So it appears, it doth, that I didn’t make the shortlist for the coveted Bloggies. And I didn’t make the shortlist for the Weblog Awards, either. But will that stop me from pimping my blog out for the Koufax Awards, the Engtech Contest, and any other ego rocketfuel I can find? Hell to the no!
Let’s sit back and let the great dramatic actor Jake Gyllenhaal explain it to you.
Boy, it’s hella hard to find filler posts when YouTube is down! But here’s a good one. Funny, though: last time I was Mae West with Audrey Hepburn rising…now it’s the other way around. Have I suddently become less fucking vulgar or something?
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You scored as Audrey Hepburn. Pure class and sophistication you can do anything with style. You have an intellegence and integrity that will get you anywhere. You can adapt your personality to your surroundings. Everyone looks to you for your style. Like Audrey, make sure you appreciate when the time comes to step out of the spotlight.comment and rate this quiz… thankyou!
Which Classic Screen Goddess are you? (pics) |
No particular reason I post this, except that it tends to reinforce, and thereby give me a reason to mention, my post about the Bloggie nominations being open now. Vote early, vote often!
Your Drag Queen Name Is: |
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Connie Lingus |
Show me the luv at the Bloggie Awards, people!
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Maaaan, the things you learn on Livejournal! Here ferinstance, in the highly ripoff-worthy Cindy RedDeer‘s journal, we learn how to put your bra on like a whore.
What we do not learn, alas, is how anyone who pretends to respectability found out how whores put their bras on in the first place. Frankly, most of the ones I know use front-snap bras, because it’s quicker. Also good for a cheap laugh if the guy has never seen one before.
Uh, I read it in Cosmo.
It’s the small things that drive you bonkers. I had this patient once who was very particular about the way her bra was to be applied. Apparently I put mine on like a whore and she would have none of that!
In case you didn’t know whores hook the snaps in front then turn it around then pull the cups up over the breasts then pull the straps up one arm at a time. Ladies, on the other hand place both arms through the straps, but up to the elbows, then they they reach behind and fasten the hooks then they pull the bra the rest of the way up and then pull the straps over the shoulders…
So I guess that means I put mine on like a tranny? I can’t figure this out: what does it mean if you put your arms through the straps but put the straps up to your shoulders, bend over, and tuck everything in place before fastening things? Does it mean I alone have taken lessons from the magazine writer who specifically went to a bra store to find shit like this out? That is what I call pragmatic journalism. Both my tits and my bras are in fine shape, thankyouverymuch, and there is no way of telling how much of it is due to my “gravity assisted” method of getting dressed. All I know is, Madonna better watch her back, particularly since her body fat went into the negative numbers.
Show
me the luv at the Bloggie Awards, people!
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Maybe you have Victoria’s Secret stores where you live. Oh fine, gloat. They’re illegal here, or sumpin’, for lo, we have nothing so much as a dearth of Victoria’s Secret stores here in Canuckistan. What does this mean? It means that inhabitants of the Great White North, male and female, must make do with what they have and, in many cases it means that we must make do with such lingerie as is available from Lee Valley.
Victoria’s Secret supplies, in addition to reasonably-priced suiting lines and blog fodder, and as you may be aware, a diverse range of lingerie, including push up sports bras, strapless contraptions in sizes larger than you’d think prudent, and much more. And, frankly, however overpriced they may be, they all work.
But up here in Canuckistan, we are deprived. We can do the online thang. We can do the mailorder thang. But if we do not do the credit card thang we cannot do the Victoria’s Secret thang in any way, shape, or form.
Except…
Except in the most Canadian form of all. Let me tell you a twofer of tales that will tell you that, when it comes to continence or glamour, Canuckistan will take a back seat to no-one.
cut to Gilligan’s Theme music.
Once upon a time, like last night, mine hosts told a tale, a tale of a fateful shit. That started from their friends’ baby, and that was all of it. The baby knew the diaper was the way to own its’ parents, so nightly she’d divest herself of it’s malevolence. No way! No hope! The diaper shed, no matter what the ‘rents would do. Halfway through sleep they would awake and toss that fateful poo.
ENTER RED GREEN
So the baby took its diaper off for attention: solve the problem the Red Green way, by duct taping the diaper in place. Until baby can handle a switchblade, you’re good to go!
So ends Part the First.
Part the Second: I taped my tits for this?
Surely I can’t be the only woman who’s admired a photo of a fortysomething celeb whose boobs are still perky enough to put out an eye. The secret, as I learned from my in-the-know friend Sandy, is Duct Tape.
I am a fortysomething not-yet-celeb, and I have, as I may have mentioned, long since transcended human dignity. I was also a woman who had to attend an avante-garde art opening in a strapless bodysuit.
I used the duct tape.
Three days and six showers later I was unsticky. I think I have finally figured out the secret to Brandon Davis’ unique attraction: no matter how coated with adhesives you may be, you’ll slide right off his grease-streaming carcass.
Show me the luv, people: the Bloggie Awards: nominatez-moi!
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raincoaster 