After visiting the Anne Frank Museum, where Anne lived in hiding for two years with her family during the Holocaust, Justin Bieber signed the guest book “Hopefully Anne Frank would have been a belieber”. Wow, Justin, how humble of you! Glad to know you ‘got something’ from your time in Frank’s secret annex and somehow made it all about yourself. What he probably didn’t count on was Anne Frank having a YouTube account and putting it to good use by (sweetly) laying the smack down on the 19 year old dooface. Comedian, Jenn Dodd, plays a young Anne Frank.
There’s always one woman at every Weight Watchers meeting who acts like she’s the guest on a talk show, and the rest of us are her audience. When the topic of giant red wine glasses came up (you know, the bulbous fishbowl-sized ones restaurants use) this is what she said:
We went to Applebee’s and I had the salmon and grilled vegetables. My friend gets this big glass of wine and it looked so good, but… (sigh)… I just had water. I felt like I was in a concentration camp.
Um. What do you say to that–thanks for sharing? Interesting analogy? Good command of history; Bergen-Belson was infamous for poorly grilled vegetables.
I’ve said “I’m starving” countless times, but of course, it’s never been true. As someone who hasn’t missed two consecutive meals in… ever, at least I know “I’m starrr-ving!” is just a hyperbolic whine produced by a hunger pang and a soft life.
So lady at my meeting, just remember: you were at Applebee’s, not Auschwitz. Having to pick water instead of wine… is not exactly Sophie’s Choice.
K A B L O O E Y
K A B L O O E Y is a 47 year old non-practicing filmmaker who lives with Phineas at an undisclosed suburban location. Their three kids are Moochie (6), Lonzie (20) and The Big Puppy (22). She (who am I kidding, I’m writing this myself) tweets @kblooey and has two goals: 1) To make creative work a central part of my life, and 2) To keep my family from needing the services of the Supernanny.
Bounjour, my little pullets (those are baby hens, and they are fabulous with a little sage!) Welcome to the April edition of my fashion column here at Funny Not Slutty! I love April, because it means SPRING! Spring is that adventurous time of year when we try to pair rain boots with shorts, and tank tops with chain mail.
I couldn’t wait to see what the big trends were going to be this year! Would we go glamorous or casual? Refugee camp or midwestern father-daughter dance? Unfortunately, it is none of the above. But here, without further ado, are the trends for Spring 2013!
1. Bermuda Shorts
YES! Bermuda shorts! They aren’t just for your skinny-legged, sandals-and-socks-wearing Uncle anymore!
Named Bermuda shorts due to their popularity in Turks and Caicos (editor’s note – this is not accurate), these tailored walking shorts are going to be all the rage this spring. And just in case you think they are only for highly fashionable women, just take a look at these businessmen on their way to a meeting in their bermuda shorts!
Yes, gentlemen. Show your workplace your other side. Conduct a high powered business meeting sitting behind a desk, and then – to close the deal – stand up to shake the other side’s hand. They will say, “Now THIS is a man who likes to take risks!” BOUFFANT!
2. Exaggerated volume
It’s not just for teenagers trying to hide their pregnancies anymore! Now we all can know the comfort of largeness, and the joy of clothing that doesn’t actually come into contact with our bodies. You will be as elegant as a windsock on a breezy day.
In the movies and on television, fat girls have it pretty bad. Frankly, fat girls are fucked. End of story. I personally have died twice, as a poor, stupid, sad, fat girl.
The first time I died, it was because my boyfriend was in the Al Qaeda. He was using me to get some kind of Al Qaeda shenanigans going. I had met him on the internet, in an “I like fat chicks” website that my fat friend and I trolled. He thought I discovered his plot and had me killed. The killer was a handsome stranger who flirted with me in a liquor store, whom I followed and, presumably gave a blowjob to in hopes of true love (because that’s what fat girls do), but was strangled and left in a boiler room in Brooklyn instead.
The second time I died, Cuba Gooding, Jr. found me at my job at an elementary school, and he charmed me into meeting him later for dinner by jump starting my car and flashing a toothy grin. He comes to pick me up at my apartment and my roommate tells him that I got freaked out, thinking I wasn’t attractive enough for him and I went off unaccompanied. So, I’m all alone in the bar, looking sad, when the dashing Neil McDonaugh (a time-traveling murderer) sidles up and begins a friendly conversation. I welcome that, because I hardly ever get attention paid to me. I go to the bathroom, Neil follows me, Cuba gets there too late and I get eviscerated. I’m serious. I had a big “Y” cut into my chest. I looked like a bullfrog, in a nice dress, who wandered into a science class.
This wasn’t real-life, of course, but two acting jobs I had. I have noticed that this happens with most movies and TV shows: fat girl ends up with not-fat guy because he is using her or she is so desperate that she doesn’t realize he is a serial killer/rapist/puppy eater. Most of these characters are flattered and flustered when a white, physically fit, non-UPS driver pays them any mind. It’s like they’re looking at a work of art that they can never afford. And who would sell it to them, anyway?
Mostly, I get stuck as the 911 operator, patrol-car cop or EMT. You know, the sit down jobs. We can’t run, you know. That’s why you never see us on “The Walking Dead”, we done got ate. Once, I was cast as a lawyer who was not described as “heavyset” in the breakdown. I was just a normal, money hungry, ambulance-chasing attorney representing a killer. It felt progressive. Then, a few years later, I’m in Baton Rouge, getting dissected by a handsome actor. [Read more...]
I’m a big proponent of the Internet dating scene. Why? You can talk to the opposite sex while looking at animated GIFs, you don’t have to see the guy’s “I’m-rejecting-you-face” when he rejects you, and you can flirt in your sweatpants while eating peanut butter out of the jar! Win, right?
While you may or may not find your soul mate via the Internet, you could very well procure a date or two or thirty seven! It’s important, however, to avoid making these mistakes that I will make for you right now. Us funny ladies usually think that the men are the ones at fault (with their “heYy sexYY LaydEe Lez Do It Now” or their “I want to slather you in my shaving cream and eat organic avocados off of you” messages), but sometimes, we can be at fault, too! We all have our inner creep, let’s not be too proud, here. Since we are just as capable of poor e-flirting, these are the worst messages to send when you are attempting to score a date via the World Wide Web (does anyone call it that anymore? No. No one does. Okay).
Hey! So, I read your profile, and I also LOVE all of the bands, books, music, movies, and foods you like. We have SO MUCH IN COMMON, it’s almost like we’re related! Except not really haha lol jk. Let’s hang out!
Just a heads up, “it’s almost like we’re related” might be the kicker here.
OMG do I know you in real life?
Ten out of ten times I know what people I know in real life look like, even when I find them on the internet, unless their profile pictures are abstract art in place of a face, in which case most moderators would have taken the pictures down already. [Read more...]
Colombians are prone to embellishment, to taking a story and making it even grander. It was Gabriel Marquez, the famed Colombian novelist, who proclaimed, “To Colombians, life is a stage.”
My mother has entered a delightful stage of dementia. Delightful in the sense that her already Colombian tales of life have become even more entrancing. We pick her up on the weekends, and she spends the day at our house, where my three boys and I spread her favorite blanket across her lap, much like a ceremonious draping of an ermine wrap across a queen’s shoulders.
We settle her in with Mexican cocoa — hot chocolate with a pinch of cayenne — which she sips slowly, blowing softly across the steam, and when she leans forward to set her mug down, we know we are about to hear, The Theatre of The Colombian, Part Six; where she will pick up where she left off, when she was here last.
“You know,” we all turn to see what she will floor us with today. “I had to say no when Fidel Castro asked me to marry him. Yes, he acted one way in front of our government, but I knew… he was not going to grow into a nice man. And look, I was right.” My mother reaches for her hot cocoa, blows and sips, sets it down, and begins again. [Read more...]
My teenage son and I were watching the concert for Hurricane Sandy Relief while The Who were onstage. He knows their music. His father and I are musicians and we make sure our kids are schooled in the classics, lest they end up with the misguided notion that John Mayer’s got it goin’ on or something.
So when the question came, I was caught totally off guard. “Who is that?
“What do you mean ‘who is that’, it’s The Who!”
“Them! The Who!”
And so it went; own rendition of “Who’s On First”. [Read more...]
Bonjour, my little golden statuettes!
It was with great joy and a keen eye for criticism that I watched this year’s Academy Awards. Hollywood’s annual masturbatory fashion event has come and gone to sleep, and now I shall judge its performance.
I shall start by sharing my personal contribution to last night’s awards. It should not surprise you that I – Héléne Bouffant – have provided styling at the Oscars for eons! Of course, my influence is most prominent behind the scenes rather than on the red carpet. But do not underestimate my power, my little chickadees! In fact, I control the red carpet itself! And by that, I mean that I am the official stylist to the men who roll out the actual carpet.
The jaunty newsboy cap was my idea.
Yes, my work was featured on CNN this year. They try to keep me in the shadows, but Héléne Bouffant will not be silenced on Oscar night!
But now, let me offer my thoughts on those designers whose work was seen on those in the spotlight…the burning, white-hot spotlight that calls to me with the intensity of a thousand STDs. I shall return to greatness one day, and I will bring a firestorm of plaid and sequins with me. But for now, let’s see what these other assholes turned out.
No one puts Anne’s nipples in a corner
I have four words for this dress. MAG-NIF-I-CENT. Yes! A pale pink Prada sheath accented by hard, prominent nipples. Bravo, Miss Hathaway, for showing the world in no uncertain terms how very excited you were to be a part of this special, slightly chilly night. Now, some are trying to give the credit for this look of alertness to the darting on your gown. I reject this assessment, and applaud your nipples for their Annie Oakley-like defiance of cultural norms. The rest of your look may say, “subdued” and “appropriate,” but your nipples are saying, “Who do I have to stab around here to get a beer?”
The names of the drugs for birth control for women make me want to hurl with their fake happy Disney princessy-ness like names, “Yazmin” or the gettin’ down to business-ness names like “Lo Lo Errin.” And, since I’m perimenopausal and, I shit you not, out of my mind, I have to take something, I suggest the following:
Defenestration [Read more...]