hurry to get olives for my greek salad - twist".




Disclosure: not the carts I was referring to, but much more yummy filled.

Full Disclosure: I looked up synonyms for "boner" while writing this post. And I've never been to a club of the strippers - also known as, a strip club.

The "complications" of keepin those pearlies white

We got teeth brushing goin on right? You, me, everybody doing the brushing. But one thing I wonder about tooth brushing; why is it that people feel the need to wander around when brushing their teeth, or just stand not in the bathroom? We feel the need to stand in another room besides the bathroom and stare off into space and reeaaally analyze that couch cushion like it has the answers as to why you can’t get a girlfriend.

I mean come on, why can’t we just stand at the sink and brush, spit, rinse, done? Now this may not apply to everybody, these things usually don’t, but I know the “Brushing Wanderers” are out there. Is it something with the toothpaste or the brush itself that compels us to walk around like we have a mission?

I’m guilty of both of these. I mean yeeeaah sometimes I stand at the sink and do the deed. But I have no explanation for the other times. Do you? I mean, maybe we feel we are missing out on something important. Any which way I believe it to be one of the life’s top eight mysteries, yes eight, along with another tooth brushing mystery. You know, the one where when brushing we think we can talk with a mouth full of fucking liquid and not have it dribble out onto our chin and go “oohp” and reach our hand to our lips in hopes of saving that toothpaste spit combination that is inevitably hitting the carpet? I mean was "I really wanna see that movie" so important that you had try and utter it whilst brushing, full well knowing your roommate is going to ask you annoidily "what?" Meaning you'll have to hold up a finger because the dribble is running down your chin while you rush to the bathroom?

Shit, I’m not blaming anybody, I’m an idiot too. I just wish God himself would come down and sit next to me on the couch and go “Latham, ya know, I do that shit too. And trust me, with this fucking white beard, it is pure hell to try and find that stuff in there. It’s like me looking down on the earth and trying to find a woman Cameron Smith would say no to.” That’s all I ask for, oh, that, and a Big Wheel that fits me. Those things are “the shit”.

http://wizznutzz.com/images/jordanmp3.mp3

and good lord


oh, and for good measure...

(taken at the elementary school my mom works at - Disclosure: also my elementary school - Full disclosure: i almost took it)