Wednesday, July 28th, 2010
If you have young kids, come sit next to me for a second, we need to have a chat. So, congrats on having some offspring, that’s great. Continuation of the human race and all that. Fantastic times. But can I just break something to you that no one else has the balls to tell you? Your kid ain’t that great.
I’m sorry to burst your bubble, it’s just a fact. I mean, I know that your child’s every breath leaves you in awe and wonderment, but to the rest of us, it’s just some pretty regular shit. And I know that your little bundle of joy has turned your life upside down and everything now takes on a new meaning, but to the rest of us, life just goes on. So, if you could stop it with all the constant updates about how Junior opened his eyes today, or took his first step or giggled, it’d be much appreciated.
And you should really think twice before posting that Facebook status update about how little Tommy went potty all by himself today. I’m telling you this for your own good – absolutely no one but you cares about your child’s bowel movements. Oh and stop using your kids pic as your profile picture while you’re at it – lame.
I know this all sounds pretty harsh, but I can assure you, all childless people (and some other parents too) have had these thoughts at one time or another, as you regale every dinner party with stories of your child’s ‘wonderful achievements’. The reality is, what your boasting about is what every kid does. Every kid crawls, walks, burps, farts, laughs, learns to read blah blah blah. Please stop boring us! Unless your child is a bone fide genius, he’s really not doing anything new or special.
Mothers, I get that you gave birth – kudos, ’cause that bit sure does deserve some props – but you don’t now out-rank me as a woman because you carried something in your womb. So, enough with the eye rolling if I don’t let you jump ahead of me in a queue just because you have a kid. In fact, if you have a kid, I’m gonna assume you have a significant other who can help you with your chores. Me? I’m single – I’m doing all this grocery shopping by myself and I have to carry my own bags! Give me a break over here!
Here’s another thing you should probably hear – while you think your baby is the most beautiful thing in the world, everyone else is fully aware that all babies look pretty much the same and are sometimes quite ugly. It’s OK, they grow into their looks, but when they’re a few days old, it’s not really like I can step in there with a ‘oh my! Little Sarah has fabulous bone structure.’ The constant pressure to say that everyone’s child is the most beautiful thing on earth is kinda awkward.
I’m fully aware that if I have children, this whole thing will go out the window as I bore everyone around me to tears with tales of how wonderful/perfect/gorgeous/clever they are. It’s the nature of the beast. This also doesn’t really apply to my friends who have kids because their kids are legitimately, better looking than yours and most impressive in all their pursuits.
So in conclusion, we get it – you’re proud. Roger that. 10-4. We don’t need the 50 Facebook updates a day and constant pictures to hammer that point home. It’s a given. You’d be pretty soulless if you didn’t think your own flesh and blood was the shiznit – I’m just saying, don’t always expect everyone to be on the bandwagon.
Cosmopolitan has launched its Blog Awards and I would be so grateful and honoured if you would take a moment to nominate Bangs and a Bun in the ‘Lifestyle’ category. It only takes a second and I will love you long time if you do. Click here and make my day. Thank you!
Friday, September 25th, 2009
The amount of paternity testing on Maury Povich’s show concerns me greatly. Considering it’s supposed to be a talk show, it has been reduced to one solitary topic: who’s my baby daddy? How do so many women not know? I’ve seen women on there for the 18th time, testing yet another poor bugger . Exactly how many men were you sleeping with at the time you got pregnant? Wowza, I’m struggling to find one man, meanwhile, these chicks are sleeping with 57 dudes in the space of a few weeks!
I truly cannot fathom why anyone would want this mess broadcast on TV. One would think it’s a rather embarrassing predicament to be in. What I really don’t understand is why, when they are told that their latest victim is NOT the father, these women inevitably scream, cry and run backstage. Umm, why? Are you trying to hide? You’re on TV bitch! The camera follows her back there to get a close up of her crying, pounding the wall with her fists, screaming ‘WHHYYY?!?!’ The answer is pretty simple and it has to do with your unfamiliarity with condoms.
But since the people over at Maury Povich seem to be struggling to come up with concepts for new shows, I have an idea. The next logical step when dealing with people who routinely engage in unprotected sex, would be to have a show where you get them on and test them for STDs.
Maury removes a piece of paper from an envelope and looks at his guest for a few moments to prolong the tension.
‘Lydia……you do NOT have gonorrhea.’ Lydia let’s out a sigh of relief, the crowd whoops and cheers. ‘But that’s not all Lydia,’ says Maury, with dramatic flair. ‘You DO have genital warts.’
Lydia screams, cries and runs back stage with the camera following her. Yeah, the part of the show where the people are stupid will remain the same, in fact, it’s pretty much a prerequisite.
Sunday, September 14th, 2008
I’ve been having some pretty strange dreams recently. Each one leaves me more baffled than the last. I don’t want to look up the meaning of them on some dream website because frankly, I think it’d be a terrifying glimpse into my psyche. I’m sharing my top three weirdo dreams here – if you have any idea what they mean, feel free to leave your two cents in the comments section.
The Tattoo Dream
I randomly decided to get a full sleeve tattoo on my left arm. Then I added to it, extending it down to my hand. I went on numerous job interviews and people would always ask about my tattooed hand. ‘It’s actually a full sleeve’, I’d tell them. ‘Wanna see?’ Then, I’d either roll up the sleeve of my shirt, or in one instance, take it all the way off, to show off my ink artwork. Every time I did this, the reaction of the people interviewing me lay somewhere between befuddlement and disgust. I hate tattoos like that, especially on women and I’m the last person who would ever get one in real life, so why this was worming its way into my nap time, who knows?
The Drug Dream
Some friends of mine in London were the at the helm of a major, international drug ring. This dream was like an epic movie that took me from the streets of London to the backwoods of Colombia. When I woke up, I felt like I must have been asleep for days. And it was a lil’ too realistic. I kinda felt like I should call my friends and make sure they’re not in the slammer.
The Pregnancy Dream
I was pregnant with my ex boyfriend’s baby, which technically, probably puts this in the ‘worst nightmare’ category. Not surprisingly, he left me. But this was no normal pregnancy dream. My belly was gigantic. I must have been giving birth to some sort of half man, half beast, giant man child. It scared the bejesus out of me. Hopefully, when the fertility gods decide it’s time for me to procreate, they’ll make sure it’s not with a lying, cheating bitch ass egit with no balls – yeah, no bitterness there at all.
Tuesday, July 29th, 2008
This woman recently gave birth to her 18th child. It’s heart warming that the local psychiatric unit let her out on day release to pop another one out.
What the hell is wrong with this woman? Apparently, she and her husband never decided how many children to have. (Clearly!) ‘We just let God lead our lives’, they said. Well, Jesus, Mary and Joseph are laughing it up right now, I tell ya. You would think that after say, six, hubby might reach for a box of Trojans and say “let’s try something new tonight honey. It’s a little something I like to call ‘contraception.’”
This woman has spent, basically, her entire adult life having sex and being pregnant. Who has that kind of time on their hands? And can it really even be classed as ‘giving birth’ anymore? I mean, things must be pretty loose down there at this point. I imagine babies just fall out of her when she walks. Her vagina must be somewhat like the Euro tunnel – things just shoot through there at great speeds.
She’s an old pro now (literally – she’s only 44, but she looks 67). Her womb has clearly been put through its paces. There’s nothing it can’t handle. I think the obvious next move is for her to start renting her womb out. Get in line bitches! I have a few things I’d like her to give birth to for me.
Somewhat like a Christmas list, I’d like this woman to grow the following things in her uterus for me and just pop them out at her earliest convenience:
1. a career
2. some Christian Louboutins shoes
3. a savings account (complete with roughly $10K in it)
4. a ridiculously nice apartment
5. the second coming of George Clooney
6. that USB memory stick I lost last year
7. the straight version of that hot latino fella who lives downstairs
8. a walk in closet
9. a flat screen TV
10. and since she’s so good at it and probably wants to show off some more, I guess she can pop another small human out of there, if she has the time.
So, crazy lady with the tribe of children, if you could get on top of that list and email me when some of them are ready for delivery, I’d be much obliged. Mkay, thanks.
Friday, February 22nd, 2008
Sometimes I think, this world can’t get any crazier. Between Michael Jackson, Amy Winehouse and the Iranian president, I thought we pretty much had crazy covered. But alas, no – there’s always room for more. The following piece of crazy left me somewhat befuddled.
There’s a chick in prison in British Columbia for murdering her husband. (Nothing out of the ordinary there – it happens all the time). She’s about to get a new cellmate. (Sure – some toothless beauty who can bench press 400 pounds and will issue contract killings for a couple of packs of Marlboro Lights). The cellmate will be her newborn daughter. Wait, what? Yeah, that’s right. The husband murdering-recovering-drug addict’s lawyers managed to convince the powers-that-be that the baby would be better off with her imprisoned mother, than with a stable foster family.
Now, admittedly, my knowledge of prisons comes from the show ‘Oz’, which leaves me with feelings of dread. I don’t understand how this situation will work. I’m assuming the husband murdering-recovering drug addict got quite a hefty sentence (or maybe not, considering the prisons seem to be so lax). So, what happens as the child gets older? Will playtime consist of being bench pressed by the toothless beauty? Would she go to school in prison? Or would she be allowed out to go to school? And if so, what if she wanted to invite friends around for tea?
I have more questions than answers. But the biggest question of all is exactly how low is the quality of foster care in British Columbia, when a murdering, incarcerated drug addict is seen as the better option?
Easter is upon us…
Are you a complete douchebag who is looking for the ideal way to express the joys of Easter to a loved one? Yes? Then may I present to you, the Armani Easter Egg.
What better way to show friends and family that you have reached new heights of wankerdom? Even though it’s the best Easter egg on the market (and possibly the best thing in the world), the Cadbury’s Cream Egg is beneath you. Forget the fact that chocolate eggs have precisely fuck all to do with the actual meaning of Easter, you will undoubtedly fork out whatever the ridiculous asking price is for an Armani chocolate. According to Trendhunter, this egg is ‘the epitome of good taste, in every sense…’ Oh really? That Taste-O-Metre appears to be way off.
But, I have no doubt that it is good taste to you, you over paid, Blackberry owning, Bluetooth headset wearing, Patrick Bateman-style business card toting, trust fund using, Hummer driving, Maroon 5 listening, steaming pile of douche.