Happy Birthday Mom!!! Love, Alisa…and the internet

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Birthday, February 11, love, mom, Sheryl Crow

On February 11th 19__, the world welcomed one of the most free-spirited chicks known to man…

…I clearly am referring to Sheryl Crow.  I mean, my mother is many things: clean freak, intelligent, great with a mop, classy, elegant, etc. but free-spirited isn’t the first-or last-quality that I would associate her with.

So what did God/Allah/Buddha/Betty White/insert higher power of choice here/ do in an attempt to be freakin’ hilarious?  She got me as a daughter.  The same “me” who drops F bombs regularly, believes that there really is a Mr. Clean who can come and do his effing job so I don’t have to (don’t kill my dream), loves vintage stores, wears earrings the size of actual chandeliers, and has a weekend wardrobe best described as “funky homeless hippie chic.”  My closet is a vortex of unorganized chaos and I enjoy being literally attacked by my possessions everytime I walk in.  Guess how much mom loves it?  No really, guess.

Our life is a functioning example of Freaky Friday and our relationship is a delicate balance of compromise and respect.  Luckily, our mutual love of chocolate is able to transcend my messy (or as I like to call them…creative) tendencies and her militant, fascist clean sprees.  Although, we differ on the chocolate front as well as I prefer milk chocolate and she strangely prefers dark.  Dude, if I wanted to eat something that looked and tasted like bitter tree bark…I would fucking eat tree bark.

She is a beautiful woman who looks amazing for her 35 years (You really thought I’d give you her real age???  Come on people!  I live with her and she sometimes makes my food.  I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference if she dropped poison in there.  Just kidding, mom.  The eggplant, brussel sprout, woodland creature soup was INCREDIBLE.  Really, please give me the recipe…so I can burn it.)

If I were a cheesy person, I would tell you all how much I love my mom.   I would say that she is a fascinating person who inspires me.  I would say that I aspire to be like her (minus the micro-managing, anal-retentive tendencies that kill my soul and damage my fragile spirit) and I respect her ambition as much as I love her nurturing ways.  I would go on and on about her killer sense of style and I would also make sure to mention that I was the one who introduced her to colors that were not white, beige, dishwater brown, or black.  I would also go on to say that I appreciate her support in all my artistic endeavors and I like that she is the first person to tell me that I need to stop dating “emotionally unavailable immature douchebags” every time I mention a new boy that I’m interested in.  Luckily I’m not cheesy…so while all of the above is true, you can stop gagging.

So mama, I hope you have an amazing birthday (or at least an okay birthday considering that we still have a buttload of snow to shovel and who knows how long the power will stay on) because you deserve it.  Thank you for putting up with me because I know that I can be quite a handful…okay, five handfuls.  (PS, I thought it was spelled “handfull” but google and some scholarly articles say no so it’s not my fault if it’s spelled wrong).  I’m lucky to have a fierce bitch like you in my life…even though you’re the sort of person who will spend an entire day choosing the right shade of beige to paint a wall (I’m actually not kidding…it was like Sophie’s Choice: The Home Depot version).

In honor of your special day, you don’t have to worry about doing any sort of cleaning around the house.  Mr. Clean will take care of it  

I love you.

Birthday girl

She loves that beige!

If only there was a blog for all of my regretsy’s…

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Converse, Crochet, Etsy, Regretsy, twilight

Okay, there is so much absolute shit on the internet these days that it is a complete joy to find a site that makes my tattered black heart sing with pained joy (yes, I’m being dramatic but I still don’t have a job and one could say that it’s taking a bit of a toll on my perspective).  You have probably heard of Etsy, the Ebay for people who make shit.  You can find anything that your papier mache’d little heart desires and it gives artists a great platform for getting their designs and creations noticed (that is, if they’re good).

I know what you’re thinking.  You’re thinking that amongst all the sterling silver and jeweled rings inspired by the Twilight series (my birthday is December 29th, people!  Get cracking) there must be some horrendous crap that some glaucoma’d granny thinks you need.  Bitch just learned how to use the internet yesterday and believes that no household should be without a crocheted toilet paper roll (I wish I was kidding).  And you are absolutely right.  Which brings me too…

Regretsy (www.regretsy.com).  It takes all of the most ridiculous Etsy products and showcases them.  How else would you have known about the crocheted woman giving birth (comes with detachable umbilical cord)?  This blog is so fucking good that I literally laughed out loud and that rarely happens.   I want Helen Killer and Knitler Youth to be my BFF’s because their commentary is the only thing better than the Etsy rejects they feature.

I don’t want to give too much away but there is a Michael Jackson baseball and Pokemon menstrual pad.  Now TELL me you’re not interested.  Seriously, kids.  You won’t be disappointed.

Despite my adoration, there is only one product they feature that I don’t agree with:  The Twilight converse shoes, OBVIOUSLY.

These aren't the exact ones but you get the idea. Poll: Would you beat me up if you saw me wearing these? Yes or No?

New Jersey: It’s “different”

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guido, hair, new jersey, trashy, wildwood

Let me preface this by saying that I have nothing against New Jersey.  Before I came to the University of Maryland, which has a fairly large Jersey population, I had never heard of the New Jersey stereotypes and I promised myself that despite the many arguments over this allegedly “fuckin’ awesome” state, I wouldn’t get involved.  I would be the peaceful Switzerland that chugged her natty light quietly in a stained beanbag chair circa garage sale 1999 and changed the subject to happier topics like campus suicides.

However, I must break my silence.  Even though I have met legit Jersey people that I love and respect (all five of you), I couldn’t look away when I saw this trainwreck of a youtube clip:

What’s that you say?  “But Alisa, this clip is ancient.  It’s from the 80′s/90′s and things have changed a lot since then.  Our hair isn’t that big and we don’t fight.”  Oh really, fictional person that cares enough about my blog to give a fictional soundbyte?  I think I can find a recent youtube clip that proves you wrong.  The only difference between the wildwood and “guido beach” clips are height and girth of hair. 

However, despite my haterade binge, I have to give credit to whoever coined the term “Mosguido” aka a guido who won’t leave you alone at the beach.  That’s pretty funny.  Maybe that guido beach dude was right: “New Jersey is the best state in New Jersey.”

UPDATE: After watching the clip again, I realize that the girl said “mosquito,” not “mosguido.”  Therefore, she wasn’t as smart or witty as I thought. Nevermind.

What a Tiddy twister!!!

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America, infomercial, shamwow, snuggie, tiddy bear

 

The Snuggie and Sham Wow were  Nobel Peace Prize winning inventions compared to the sheer unbelievableness (new word created for the purpose of this post) of this absolutely FANTASTIC invention.  How many times have I gotten into a car and doubled over in extreme pain because a seatbelt was digging into my cavernous boobs.  HOW MANY FREAKING TIMES!!!???  This is AMERICA, not Turkmenitajikiafghaniboratistan…I deserve comfort and finally some brain trust found the solution.

Can we talk about the features of this amazing product please?  For starters, you can place it on any part of the seatbelt and this product is unisex so be sure to get some mantiddies too!  Also, the tiddy bear doesn’t waste time on subtlety or modesty and nestles himself, facedown, directly in between your fun bags.  Can we just focus, for a moment, on the happily married, middle-aged couple, in the convertible, sporting their tiddy bears proudly?  Now I’m not trying to imply anything negative about their sex life…but that’s probably because their sex life is a big NEGATIVE.  Who created this product?  Who believed so much in the power of the tiddy bear that they chose to get investors and sell it?  I am convinced that you can create and sell anything in this country because there will always be willing consumers.  This is truly the beauty of America.

I shit you not, this infomercial is real.  I even called the number because after watching it:

a.) I was super excited to get one (DUHHHHH!!)

b.) I was suddenly filled with an all-consuming fuzzy feeling that told me I would be alright in my life.  If someone could get this shit patented and put on TV in classic infomercial format, then there is no dream too big for me.  I can do anything…and so can you!

Because, really, $14.95 is a small price to pay for peace of mind.