1000 Things We Hate #248: Slutty Pre-Teens

24 01 2013

There is an appropriate age for everything.  Especially being a slut (assuming anyone can actual be an appropriate slut).

Hmm…do you know what cock is?

As a 22 year old I yearn for the innocence and naivety I had as a child.  It was great when people didn’t laugh when you accidently said something sexually suggestive; when sex wasn’t the first thing on every male’s mind; and when a little girl could be a little girl.

Now little girls are hardly ever allowed to be little girls.  With shows like Toddlers and Tiaras, Cheer Perfection, and Dance  Moms girls wear revealings clothes, fake tans, and gobs of makeup.  It’s all about the sex appeal of  little girls.

Sure, you want to cheer so cheer.  Sure, you want to dance so dance.  But, does a ten year old really need to show off her frilly underwear?  Do eight year olds belong in leather?

Youth is something everyone yearns for after at least thirty.  So, why do we encourage little girls to pretend to be older than they are?  It seems so hypocritical.  If they want to be sluts after they’re 18, then that is their own choice.  Until then, leave them to chose their own mismatched, colorful clothing.   Let them enjoy their youth.

This fresh face is so much cuter.

1000 Things We Hate #199: Plastic Ball Bins

9 11 2011

He contemplates the decisions he will make in life...

Every person from the 90s growing up has a kid has (or at least should have) a picture of themselves playing in those plastic ball bins.  They were so popular, you could find them at nearly every fast food restaurant claiming to fight childhood obesity by terribly constructed violent mayhem play centers.  They were the shining star of the community!  “Oh, let’s take the kids out to McDonalds so they can play… and then we can eat!” Who needs parks!?

I loved these things as a child, but now, thinking back, they were one of the more dangerous aspects of my childhood.  Just think about it: your parents force you to go and play and you are greeted with thousands of plastic balls… they look inviting, so you jump in.  THEN SOME FUCKING 5th GRADER NAILS YOU IN THE HEAD WITH ONE.  Aren’t they a little old to be in there and a little young to be such douches!?  hmmm?

Let’s take the “other human” element out of this.  The balls themselves are like wading in a pit of toxicity.  There’s spit and blood and piss all over them.  How often does the people who own the bins clean them?  Seriously, there must be a hundred pounds of dried up gum at the bottom!  You would need a hazmat suit in order to navigate the dangerous terrain that is the play area.

I'm dwowneng Dad!

Plus, nothing was more frightening than being held down underneath all of those balls.  It felt like you were drowning on plastic air!  Sure, it was pretty sweet to act like a crocodile with only your eyes showing and then attacking.  But, for people like me with massively tall foreheads, there was no joy in the attack because it was so goddamn obvious where you were.

Really, play ball bins must have been a logistical nightmare for parents worrying “where the fuck is my child!?”  Oh wait, just over there being held under against there will.

Overall, I have fond memories of the plastic ball bins, but, in retrospect, they could have been the worst part of my adolescence.


Can’t get enough hate to satiate your appetite!?  Well, check out the MASTER LIST, to fulfill your quench!

Secret Pleasure #19: Blankie

26 06 2011

Here goes a sort of embarrassing secret pleasure post: my blankie.

Everyone had one as a baby, some have them as adults.  And truly, I don’t think there’s too much to be ashamed of.

Originally, as a baby, my blanket was yellow like BJ’s from Barney.  I carried (or crawled with) it all around my house sticking it up my nose and drying my tears: all the classic kid stuff.  Eventually, my parents threw it away because it was so disgusting, but I was also at the age where I didn’t really need one anymore.  Yet, one day (I’d guess around the age of 6) I saw my brother’s Tweety Bird Blanket in his room and I had to have it.  It looks like this but with yellow trim:

Having my brother’s blanket made me feel closer to him (and I liked to think he was jealous that I had it – he wasn’t) and my parents in general.  I slept with that blanket all of my childhood.  Perhaps, around the age of 12 I had overcome my dependency on it (I didn’t take it to sleepovers or anything), but I still liked to have it around.  First off, I’d grown so accustomed to sleeping with the blanket under my head that, without it, I felt like my neck was cramping.  Also, it was a sign of comfort.

When I went to college I took my blanket.  No, I didn’t always sleep with it, but when I was having a good cry it was always taken out of the drawer.  I’d put it up to my face and inhale; it smells the same as it did when I was 6.  I’d snuggle with it under my arms; it’s still just as soft.  And, simply looking at it made me calm; no, it’s not as colorful as before.

Now, as I sit here writing this post in the middle of the airport on my way to New Zealand for 5 months I’m happy I packed my blanket.  Yes, I had to take out a few of my precious clothes in order for it to fit; however, on that one day that I’m feeling blue I know I’ll be glad to have it with me.

My Secret Pleasure: Taking comfort in my childhood and family

1000 Things We Hate #110: Ice in Face

4 11 2010

Follow the steps to disaster:

1) You’re chatting with a friend while sitting down at a restuarant

2) The kind waiter fills up your water glass

It only looks perfectly innocent.

3) You’re dying of thirst because you’ve been talking so much and reach for the glass

4) As the glass is tilted the ice seems to stay at the bottom of the cup

5) Bam!  The ice cascades forward hitting your nose and spilling water all over your chin

6) Highly embarrassed you wipe your face but the water has blotched your shirt.  Now you must wait at least 5 minutes for the proof of your sloppiness to dry.  You are a fool no matter if your friend comments on it of not.  And no, having a wet shirt does not make you have nice tits.

Sorry average viewer, it's never going to happen.

Sadly, you are just a fool with a wet shirt.

What’s the solution to this problem and embarrassment?  First, you could transform into one of those people who doesn’t get embarrassed or give a damn about what others think.  But, this is hard for the majority of us.  Therefore, I guess you could always get water without ice.

Does having no ice really make you this graceful of a drinker?

However, not only will most waiters not conform to this but warm water is disgusting.  It’s almost as disgusting as this:

I usually try to opt for a straw if possible, but if you’re at a really fancy restaurant this seems a little childish.  Therefore, I guess the only option is to try to be a smooth drinker and deal with the horror of ice in the face when it comes.

1000 Things We Hate #15: Skinning Cat Phrase

4 01 2010

What an inquisitive Cutie

So, today, I was watching Quantum Leap.

That’s it… end of post.

Just kidding…

Anyway, Sam leaps into a radio DJ who teaches the twist dance to Chubby (Checker?) what’s his name while landing the mom from Home Improvement before Tim Allen does.  Anyway, the point of the episode is to prove that Rock ‘N’ Roll during the good ol’ 50s uproar about it is a good thing.

The guy who obviously opposes Rock ‘N’ Roll is the owner of the local newspaper and tries to stop the radio station from playing the music through: passing a law forbidding it, cutting the power to the radio station, cutting the antenna/broadcast thing, cutting down their door with an axe.

So, he tries a lot, and when he’s trying to gain inspiration he uses the phrase “There’s more than one way to skin a cat.”

I have some really strong views against this phrase.

In research, I whipped out my Dictionary of Cliches by James Rogers (that I got for a dollar!), and it has this to say about the phrase:
Charles Funk believed the idea sprang from the small child’s maneuvers with a limb or a bar, during which the child hangs by his arms, lifts his feet up through them and then either continues on in a somersault or hooks his legs up over the limb. Funk imagined a mother watching this , who saw in it a resemblance to skinning a cat. Of course, the expression could simply have come from the process of removing an animal’s pelt. In any case, the saying has existed for more than 150 years.

That’s a completely believable and understandable creation of the phrase.  I don’t necessarily know why hunters would be skinning a cat unless it was a cougar or something 150 years ago.  However, now this phrase sort of implies that we’ll just all be skinning our domestic animals to figure out different ways of doing things.

Protective Headgear from Skinning

Now, this is why this post is about to turn really personal…

When I was a kid about 9 or so, our best family friends, The Dolders, lived in West Linn, and from my recollection (from when the event happened meaning this may not be completely correct now), one or possibly two of their cats was kidnapped… catnapped.

A couple of days later, their neighbors found a stinking bag of cubes of flesh that was thrown into their yard.  Apparently, the catnappers (most likely adolescents) had caught the cat, skinned it, and cubed it after that.

So, this personal hate is more so of the personal nature in relation to that story.

However, I’m pretty sure that other, more powerful phrases can be used to convey that there is more than one way of doing something that don’t really sacrifice a living thing.

If this doesn’t change, then I’m sure cats may just take up using knives on us instead of the other way around… sounds like a B-Movie plot.

I personally can’t imagine my cute, little Sabretooth ever having anything like that happen to her… So, I’m pretty sure I’ve never used this phrase in my life.

If you don’t agree with me then this cat can take you to court: