Confused? Uncertain? Worried you’re not quite fresh enough down there? I’m here to solve your problems. As an oldest child, I’m dedicated to bossing people around. As an overeducated degree collector, I’m full of knowledge that’s only suitable at FunnynotSlutty. Questions? Contact me at suniverse[dot]email[at]gmail[dot]com. You can also peruse my profanity-laced invective at my blog, The Suniverse, or follow me on Twitter, @TheSuniverse. Enjoy, lovers.
Why is Mariah Carey?
I confess, I know very little about Mariah Carey. I know that she’s married to Nick Cannon, but the only reason I know who Nick Cannon is is because he was once on The Chappelle Show. Is he a muppet? Is she?
She sings, right? And has public meltdowns? And wears really small clothes? Is she Britney Spears? Because Britney I can get behind.
Who among us, as a mother, hasn’t had that moment when she has LOST. HER. FUCKING. MIND. because she has a kid or two at home that she’s trying her best to take care of while being harassed by her family for doing it wrong and taken to task by any and everyone who she encounters for not keeping it all together and for suddenly realizing that Mr. Good Times Is actually the loser asshole we kind of feared he was?
And who among us, as a woman, hasn’t felt that mad, desperate need to FIX HER HAIR FOR GOOD AND BY FIX IT, I MEAN I’LL GIVE YOU SOMETHING TO CRY ABOUT, HAIR THAT STICKS UP FOR NO APPARENT REASON? There. Bald. Satisfied.
And who among us, as a human, hasn’t tried to get back to that moment in time when we though we knew it all, when we though we were so fucking cool, and in doing so, made some spectacularly bad choices in coconspirators and forgetting our underwear and drinking maybe a little too much to and sexing up the closest moderately attractive person in our vicinity?
Oh, so back to Mariah. Darling Confused, I have no idea Why is Mariah Carey? I think it may be something about the Mayan calendar or the 7-year locusts or even how yogurt is made. Mariah Carey is inexplicable and sometimes a little frightening and Jamie Lee Curtis may be shilling for her to make a poop.
Yours in a ball of confusion,
What should I call my blog? It will probably be just Tumblr but the lack of a cool name is keeping me out of the game.
So! Many! Options!
Alas, I am GODAWFUL at naming things. I managed to name my child in a half-way decent manner and not give her a complex so severe that she’d be relegated to the pole or incessantly have to spell out her interesting name only because I had always liked the name. Also, my sister had named her cat that name, so I could see that it would work for a small, cute being. Had she been a boy? Yeah, that caused endless problematic discussions.
And by the way, people need to just stop with the interesting children’s names. If you absolutely feel the need to go nuts at naming to express your creativity [of which you have NONE if it’s relegated to naming your offspring – if you had any creativity, you’d be out there creating something other than a helpless human being who will bear the brunt of your creativity and be scarred socially and emotionally forever and ever, amen], get a pet or a plant or even a piece of paper and have at it. Seriously. Name your cat whatever chakra-inducing bit of madness you want, but for the love of all that’s holy [Tina Fey, real paper books and music that is not made up of atonal caterwauling] leave your poor child alone.
Anyway, your blog? Yeah, I’d go with GrandeMocha Says So. Or Cheese and Coffee. Or It’s Their White Trash World, I Only Have the Misfortune of Living In It.
See? I’m terrible at this.
Can’t wait to read your wisdom at Are You Fucking Kidding Me? [No? Not that one, either?]