Death > Kids Bop

I know I used to be a kid, but even as a younger me I didn’t always mesh with other children. I preferred the company of adults. So, naturally as I got older, I’m no Dugger at heart. My standard tolerance of children is limited in capacity, like, 1.5 children per day. Yeah that’s the calculation I came up with, don’t argue it’s a series of complicated mathematical theorems and it’s SMART.

Don’t get it twisted, I care about children and I do love them. I am outraged by any harmful acts on a child. I love their innocence and honesty. However, some kids, are so annoying I want to improvise a home sterilization kit that will render my eggs more useless than a Beanie Baby collection.

Here are the type of kids that I find most offensive, trust their parents are to blame for letting these things happen:

1. Real life Garbage Pail Kids

We all know that children’s hands are a reservoir for infectious disease and all things yuck. My son’s hands retain a slimy, and sticky texture after several vigorous hand washing attempts. My car windows are petri dishes for bacterial growth studies. Some kids, however, are really filthy. Particularly snot nosed, booger eaters. Never mind their cooties, they are one sneeze away from a mucous eruption. There is nothing worse than a kid who wants to engage in play with a nose full of nuggets. I absently pick a dangler or two from my son’s nose so as not to let it get to this level of gross. I can’t help but think “Bloody hell the wee bugger is going to breathe too hard and a booger is going to catapult itself onto me. What will I do then? I’m going to scream, how will I stifle it?” I watched one kid pick a booger off the floor once and eat it, double whammy disgusting. Who the hell did that kid belong to?

2. Kid Scientists

Know-it-all adults have know-it-all kids that are annoying. These adults and kids alike seem to lack mature knowledge that’s more applicable to daily life.  I have never had an intelligent debate with even a kid, much less, one convince me I’m wrong due to compelling argument. Hey kid, no adult gauges intelligence by knowledge of dinosaurs, mummies and Cartoon Network characters. Newsflash, “Nuh uh!” is not a definitive argument settler. If this kid can tell me how to achieve a high yield investment on my IRA, I might care. Otherwise, I’m steady looking for his mother, who should teach her kid that it’s rude to be an elitist turd and that no one is nice to nerds until they’re rich adults. Don’t get it Screeched and run away potential friends with an overly hostile stance on the exact era of the Byzantine Empire.

3. Evil Children

Evil Children scare me more than evil adults, always. First of all, I have an innate sense to nurture and be kind to kiddos (even gross know-it-alls). When they are evil they fuck up my sensibilities. Thanks to Pet Semetary, far away toddler laughter sounds sinister to me, especially if it echos. I mean, what’s more scary than a really strong little kid that can easily hide under furniture and in closets? You can’t outwit evil children like you could a normal kid. They don’t care if Santa won’t bring them gifts because they would murder him too. Evil kids also derive more joy from being evil. They’re always laughing, as if matricide is hysterical in nature.

4. “Indigo Children”

So…this kid can travel to the world of my 3rd grade Trapper Keeper? Yep!

This is separate from kids that have legitimate behavior issues: A term created to describe, well, kids that act like turds. Meaning they have parents that allow them to feel a “strong sense of entitlement”. To which my father would have said, “Hey, I’m the big cheese, you’re the little cheese, I run things here.” I knew my place. Also a “resistance to rigid, control-based paradigms of authority” meaning, they get to do what they want far too much. I’m sorry mom, but your brat is not more special than my kid, he probably has behavioral issues brought on by lack of discipline, not a paranormal ability or intuition. So while he may be destined for greatness (like playing the John Edward guessing game), he still needs to put Play-doh back in it’s container before it dries up. Time for time out, trust, it’s a good thing. Kids aren’t usually intuitive as much as egocentric, so do you really think they make sound decisions for themselves? So they live with us for eighteen years for what? Yeah, I didn’t think so. A boundary here and there isn’t going to stifle anything other than that child becoming an adult jerk.

I’m not saying I got this parenting thing down but I do try to teach my kid to be socially aware of someone besides himself. I don’t know for sure if myself and him are lumped in the annoying category…probably. BUT we are not guilty of the above violations, at least. *shrug*

Aerobicidal Tendencies

I workout. I workout to maintain a semblance of physical fitness. I’d lie if I said it was all about health, wellness and endurance. I’m vain, and I don’t want my butt to jiggle in leggings. Which, by the way, I love leggings. I bought a pair of leopard print ones that channel my inner Peg Bundy. They’re pretty awesome.

Style. Class. For the win.

I did a post about driving and an example of random thoughts I have on any given commute. Well, this is a post about random thoughts that I have before, during and post workout. Here goes:

I don’t want to go, I don’t want to go, I don’t want to go. I’ll have one more cup of coffee and then I’m ready. Ugh, I think my muscle is kind of pulled. This coffee is delicious. Perhaps one more rest day won’t hurt? No, no, I have a high school reunion coming up.

When the fuck is science going to make us bionic? I for one cannot wait.

It’s off to the gym and the dreaded parking lot. Why in bloody hell do you insist on trying to park as close as possible to the front door when you are going to exercise? Oh my God, you do not have to run me over to get the space.

“You’re good on this side.”

I’m inside, now I have to swipe this membership card of me, the one that looks almost as bad as my driver’s license.

“You sound like a sexy cheeseburger”

I’m ready, let’s do this

I like to stretch in inappropriate overtly sexual ways, but it’s because I need my hamstrings to loosen, not for attention

Inevitably, the female in me starts to look around at other women working out so I can self loathe some more by making irrational comparisons…..

Fuck You

Fuck You

You’re Cool

The View is apparently the only thing on TV for the first four hours of the day, damn you “Baba Wawa”.

Why does this show seem four hours long?

Perhaps some music? I forgot to charge my iPod, and my headphones appear to have been tied in knots by boy scouts. Audible sigh of frustration.

I need to know that I’m too sexy today: sad face.

What the hell are these hens clucking about? It’s like an hour of who can talk over who the loudest about menopause.

“Vaginas and stuff, cluck cluck cluck”

There are treadmills in Catholic hell ( their version of hell seems pretty shitty). I’m sure of it, reserved for the most wicked of souls.

“No one at my gym will simulate the Ok Go video with me, something lame about injuries and my being a stranger.”

I’m finally done, I hurt everywhere, I’m covered in sweat, and I stink. I’m gonna look like a stone cold fox in my leopard print leggings.

I have lofty goals in life and need a date to the Golden Corral with these bad boys.

I’m getting dressed in the locker room, and some of these women refuse to put clothing on. They complete their entire morning routine naked, as if they were home. I mean it’s cool, whatever, but bending over to blow dry your hair…not flattering ma’am. Now then, I imagine the men’s locker room looks like this:

Satisfied with these mental images and my extensive knowledge of menfolk, I leave. I feel accomplished and powerful, like an extreme couponer. I will start the madness over again tomorrow. Good day.

The Attractive Collective Illusion

The other day I had the fortune to witness the most incredible visual phenomenon. It was a firetruck, with four firemen inside, all of them smoking hot (pun intended). They were muscled, tanned and doing “blue steel”, all four of them. Really.

I stared them down like I was  a redneck in Waffle House. It was like a calendar shoot was taking place right in front of me. I wanted to follow them to the station and have less inhibitions than a fatty fat fat at the China buffet. My memory has this all happening in slow motion because the sexier you are, the more delayed your gross motor functions, right? Slow motion for me, slow motion for me. 

“Let’s sing the murder song”

In my fantasies they just rescued an orphanage, school, church and animal shelter. One of them heroically carried a puppy out of the inferno. He gave it tiny puppy CPR bringing it back to life and giving the dog to a deserving orphan with those creepy big 60′s eyes. For serious, I saw one of these paintings and those kids accessed my soul and put bad things there. I’m getting cold chills, and I don’t think those two like adults, not in their isolated country town where all the kids have slain them.

I wonder if these guys were really this beautiful though. Perhaps they only increased in sexual appeal because chicks dig uniforms. I’m a sucker for them. I think it’s kind of a hologram effect. Men look hotter when they wear a uniform. So, make it a group and put them in a shiny red fire truck. They looked like Grecian statues riding around. I think they pulled an optical illusion on me.  I have heard guys say that when girls are together in a group the hottest one kind of rubs off on the rest and they look a little hotter by default. I think it’s the same premise here. Either way, it was pretty great. My guess is they probably looked like this:

“Ah poo, it’s just volunteer firefighters, bummer”

I like to think that those guys looked like this:

“I save these things like all the time.”

“Hero’s don’t wear pants, ask Heman.”

I’m pretty sure it was these four guys specifically. I have convinced myself actually.

 

Truths About Men Thus Sayeth Me

Greetings, today I wanted to use my infinite knowledge regarding men (the bepenised species) to impart some truths. Though these truths should be self evident, I suppose they may be unique to my own perception? Yes it is. It’s not really that deep people, this post is as serious as a Members Only jacket.

What Men Say vs. What Men Mean

WHAT MEN SAY:  ”I play in a band…” or the more modest, “I play an instrument, well, several, all well.”

“I am about to get sensitive up in here!”

WHAT MEN MEAN: “I play guitar hero better than my coworkers”

“Dude, bro,dude,bro,dude,bro….dude.”

WHAT MEN SAY: “I work on cars.” Implying a basic knowledge of vehicle maintenance and repair.

“I’ve found the problem, we’re overheated.”

WHAT MEN MEAN: “By cursing and throwing tools, no one will doubt my mechanical inclinations” Oh and, “These damn forgein cars! NO ONE can fix them!” No actually it doesn’t take a wizard, it takes a….MECHANIC.

Sssssmart!

WHAT MEN SAY: “I am so good at math, like all other men! Gawd we are so dominant and smart!”

“I am so ready to teach you the ways of the parallelogram. Let me get my…protractor out.”

By protractor I meant…penis. WHAT MEN MEAN: “A pizza is divided into eight equal parts, If I eat 6/8 of that pizza, I by that equation have delicious breakfast in the morning. If I add the sedentary variable, this equation will NOT result in myself being…gross and fat. Let’s have a fart contest.”

“I want to make love, and create baby pizza rolls with you.”

WHAT MEN SAY: “He doesn’t know who he’s messing with, I’m about to kick this guys ass!” Always the implied threat of violence, like all the time, as if you were some kind of walking Judgment Day machine.

“AMERICAAAA”

WHAT MEN MEAN: “Whatever happens, I’m going to use the safety phrase “I don’t want any problems, man.” It’s implied, understood, men who don’t really want to fight but appear like they are bad ass enough to, say this. The phrase is kind of like a code word to abort mission.

“Hold up, I meant nothing, now that you are reciprocating my hostility.”

WHAT MEN SAY: “I am efficient with computers!”

“Look at all this fancy high-tec shit I know how to do.”

WHAT MEN MEAN: “I am efficient at looking at porn, and getting viruses on my computer, then being mad because I can’t listen to Nickelback on Spotify.”

“Ain’t no party like Lemon Party cuz a Lemo- oh shit, shit, she’s home!”

WHAT MEN SAY: “I wouldn’t touch her with HIS dick!”(points at friend and thinks about friend’s penis).

Don’t you fret girl, he’s trying to impress his friends. Liking girls is soooo gay!

WHAT MEN MEAN: “If no one ever, ever knew, there would be no boundaries to the things that I would in fact do. If you add money to that, I’m game. “

No you do not even have to ask, DUH

Well, there you have it. I’m aware that I am deadly accurate with my opinions facts. Men, you have been exposed.

Familial Related and Hated Movies and Music

I grew up the eldest child in my household. That means I was a totalitarian and fascist supreme ruler of the siblings. My reign of terror only defined by at the time larger body composition which adversely was no longer a threat when my “little” brother began to outweigh me by the equivalent of freakishly large tumor (one of those that contain teeth and hair…freaky).

Being the oldest child can make you mean for different reasons. You usually have to forfeit your needs so your younger sibling doesn’t cry. Meaning mom and dad usually say “Oh my God just let him/her have it, or just turn it to that channel, or sweet merciful shit Sheena just let him/her win.” Not that I blame parents or step-parents for this. The sound of a child crying without good reason is painful as hanging out with an insecure ugly girl who fishes too hard for compliments by insulting herself. Sorry, but that shit is awkward.

So as the oldest you have to give up toys that are in turn broken by carelessness. You must share any confectionery treat of any kind, even if that asshole ate their’s already. You have to bring them along with you to hang out with older “cool” kids, so you also have to be on best behavior. You have to play crappy during a game because their wee little legs won’t run as fast.  You NEVER get to play dodge ball with a younger sibling, learned that the not so good way. Lastly, you have to stand up to bigger kids because they pick on your brother or sister even when they are in fact scary (even though you’re way meaner to them).

Out of all of those things the only thing I really resent is the movies I had to watch and music I had to listen to on constant repeat with my siblings. All else is forgiven. Here’s a list of the most abused;

4. Home Alone

“Look what ya did ya little JERK!” admittedly, that was an awesome line delivered by Kevin’s uncle. The movies itself not so bad. My brother watched this movie so many times that subconsciously I absorbed every line and even to this day can repeat lines in sync with characters. Still. Mom had to rent this movie all the time from Kroger. Ya’ll remember that? When Kroger rented VHS? They did. THEN my brother got the movie for Christmas. I never wanted to sabotage a piece of electronic equipment more in my life.

3. Buffy the Vampire Slayer

I loved Paul Reubens aka Pee Wee Herman, aka Public Display of Self Affection (nobody forgets anything, ever) in this, I really did. Again, not the worst movie ever, but on a steady repeat it’s horrible. It’s not a serious as Home Alone because this movie was a five-day rental. Once it was returned the perpetual cycle was broken as my mom refused to get this one again.

2. Land Before Time Part One through Infinity

That was my sister’s favorite movie series. Okay so the absolute worst part of these series, and for crap sake there were no less than 1,000 of them, was the screaming. Like, I get it dinosaurs, you are in danger from “sharp tooth” the T-Rex and various predators. I understand it’s a hard knock life for baby dinosaurs on the brink of ice age and extinction, but why all the screaming. My brother and I would count each scream by each dinosaur and each movie had well over 30 on average. Land Before Time IV or V had over 70 from fucking “Cera” the triceratops alone. It was torture. The ongoing joke was for my brother and I to grab a plastic dinosaur and say, “Look I’ll play Land Before Time Ahhhhhh! Ahhhhh! Why do I scream so much? Ahhhhh!”

1. Hanson

In an Mmmmbop I want to kill myself. This album was my brother’s favorite. So much so that every two weeks we listened to it entirely on the way to dad’s house. He lived a pretty good distance so if the album ended, well, we just played it again. Then at mom’s house it was on blast um, all the time. No wonder the antithesis being Marilyn Manson became so appealing to me. He was the voice for my hatred against all thing Mmmmboppy-like. You can imagine the sense of joy I got out of the SNL skit where the brothers were forced to listen to their own song over and over until they begged for mercy. I couldn’t find a good clip. Audible sigh.

It’s all good, I adapted, and headphones are the single best invention for teenagers all around. I suppose if Hanson is my only bad memories, well then I’ve got some awesome siblings and great parents. Love you all!

Culturally Appropriate Much?

I have conducted a social experiment in the past unbeknownst to my subjects. Now, you may wonder to yourself, Sheena is not a scientist, so why is she conducting experiments? My answer is shut your pie hole, if scientists can study big boobs equates to big tips (GTFO is that why there’s Hooters restaurant I soooo thought it was diarrhea inducing wing sauce) then I can study anything, anything at all, and call it “science”. Now here I go: kickin’ the new k-nowledge.

Back to my groundbreaking research. My hypothesis: Rednecks will claim a Native American heritage regardless of actual said lineage being legitimate. I live in Tennessee, there is an abundance of rednecks. I conducted my study at my last job (which was like getting donkey punched everyday for eternity bad, seriously, fuck that place). I asked twenty people I worked with about their Native American heritage. The result was eleven verbal confirmations of “indian blood from a great great great granny” or something similar. Wow, that’s specific and concise. I was even able to predict who would say yes by determining how redneck they are. For example: Do they have an almost phallic love for guns? Do they love college football more than pro? Do they believe in actual Satanic worship being a pandemic problem? Do they think Jesus hates the people they do? Oh shit that was deep…you get the idea.  It really was a “litmus paper” of sorts.

More so, the most prevalent of claims are Cherokee heritage. Granted, Cherokee tribes were quite prevalent in east Tennessee. So were the Shawnee, Chickasaw and Yuchi, just to name the bigger tribes. So why Cherokee? Well it seems that membership of the clan was determined by the mother. So a woman could marry and the husband was adopted into the clan. So says the internet. I’m no historian. It does at least make it believable that many Americans with other obvious ancestry could possibly be related to the Cherokee…perhaps.

Okay so I will give rednecks that. Perhaps the Cherokee were quite open to membership like AAA or Sam’s Club. Whatever. It still doesn’t fully explain this phenomenon of white people wearing things they have poorly reproduced from various Native American tribes. Informative links provided to feel less stupider!

                                                               Dreamcatchers

                                                                       Feathers 

“Jesus, bra, help me catch that mother fff-uhhh, uh, guy, amen”

Clothing?

Now if you’re curious, conduct this experiment among the Caucasian people you know. A large majority will claim to have distant relatives of a Native American tribe, if you’re in Tennessee and probably North Carolina, the majority will say Cherokee.

The best part is the ratio equation of racial bloodline composition. Meaning you will also have some idiot say, “Well now, my mama wuz about a quarter Indian, uh, a Cherokee princess (because they had monarchic rule, thanks Disney for making us even less culturally aware) and I do believe my pappy was an Chipamottoto (wait, did he make that shit up?) and so I reckon that makes me 3/8 of an Indian (Native American right?) yep.”

Hopefully this is not misconstrued and racist, it’s not.  I for one think we are far too insensitive to Native American culture. I know how some people love to be offended so I had to throw that out there. This isn’t a socioeconomic attack on the poor or uneducated southerners either. Mind you, I grew up around this, it’s part of my life. I can’t help but poke a little fun.

On Driving

I have a long commute. While I drive my mind usually is at liberty to wander. It does, it meanders through the deepest depths of my psyche, analyzing, reflecting and mentally debating which Sally Hansen nail polish strips to buy.

So awesome they fill emotional voids

I am going to share some of my random thoughts that I typically have while I drive to work.

1. Traffic going the opposite way hits a really bad jam.

Nana nana boo boo….stick your head in doo doo.

2. I pass that traffic jam and see opposite traffic that hasn’t hit the traffic jam I just passed, they are cruising along, unaware of the mess ahead.

I hope you ain’t got an appointment to keep SUCKA!!!

3. Then it seems I run into this bullshit, now it’s not so funny.

As a matter of fact, absolutely nothing is funny at this moment

4. In my mind, the cause of the traffic jam is something along the lines of this

It doesn’t have to make sense it’s my blog

5. The reality is that the cause for a one hour delay in my commute is this:

OMG we r sofa king cute!

6. Curious George was the only pet monkey that didn’t want to rip your face off blinded by his own primal rage, destroying the town on a simian rampage. Moral: He’s not real, monkeys as pets? No way they’re less predictable than drunken dart throwing. (On a side note; when you google chimp attacks there are pictures of a guy drinking monkey pee, what the fuck is wrong with humans?)

Perhaps that’s an untold story…

7. How much do babies really understand?

Do not speak on my behalf, it’s not cute to mispronounce words….is that supposed to be ME “talking”? I hate you.

8. I bet it sucked being the chubby one in Wilson Phillips, It reminds me of seventh grade lunch table all over again. I was envious of the girls who were rocking those skorts…I wanted a pair of shorts that looked like a shirt too.

At least I wanted to look good in a skort. SAD FACE

9. How exactly are face donors picked out? It just seems like you would have to have a healthy viable organ for transplant. A face would likely have healthy skin so how are they picked? Convenience, age, level of attractiveness? It makes me look at some people and think, yeah, I’d have your face. This is not a discussion for friends though, you don’t want to be honest about whose face you would choose. Don’t commit to that decision it makes for hurt feelings.

Ah for fuck sake, Florida? Can I sit this one out? I’ll take the next face.

10. Gawd, the Lost Boys made vampires look cool, not Twilight.

They threw the most dope parties, hang on to train tracks while the train passes? WHAT!? You can’t front on that Edward.

11. Sean Bean: King of Nerds, never really lives through a movie, but he does die like a BOSS.  He never gets to play a modern character, ever.

12. I’m glad these assholes are deep, deep in the ocean

I suppose I’ll end, abruptly, as my thoughts do upon reaching my destination. Until next time. Expect me when you least expect me.

 

Netflix B Movie Horror Lovefest

Howdy folks. I just got Netflix for the second time. I subscribed back in the day when all you could do was exchange movies via real mail (as in the postal service). I find this go round much more awesome being able to watch movies all willy nilly when I feel like it. Meaning, my love for bad horror knows no boundaries.  I like things on my terms. That’s why I only compete in things I am good at, I like to win. Truth.

I have taken the liberty to watch some movies and now review them. If there was ever a question in your mind what to watch, hopefully now, you will have a compass of sorts.

Okay, so far this week, I have watched the following movies:

Hellgate  (1989)

So, it seems that an evil motorcycle gang ride into town ready to do what they do best, mayhem. What bothered me about this gang was two guys shared a motorcycle. The fat one and the “funny” kinda crazy skinny guy. It’s been done before and those guys are kind of cliche’ in a bad guy group, and they are always BFFs. However, when a dude rides bitch, I can’t take him serious as a threat of any sorts. The setting is the 50′s and the chick they kidnap looks like she just left a jazzercise session with her walkman playing the latest Frankie Goes to Hollywood cassette. The gang kills her because, well, they’re evil and that’s all they know. Her father finds a crystal that brings her back to life. This crystal has cartoon electricity coming from it, so you know it’s magic and shit.

So, she comes back from the dead a total slut, trying to lure men to their demise with her mystifying dance of seduction and death. There are, of course, some teenagers. They travel to Hellgate because the guy that escaped his temptress just decided death would be more palatable than dating his girlfriend who dresses like Carmen San Diego. They do battle with the dead, who just love for everyone to be dead like them. Like some kind of peer pressure. On a side note, what street corner are kids giving free hits off their weed? D.A.R.E. had me believing that pot heads were rather generous, wanting everyone to get high, not taking no for an answer. No one randomly offers me pot. No one has randomly offered me death, not even the walking undead. I digress.

This movie is hilarious, there is even a part where someone beneath the camera actually shakes a “corpse” (decoration from Party City) at the actors…the worst attempt at puppetry to date. Fucking awesome. So, while you browse Netflix, go ahead and hit play. If anyone gives you grief give them a swollen lip.

The Baby (1972)

Just when I can’t get enough of the adult baby obsession, I happened upon this movie, that took my interest to a new, probably unhealthy, level. You tube did not have a clip, not a one, amazing, because You Tube has this diarrhea.

Okay, so this movie has a woman who forces her grown son to live like an infant. Why? I think because men hate her? Yeah, I don’t get it either. The sisters have some weird sexy incest stuff going on. This lends credence to my suspicion that women who like men that act like babies are mentally off. His sisters are crazy not like “Girl, you sooo crazzzzay!” Nope, more like, Bjork getting her picture taken crazy. Seriously, it was the flash, it set her off like a wild animal. Well, a social worker decides to save “the baby” from his evil mother. What happens? Murder. How can it get better? Well, since You Tube didn’t provide a clip, I posted the closest thing to what this grown man looks like acting like a baby.

Actually, I kind of wonder…if this was the inspiration. Either way, it’s got all the odd social behavior of a John Waters film that but it doesn’t make you feel as dirty when you get done watching. I love Waters, I really do, he’s filthy….and his mustache is creepy to the tenth power. So, check this movie out as well, and be ready for a slew of Freudian cluster fucks.

Well, happy watching ya’ll!

Uncle Dad, I Love Him

Information is everywhere. It’s as easy as grabbing your cell phone to google the definitive answer, settling all arguments. I mean who knew that the world of adult baby fetishism was so vast? I am not saying I “googled” said subject, I am just saying…I did it. I looked it up. I am fascinated by adults who want to live as babies. Off the subject here, but you can “babysit” these guys! Gross. Well, I have provided the links, let the smartening commence. Then we shall do battle on Mt. Intelligent.

One bit of readily available information troubles me; Ancestry.com. Specifically this website because I feel the commercials give the wrong impression. Not for services rendered, I’m sure they have a vast collection of records, but for the result. You mean to tell me everyone is related to someone awesome? Let’s check out a commercial shall we?

Riiiiiiight, so you happen to be related to these people who you also happen to have inherited all their positive attributes? Naturally, we wouldn’t put the great great uncle who did taxidermy…and bestial necromancy. His name was one of those squares that was not mentioned. Adversely, I found the Australia commercials to be more honest;

Wait, wait, hold on a minute here! You mean to tell me an obvious Anglo Saxon was related to a convict in Australia? Mind = Blown. I do however feel this is more realistic.

While, I understand advertising, it’s false. How many people are related to someone famous? A lot. How many more people are related to um, no one famous? More. How many people are related to such weirdos they probably wish they hadn’t traced their past? I don’t know, like, a lot of Lifetime movie characters and Luke Skywalker? The chances of finding out something really astounding are far less than finding out something you could easily have guessed. Um, let’s see they worked really hard, didn’t have a lot of money, and well died during an epidemic of sorts…freak farm accident. Those infallible wheat threshers, such a shame. I assume about 75% of the American population was maimed by farm equipment at the turn of the century. The other 25% horribly disfigured in a factory.

Well, that being said, I want to try this out. I compiled a picture list of potentially awesome ancestors to have, I call it the “Fingers Crossed List”

Yes, Yes, Ya’ll.

Why I Didn’t Have A College Fund and Parental Face/Palm

Children lack logical reasoning. The idea of parenting is to help a child evolve from egocentric to adaptable, dependable, and productive adults. Some children have talents that are quite evident at an early age. Some, well, you have to love a child that’s yours, right? There are times looking back upon my childhood that I think my parents might have been concerned about the adult me. I will present to you the evidence that will substantiate my previous statement.

My Parent’s Face Palm List:

1. When asked by adults what I wanted to be when I grow up, my most likely response was “I want to be a mermaid.” Yes, I wanted to be a half sea creature who dies tragically awaiting the love of my human prince. In fact at six years old, an age I should know such things are not real, I would play for extended amounts of time in the bath tub pretending I was in an underwater wonder world of talking crustaceans. I want to blame Disney for it’s romantic adaptation of an otherwise depressing tale and penis castle for this faulty ideology.

2. Like most children I would obsess over things. Miss Piggy, dinosaurs, The Simpsons, Bob Ross, friendship bracelets and Goosebumps books. Well my first memorable obsession; Jem and the Holograms. I was so obsessed with this cartoon all girl rock group/orphanage (which I hope was a cover up for black market child selling) that I denounced my own birth name. I would not accept Sheena and demanded to be called “Jem” as in gem the rock. I would correct strangers with a swift exuberance that could only indicate I was a child asshole and probably embarrassed my parents every time I screamed, “My name is not Sheena! It’s Jem!”

3. I was a terrible kid to take into public. No big butt went unnoticed. It seems I had an obsession when I learned to talk. My mother says she took me to Piccadilly Cafeteria, the mecca of big butts. It seems I not only wanted my parents to know that some lady had a big butt, but I wanted the restaurant and half of Houston, Texas to be aware. I yelled “Look at her butt mom, it’s a big butt, big butt, big butt!” No attempt made by my mother would silence me. It seems I liked to do this often but this day in particular I could not be silenced. The lady heard me, and so did everyone else. My mom said all she could do was laugh, shrug and look like a terrible mother who teachers her children to overstate the obvious.

4. As a jerk teenager I was inspired by talk shows, particularly wild teen talk shows. At the time Sally Jesse Raphael and Maury Povich were broadcasting them almost daily. I don’t know if you recall them but here’s the synapses; Interview mom, mom cries, teen talks about being bad ass, teen goes to boot camp, and then teen cries. The most spectacular part was the teen interview. Particularly an episode of Maury where he would ask these fourteen year old twins a question to which they responded “Yes I do, I do what I want!” Okay, ha ha, right? I responded to anything my mom said with just that in mockery of the teens. I recall it got out of hand as it became the only thing I would say for a good solid week or longer. My poor mom, she only wanted to know if I wanted bread rolls with dinner or how my day at school was.

5. My brother and I loved to answer unknown or sales calls at our house. We would scramble to the caller ID each time the phone rang. Well, I guess I was fifteen, and a lady called for my mom. I told the lady, in my best child voice, my dad said my mom was in heaven playing with angels. There was a pause and the lady sounded absolutely mortified. I was so proud when I told my mom I have triumphantly abolished all calls from that company; bulletproof! Of course my mom was actually expecting that phone call. The other thing my brother and I would do was answer, let the person start talking, scream bloody murder, and then hang up. We did that with our parent’s mortgage company they were going to buy a house with. We were no longer allowed to answer the phone in our house for quite a while. Bummer.

I probably will be reminded by my mom of more stories, yes, she reads my blog. I know right? She hasn’t denounced me as of yet, that’s rather commendable. She’s way nicer than me. I know though she would readily admit I embarrassed her sometimes with my quirky behavior. I suspect though the mermaid thing was the deciding factor as to whether or not to start a college fund for me. Let’s just say….I have student loans to pay off.