No Surprise There

I had a My Little Pony when I was a little boy. I remember buying it. My dad suggested a GI Joe, but I insisted on the pony. It was yellow with pink hair, and I used to play with it in the bath. It didn't have wings, which disappointed me a little, but hey, I got one. Bless him that he let me get it. But that little mutherfucker sure did disappear under mysterious circumstances. I didn't realize for many years that my parents must have thrown it away. Yeah, because that would keep me from being a homo. Several other childhood artifacts vanished similarly. I had a Mousercising vinyl album. I used to wake up at 5:00 a.m. to Mousercise along with Mickey Mouse and those other twats on the Disney Channel. When it wasn't on, I had my album as backup. Is it so wrong to be into fitness?!? They might as well have shot me up with the beetus right then and there.



There were some things I really desired but kept them secret. Of course I wanted an EZ Bake oven, but I guess that was too much even for me--the kid who jumped rope with the black girls at recess. A bedazzler would have made my gay little life complete! I would have bedazzled the shit out of everything I owned. I'd have been the only kid at swim practice with sequined and rhinestoned speedos!

And for good measure:

YOU get racism! And YOU get racism!

Just because:




The best part is when the kid says, "I ain't gon sit here and argue with yo flat-ass face, homegirl."

You Ain't About Shit, Your Hair Ain't Neither

(The above image is the #1 result for a Google search of "ghetto hairstyles")

I got my first cosmetic facial today. Emphasis on cosmetic, because otherwise it wouldn't be news. The business I work for has a cosmetic branch in town, and they're training a new girl, so they needed guinea pigs. Whatever, if it's free, it's me. It was a "hydrofacial" and this tool sucked all the nasty stuff out of my pores. I can definitely see a difference even after the one treatment. It wasn't terribly uncomfortable either. However the whole time the ladies kept saying how pink and red I was getting. I was convinced I would walk out of there looking like Samantha after her chemical peel in that episode of Sex and the City. I kept imagining myself in a fierce church hat complete with a veil, but I knew I couldn't quite pull it off. I was relieved to see that it wasn't that bad at all, and it disappeared completely rather quickly.



I got a haircut afterward. My hair stylist was a lovely black woman. I've found that black women don't give mediocre haircuts. One of two things happens:


1) They don't give a fuck about you or your hurr neither, and you walk out looking like a cold mess.


2) They turn your shit OUT and make sure you leave lookin FUINE (<--not a typo). I got lucky and received number 2. Check out the video. Though it's all fantastic, focus on the first few minutes before the music, specifically around the 3:00 mark. . .