This corpse bag is a step up in terms of creepiness versus all the predictable cotton-candy-cute costumes I wore as a child: (Warning: I may lose you readers here via BLAHHHHH…) ballerina, French maid, generic pre-Disney princess (of what I still haven’t determined), Alice in Wonderland (sporting Frida Kahlo eyebrows), and seriously pissed-off little beaner girl (the year my parents decided we wouldn’t participate in the devil’s party).
How I wish I could, for once, look sexy on Halloween…on Christmas…on New Years… and on National Cat Day too for that matter. But I wish for a lot of things. The following are celebrity costumes I wish I could see on other celebrities.
A) Miley Cyrus as Helen Keller
B) Pope Francis as a skateboarding Tony Hawk
C) Clock Boy as the iWatch
D) Caitlyn Jenner as Bruce Jenner
E) Barbara Walters as Whoopie Goldberg
F) El Chapo as Donald Trump
G) Justin Beiber mocking Justin Beiber
H) Beyoncé as a bucket of KFC (original recipe chicken)
I) Hillary Clinton as Monica Lewinsky
J) The Geico Lizard as Flo from Progressive Insurance
K) Oprah as Bill Cosby
L) Kayne West as Kim Kardashian (ironically, this seems to be slowly happening anyway with each fashion event they attend)
HONORABLE MENTIONS a.k.a. The Ones My Husband Declared “Crappy”
M) Snoopy as Grumpy Cat
N) a copper penny as rapper 50 Cent
O) Tom Brady as a La-Z-boy recliner
P) My 2001 Hundai Elantra dressed as 2015 Tesla electric car
Q) The Swiffer Mop as Paris Hilton
R) Oscar the Grouch as anti-gay-marriage activist Kim Davis
You know you’ve had a rough week when your home care nurse runs her Honda into the side of your house (luckily for you, she missed me by a couple cluttered rooms)
or your favorite ex-Kardashian star is recovering from too much penile performance drugs. So where should one turn to in order to take back some control? One turns to the healing art of MEMING (or MEMEING?). Somehow, I was like many of you out there, recycling the same old Grumpy Cat memes, totally oblivious to taking creative power into my own hands. But a scary thing happened on the way to my smartphone yesterday: I MEMED UP.
Though I was tempted to upload my own photos of ex-boyfriends or strange animals (same difference) to meme, I wanted a real challenge. I would only use the generic photos my “free” meme app would throw at me.
Here are the 20 rookie memes (in no particular ranking order) I came up with in less than 2 hours to get Lamar up and “functioning” again. Feel free to pick and recycle the worst of them. Leave a comment as to your favorites.
NOTE: If any of these memes happen to look or sound like any other previous memes floating on the internet, it is by sheer bad luck on their part (aka “coincidence”).
Haven’t you ever wondered if the Chinese get sick of eating Chinese food? When I (the Googly, restless American) grow bored with the usual hot dog or the Hamburger Helper stuffed burrito I concocted, I turn to other food sources…in particular Asian cuisine (besides Cup O Noodle). Problem is, every time I do an engine search for Chinese recipes, the ingredients require me to shop Chinese markets. While there, I can never decode what all those Chinese characters on Asian food packaging mean, because, like most Latinas, I don’t speak, read, or even think (as in “mathematically savvy”) Chinese. Yes, of course, the store will sometimes translate into American English (on price labels) what the Chinese characters on the packaging say…but that is cheating! In my usual auto didactical manner (which comes around as frequent as my country tends to stay out of war), I, as of today, decided to make a game out of decoding Mandarin, Cantonese, and Chinese pig Latin (whatever that is).
The first lesson (and really only lesson) in decoding Chinese via the American way is to follow an artsy, Lesbian’s advice (kinda like Gertrude Stein…actually just Gertrude Stein) by applying the words to one of her famous poems: “A rose, is a rose, is a rose.” If a figure looks to be in a shape of a tree, by Georgie, you may just be right in guessing that the Chinese script reads “tree”. In watered-down semiotics: if it walks like a duck and stinks like a duck, its most likely:
a) not edible
b) inspiration for a red-neck reality show
c) a duck
d) all of the above.
If you answered “d”, then you need “special help” like I do.
Basically, you must look inward and find that entomological Zen within to crack the vast buffet of Chinese codes. How else would you best enjoy wearing that T-shirt you picked up for a dollar on that Hong Kong business trip?
Here are some Chinese (?) characters I have come to decode in enigmatic style:
***NOTE: Actual translations not known.
Premature Ejaculation (aka “Smile, its raining.”)
Death By Stabbing (aka “Drop dead!”)
Magic Potion (aka “Another trashy perfume by another trashy Pop star”)
Fellacio (aka “Eat Me!”)
This Side UP (aka “Idiot, this is in Japanese.”)
Alright, Alright, Alright (aka “I’m doing well.”)
To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, ’tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish’d. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there’s the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law’s delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover’d country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.–Soft you now!
The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember’d.
(aka “Old man from west make long wind.”)
And last (and most least), I crack the mystery behind the Chinese script that doth spell my first name “AMANDA” which literally translates into:
Beware of Crazy Woman (aka “If I should knock on your door, don’t just stand there, run like hell!”)
There he was…dead, not some cheese-ball actor rolling over and playing dead zombie, dead…this was heart can be used as a stone paperweight dead…some sort of synthetic liquid clogging all his veins dead… His eyes shut forevermore, cheeks caved-in dead. Yet, like most politicians, he looked better dead than alive! It was Grandpa Jose, the only person I ever saw who had officially “beamed up” into the great beyond. His casket was open. His face was glowing. Must have been the Max Factor Mortician makeup. I couldn’t help but pinch one of his cheeks to determine how his skin was doing. Damn it, softer skin than my own! Not fair. Do I have to wait til I’m in a giant jewelry box to finally get a silky complexion? I fear it may happen. Thank god for alternatives to caskets and cremation urns. Like Burger King, I’m gonna serve myself up my way…HELLO cannibals! Talk about having Mexican for lunch.
Unlike death, corpses, or ghosts( which I do not fear) there are some strange things you’d be surprised to hear that scare me. The following are ten of such things, in no particular ranking order. HAPPY HAPPY HOLLeRWEEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
1. Cats with 6 Toes (on each foot): I had a good friend when I lived in South Carolina who owned a cat with such a feature. Lets just say my friend and the cat should be thankful they aren’t living in the 17th century New England…otherwise they’d never want BBQed ribs again.
2. Electric Vibrators: No, not the kind that you use for your feet or aching lower back dearies. Unlike most of my “unjuiced” female friends, I have never owned one and never will I don’t care how undersexed I am (like North Korea, lets not go there). With my great fortune, I know I’ll get electrocuted. Picture this: Eight year old boy walks into mother’s bedroom wondering why mommy hasn’t got up to get him to school. Mommy is on the bed, not breathing. A strange purple vibrating “lightsaber” looks stuck inside mommy’s “pee pee place”. Enough said.
3. Ironing Boards: You know the kind, old school, a pain in the butt to adjust, a rusty horse that is wobbly and unruly, annoying to lug around and store. It’s not that I don’t like ironing…my O.C.D. can’t go a week without straightening out those cute, little wrinkles. There is this magical, flat place called the floor people who use unstable ironing boards should discover; no purchase necessary.
4. Uni Sushi (out of season): I know, sea urchins are meals meant for killer whales and fisherman who wear bones through their nostrils. But, in season, when the uni is ripe and ready, it tastes just like butta. Unfortunately, it’s almost impossible to know in advance. Out of season, you might as well put a homeless wino’s dirty underwear in your mouth…not far reach from something growing in the ghetto of the sea.
5. Men Who Show Their Teeth Too Often: I don’t know, maybe it just gives me terrifying flashbacks of all the pastors I met growing up. Whether they do it for the sake of joy or for hostility, in terms of creepiness, it is up there with Steven King’s IT Clown on my imagination island. Hmmm…pastor and clown connection? Thank God for Freud; he never showed his teeth.
6. Necklace Clasps: In particular, those “Q” shaped ones. I feel I am going to go cross-eyed one day by trying to see how I will put a tiny chain link into a ring the size of one of my white blood cells. More a phobia than any elevator or fear of Ebola in my Halloween candy (Roger, don’t get any ideas!).
7. Selfies Forced Upon Me: When you are born with a condition that causes your face to freeze into stupid positions at the sight of a camera lens, you might as well move in with the Amish.
8. Waiting at Bus Stops: I don’t care how many cops they send out on the street, I still feel like a fat money bag set out to see who will come and swipe me up. I prefer walking down the Tenderloin District in San Francisco at 2 am alone (ok, being a bit buzzed helps), than seated at some intersection all by myself in upscale Marin County at 12 noon waiting for the 45 to take me home. Maybe I watch too many Forensic Files episodes.
9. Southern Baptist Apocalyptic Propaganda Films: Somehow, my parents never had a problem dragging my eight-year-old self to some revival seminary where the theme was ARMAGEDDON but never allowed me to watch movies such as “Halloween” or “The Exorcist”. At these revival events, they’d show films about the end of the world, people being tortured, imprisoned, and executed just because they sang “Jesus Loves Me”. Just when the script starts to become a feel good movie, Satan himself makes a cameo appearance as a gigantic, two-headed dragon. The righteous “believers” get killed off. No worries though, folks, because all the “good guys” get to go to heaven. It’s no wonder I piss people off when I watch slasher movies today…”horror” flicks make me laugh.
10. Anything Tijuana: Seeing that the border town is just a nose-pick away from my home post of San Diego, I have had my share of disturbing adventures there. When I say anything Tijuana, I do mean anything: street tacos (cat or dog today?), hotels (bars on windows, keep you in or them out?), street dogs (count the number of ticks and infected sores for PETA pleasure), taxis (anywhere but here!), plastic surgeons (I prefer to keep my nose from looking like Mike Tyson bit it off), bathrooms (pay for toilet paper?)….and I haven’t even mentioned the druggie gangs there. When you wake up and find dead bodies laying out by your local elementary school for the whole world to see, you know everyday is Halloween in Tijuana, Baja California. Gringos BEWARE!!!
Hello fellow Earthlings. As a homage to the up and coming Earth Day, I thought it would be nice to try to inspire people NOT to do what I do, which is accumulate mounds of junk. Here is a new installment of “What’s in My Closet?”
I know what you are thinking…. no I am not one of those vinyl record collecting fanatics. I only own records by: U2, Gershwin, Bo Diddley, Hank Williams, Led Zeppelin, Disney’s Mary Poppins, The Rolling Stones, Tony Bennet, George Jones, Peter Paul and Mary, Joni Mitchell, Janis Joplin, The Bee Gees, Madonna, Richard Pryor, Strawberry Shortcake…Ok, maybe I do have a problem.But how could I pass up giving away this gem with songs like “Doing the Pigeon” and the “La La La” song?
I honestly don’t remember where I got these shoes. I might have snagged them from a drunk girl who was passed out at a 1950’s Flashback Retro Party. I can tell you they are made in Germany by the tag on the soles and that drag queens constantly ask me where I bought them.
Ok, so I’m as country western as a cup of noodles, so what…Taylor Swift gets away with this nonsense every day. She shouldn’t get to have all the fun. If it makes you feel better, I only wear these boots when I go out to eat at Denny’s where old people don’t give a damn.
I bought this plush hanger as a set from a thrift store. I thought that it would make me feel as glamorous as Elizabeth Taylor or Zsa Zsa Gabor. Well folks, SURPRISE, it didn’t work. Now I know why they were in the thrift store in the first place. Goodwill my butt!
A set of heart-shaped cookie cutters. I keep these suckers in my closet because you never know when you need a last-minute 99cent regift to someone you detest. Oh, and mom, if you are reading this, you shoulda known better to have bought these for me since you know I burn everything I bake.
An etching based on Gerard Terborch‘s 1670 painting “The Music Lesson”. Probably worth some money cuz its a stamped etching not a print, but there it sits in my closet accumulating dust along with old issues of MAD Magazine. Well, at least I am exposing the arts to the otherwise ignored cockroach.
Killer Dyke Hat. Although I have no interest in women below the waist, I admit I do wear hats that make me look like I do when I go jogging or when I just want to ooze man repellent. Usually, you can assume this is what happens after having kids and surviving years of monogamous marriage.
Speaking of man hating, I worship my Makonde body mask. Technically, this mask is not in my closet. It hangs on a wall. I use this mask to test people who visit my home. If they show an interest in it or love it (asking me about the culture it came from), I usually will get along with that person splendidly. If they think that it’s a carved image of me pregnant, they are probably not too intelligent. If they show indifference, they are probably lacking a soul or personality to have any opinion. If they show disgust, most likely it will be a man I end up foolishly getting romantically involved with. While my ex-husband suggested I hang it above the fireplace (he was hoping it would accidently fall into the fire), I now hang it proudly atop my love nest. Men come and go, but ART LIVES ON!
Ann Taylor Unlucky Power Suit. This was the first suit I ever got “dismissed from a job position” in. I kept it in case there is ever a job I WANT to get fired from. NOTE: Blazer may appear larger and itcher than actual object.
While it may be of no surpise to you that your’s truly would have a stash of beer cold and ready on days that need to be flushed down the toilet, I admit I am sometimes ashamed of stocking up on this form of redneck Viagra. The polar caps are melting, the Amazon is being cut down to accomodate Amazon.com books, and gorillas are still too nice to fight back poachers. Oh well, happy Earth Day. Drink up.
***For past installments of “What’s in My Closet?”, click on the side history bar.****