So Does Ken Have a Job or What?

So while I was working on the girly girl blog,  I really got to thinking about this whole Barbie doll phenomenon.  As much as I've never cared for them, I know that the company has tried to use Barbie (to some extent) as a positive role model for little girls by giving her all these different careers that she apparently engages in while wearing an evening gown and high heels.  Because, you know, real women do that. We also fight crime in a thong and pasties just like in the comic books.

Anyway, Barbie has it all; a career (several, actually), a Corvette, a Porsche, an RV, a condo, a stable full of horses, a dream house and the man of her dreams, Ken.  Sounds great, right? It's what all women want, right?  Not so fast.

While Barbie is out being a doctor/lawyer/veterinarian/astronaut/managingadairyqueen (yep, Barbie has an ice cream shop playset), what the fuck is Ken doing?  Think about it.  How many themed Barbies have there been?  Yeah, they come out with a matching themed Ken, but he's always just a tag-a-long.  If Barbie lives in Malibu, then Ken lives in Malibu too.  But who's paying for the dream house in Malibu? Where the hell is astronaut Ken?  While Barbie is in space saving animals, what is Ken doing?  Is he just chillin' at the dream house sleeping til 10 every morning and then strolling on down to the beach to work on his tan?

Ken, apparently, does not have a job.

Now, if we go ahead and run with the idea that Barbie is supposed to be a positive role model for little girls, what sort of message is this sending? That you should work yourself ragged while some deadbeat with six-pack abs drives other bitches around in your Porsche?

Come to think of it, that' s probably why you never see Ken driving Barbie's car in the commercials. He's always riding shotgun.  I bet Ken was borrowing Barbie's car to "look for a job" then one day, Barbie found some panties  in the glove compartment that weren't hers.

There's probably an episode of Cheaters floating around somewhere with black and white footage of Ken out on a date with some other broad while Barbie is around the corner in a van with the host.  Then Barbie runs up to confront Ken and . .  well. . . You've all seen the show. And if you haven't, you're missing the finest trash television.

But just in case you really haven't seen Cheaters, a fight over or with the cheating partner usually ensues.  I'm sure Ken fell in line after that.  I mean, Barbie looks like she'll cut a bitch.

And if, in fact, Ken does not have a job, I think we have an explanation for the demographic of women that thinks supporting a leech of a boyfriend is a valid life plan.  Don't get me wrong. I understand times are tough, but Ken should at least try and get a little side hustle going or pull his weight around the dream house.  Where is Stay-At-Home-Dad Ken (After all, Skipper is obviously Ken and Barbie's illegitimate daughter. Little sister, my ass)?  Bootleg DVD Ken?  Bottle-of-Windex-and-Some-Paper-Towels-by-the-Freeway-Off-Ramp Ken?

Hopefully, Barbie's kept her options open.  There's a thousand other Kens out there and Barbie is a millionaire.  She can buy any one of them that she wants.

The Girly Girl

Continuing in the vein of child-rearing (moms, I hope you were taking notes from the last blog. At minimum you will require diapers, a crib, a leash and a baby cage), there's more than just a potential  lack of maternal instinct to fear.  Of course I'd want a healthy baby, but barring any health issues, there is one other thing that scares the shit out of me: having a girly girl daughter.

Now, don't get me wrong.  There's nothing wrong with being a girly girl. . . if you like that sort of thing. I personally never saw the appeal.  As a little girl, I liked to read and play video games.  As an adult woman, I like to. . .  well, read and play video games.  The point is that I was never  interested in much of the typical girl stuff.  I had Barbies, but didn't really care for them.  I never had any desire to wear dresses.  I think I could count the articles of pink clothing I had on one hand.  I wouldn't call myself a tomboy (I sucked at sports/outdoor activities), but I was as far from girly as you can be without having a penis.

Nowadays, everyone knows that I like my makeup and that I can occasionally be found in clothing that is not a t-shirt , jeans and my Chucks, but not a whole  lot else has changed.  I am actually a goth turned card-carrying geek.  I like mmorpgs, comic book and horror movies and sword and sorcery fantasy novels.You want to know whether a superhero is DC or Marvel? I'm your girl. You wanna know what the "in" color is for the fall? I have no fucking clue. Go ask someone that cares.

Now put into the arms of this previously described woman a little girl that likes butterflies and the idea of being a cheerleader.  Yeah. . .

Again, not that there's anything wrong with any of these things.  There isn't.  But putting me in charge of this child would be like putting me in charge of teaching Sunday school (F.Y.I. it is apparently not acceptable to show The Exorcist to a Sunday school class.  What? It's religiously-themed). I just wouldn't know how to deal with it.  I mean, I suppose I would have to deal with it, but the thought of having to spend  time at the American Girl store makes me want to go burn it down before that issue even comes up.  I could Build-a-Bear all day, but a doll tea party would require a Valium or seven.

And, of course, my little girl would have to have a bright pink frou-frou bedroom with bows and ruffles and sparkly shit. You know, something that looks like Glinda the Good Witch exploded in it but without all the fun blood and gore?  Having this in my house, would be like having the haunted room from Poltergeist down the hall. I actually don't mind pink in moderation, but not of a hue that might cause an epileptic seizure.

Then there's the whole Barbie obsession to potentially deal with.  Barbie is like the Apple of dolls, crushing all competitors under her fuschia pumps and looking fabulous while doing it.   When I was little, I had a friend that LOVED Barbie.  She had Barbie everything.  I didn't get it.  I had Barbie dolls, too; but I just wasn't that into them, not to the point where I was begging my mom to buy all the accessory crap that goes along with her.  Barbie has her own universe, like the Marvel or DC universes only everything is pink and no one gets beat up. .  as far as we know.

Anyway, this is a fascination that could be sucking my wallet dry for years if I have a little girl that really gets into it.  Of course, the curse of Barbie only begins with the doll and her trappings.  There's also the videos. *shudder*

I'm already trying to think of ways to trick my baby daddy into watching this mess.  Men, you're usually very good sports about humoring your daughters and their girly crap.  But the fact that you will sit down and watch Barbie Princess Party or whatever the hell it is, does in no way mean that you want to watch Barbie Princess party.  For myself, sitting still for Barbie anything is going to require either a lobotomy or another person to pawn this duty off on.

If my little girl wants to watch  UFC  insert-number-here, I'm there. If she wants to watch Barbie Princess Party, then it's time to go to Grandma's  house.

Fortunately, when Barbie Princess Whatever leads to  my little girl wanting to be a princess for Halloween (which it will, no matter how much I beg her to be a zombie just once), I'll dress her up in a pretty pink dress with a nice tiara and take her out to go trick-or-treating.  Then, just before we hit the first house, I'll pop out my handy dandy bucket of pig's blood and BAM!  Instant Carrie.

Happy Halloween.

My Maternal Instinct

I keep telling other people (and myself) that I'd like to have children one day.  Of course, this desire tends to be dependent upon how much recent interaction that I've had with children.  There's nothing like a screaming baby in a restaurant or grocery store to make one's ovaries seize up.

Honestly, I haven't spent a lot of time around kids of any age and the idea that I am able to (potentially) reproduce without any sort of license or supervising body is really kinda scary.  I will have absolutely no idea what I'm doing, either during or after the pregnancy. I mean, I know you have to get diapers and a crib and stop drinking and smoking about halfway through, but then what? It'd be really nice if, after the baby and before the placenta, an instruction manual came down the old lady pipes.  Actually, no.  The manual should come out first.

I guess I'm worried that I don't really have much of a maternal instinct or that it is minimal, like the plop-out-the-kid-and-be-on-my-merry-way kind of minimal.   Any fool can lie on a gurney doped up on great drugs and have a c-section (hopefully, this can be done by request), but it takes a special person to be truly nurturing.  Last time I checked "every man for himself" doesn't really apply to people that just vacated a womb.

Some people are great with kids right out of the gate. And then there's people like me.  It's not that I don't like kids. I just don't know what to do with them. I can picture myself in the delivery room holding up my newborn son or daughter  like a used Kleenex wondering what to do next.  I mean, after you chew through the umbilical cord, what else is there?

I suppose it's not really a far stretch to imagine my husband or baby daddy (I'm getting older, the time to be picky about that is nigh to an end) being summoned all over the city to collect an errant child because I accidentally left him or her somewhere.  After all, it's pretty easy to drop your baby at the coat check and forget to pick it up on the way out.  Then once they start walking it becomes even harder to keep track of them.  One of those kid leashes will definitely be in order.  I'm certain that I will have great piece of mind knowing my child is safely tied  to the stop sign outside while I'm in Starbucks getting my latte.

Then there are so many  ways that you can unconsciously screw  up a kid.  Having a baby is like buying a used car: you really have no idea what you're getting into until its too late.  One day your baby daddy is wheeling you out of the hospital with a sweet little bundle of joy, then the next thing you know, you're on the news with your face blurred out pleading with him or her to turn themselves in.

Ok, so most people don't fuck up that badly, but even just realizing your kid is an asshole has to be a bit sobering.  Not that you love them any less (probably), but it has to make you call into question everything you've ever done.  Did you not hug them enough?    Were you too tough?  Should you have been more tough? Or did they just inherit the asshole gene from your significant other's side of the family?

Luckily, none of these are questions that I'll have to contend with any time soon.  It's a good thing, though. I have absolutely no where to put a baby cage right now.

Grocery Store Hierarchy

I like going to Target. I probably prefer going to Target over any other store. It's clean,  products are quality and some of them have a Starbucks right in the store. Gotta love that.  However,  they aren't always competitive with other large chain stores.  When I had a good job, it was the first place I went to shop and I hardly ever bothered comparison shopping or coupon clipping.  The last couple years have been a completely different story and I have found myself shopping at places I never shopped at before.  This change in my consumer habits made me realize that there's a grocery store hierarchy that I think most of us unconsciously perpetuate and which is, obviously, dependent upon our current income levels.

Having made this realization, I have ventured to make a list to showcase where the most popular chains lie in order from where you shop when you can afford to shop anywhere down to where you shop when your paydays are marked with a sad face on your calendar.

Top of the list: Whole Foods. I love Whole Foods. Fresh organic produce, the best cuts of meat, all natural selection: what's not to love?  The prices, that's what.  Whole foods is ridiculously expensive.  I've never even tried to get through a whole grocery list here.  I'm not at all interested in spending $400 on groceries that could potentially end up in the garbage if and when they expire.  Actually, I doubt if I could even throw anything from this store in the trash.  The inside of my refrigerator would probably end up looking like a penicillin farm.

Second: Trader Joe's.  Trader Joe's actually has very competitive prices.  They're big on the organic/natural foods and products and they have $2 wine (no, it's not Boone's Farm).  The major issue with them is that their stores and, therefore, their selections, tend to be small. They also have a limited number of locations.  So what you would save in food costs, you'd only lose in gas .  Trying to go to Trader Joe's is like trying to go to Mordor.  I've also not seen one with a parking lot. Can you imagine Frodo and Sam circling Mt. Doom looking for a space?  They'd toss that ring in the nearest trash can fire and go on back home.

Next: Supervalu chains.  These are your Albertsons/Jewel/Cub Food stores. In Illinois, we have Jewel.  Jewel tends to be cheaper than Whole Foods, but some items there can be pricey.  The major difference is less organic stuff and the fact that you can catch good sales to make shopping here worth while sometimes. However, the quality of a Jewel store is highly dependent upon the neighborhood in which it is found. Nice neighborhood = nice Jewel. Meh neighborhood = Meh Jewel. Fucked up neighborhood = fucked up Jewel. That's assuming, of course, that your fucked up neighborhood even has a grocery store. If you're living in a food desert, you're just going to have a corner store where half a gallon of milk costs $7.99 and the only vegetables to be found are in dented cans of spaghetti sauce.

Third: Super Target and Meijer.  I personally like Super Target because it's a one-stop shop. You can get groceries, a vacuum cleaner and some sexy sock monkey pajama pants all in the same store.  But again, some prices can be a bit unreasonable.  I've seen $50 pants here.  For some people, I know this is not a lot.  But for me, I'm not really keen to pay that much for something that is gonna touch my ass. . . unless that something is a 20-year-old with six pack abs.  Some of the food prices can be a little high as well.   I know that not many people consider Target to be  that fancy. To them I say: Go shop at a shitty Wal-Mart and see how nice Target is after that.


Sam's Club and Costco are your mid-tiers.  Not bad if you're feeding/clothing/buying tires for a large family or if you're just the sort of person that likes to buy your mayonnaise by the drum.  Downside here: people like to pack their 8 kids into full-sized vans and take the whole family grocery shopping.  This can be inconvenient for and annoying to people who don't regularly travel in a caravan. I say lock those younger rugrats in a closet for an hour or two and just bring the kids who will not "accidentally" get run over by my shopping cart.

In a class of its own: Wal-mart. I was ethically opposed to shopping here forever.  They're awful on many different levels.  But my ethics were put in time out after my finances imploded.  Bottom line: They're cheap.  But they're cheap because their employees work for chewing gum and pocket lint.  There's  a vague aura of oppression in every store.  The produce in here is questionable sometimes.  Here's a clue Wal-mart employees: fuzzy peaches = normal.  Fuzzy oranges = not normal.  Then, too,  customers at Wal-mart can be. . . colorful. Think demolition derby crowd meets Freaknik crowd with a Marilyn Manson concert thrown in for good measure. Yeah. . .  And the decor is like being in a 30-year-old Sears. I've been to one nice Wal-mart.  All the rest of them are a mess.

Piggly Wiggly and Kroger: I haven't seen these two outside of the South, but I'm not exactly well-travelled. They're actually less depressing than being at Wal-mart and they carry name brand foods. The only reason I  put them below Walmart on the list is because I've seen these located in strip malls and sometimes their parking lots are so unkempt that the stores look abandoned. Hookers could possibly be blowing people in cars there at night.

Last and Least: Save-a-Lot and Aldi.  I'm not looking down on anyone that has shopped at either of these.  I have shopped at both of them. You gotta do what you gotta do.  They carry some name brand items, but they overwhelmingly carry name brand ripoffs.  Now, there's nothing wrong with off brands.  I repeat: THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH OFF BRANDS.  However. . .

Well, you know when you start eating something. . . .? And you slowly realize it tastes funny. . .?  Then you start chewing slower. . .?  Then you you start checking out the ingredients on the box. . ?  Save-a-Lot and Aldi are notorious for those what-the-fuck-is-in-this tastes to their off brands.  What you initially save on the grocery bill can often be cancelled out by what you end up tossing out. It's like stuffing money in a stripper's g-string.  Initially you feel good about it, but ultimately, you just wish you had that $5 back.  If I didn't know better, I'd swear they were selling us soylent green (brownie points to anyone that gets that reference).  Fun fact: Save-a-Lot is one of Supervalu's bastard children.

Honorable mentions: K-mart and Dominicks (Illinois only) If you ever go in K-mart, all the employees have dead eyes. I'm rather surprised that chain is still hanging on. And Dominick's seems to be under the impression that they are Whole Foods.  They have gone insane with their prices in recent years. Dear Dominick's: if you have stores in the 'hood, you are not Whole Foods. Get your shit together.

Ladies: It's Not a Good Look

After the previous blog, I got to thinking that it's not really fair for me to single out men for some of their boneheadedness. I need to be an equal an equal opportunity hater.  Women do dumb shit, too.  As a woman, I wish I could say that I understood the reasoning behind some of our behaviors, but. . .  I just don't.  So don't feel too bad, men, when your lady does something that you just don't get.  There's a good chance that she doesn't really know either.  Unfortunately, we have a tendency to do things just because other women do them.  Apparently, some of us have a little lemming DNA in our genetic makeup.  I've heard it can be partially deactivated with shock aversion therapy.  All except the gene that controls compulsive designer shoe shopping.  That instinct harks back to when our  ape ancestors gathered stilettos in the wild. It's here to stay.

Speaking of shoes, one thing I don't get in regards to some of our shoes is the addition of heels to shoes meant to serve a practical purpose.  I mean, designers put high heels on any and every damned thing these days.  Sneakers, hiking boots, snow boots : these are not shoes that are meant to have heels or wedges on them.  They are dumb with a capital what-the-fuck-is-wrong-with-you "D". The whole point of them is to have traction.  Last time I checked, you don't really get good traction with a five-inch heel. Yet, every winter, I see women out with these wedge snow boots skating Wile E. Coyote style into trees because their boots don't grip.

First, a lot of these boots are just ridiculous looking. Aside from the wedge, there's fur and tassels and fringe and beads and whatever hell else can be stuck these things.  I don't know about anyone else, but I got over liking stickers and rhinestones and shit on my shoes when I was four.  Second, anyone that goes out in a foot of snow and ice in a shoe with anything higher than a 1-inch heel deserves to whatever happens to her out there.  I'm sure you'll look very sexy in a full body cast.                    

Another issue, ladies: makeup. If you look like Little Richard, you are wearing too much.  Also, glittery makeup should not be worn by anyone over 20. . .  unless they're in the circus. Don't get me wrong. I like makeup (if you've seen my pictures, you know that I really like it). Just not when it's been applied with a paint sprayer.  And I'm pretty sure that men don't like it when their lady looks like a mime either.

In a similar vein, the whole eyebrow thing where you shave it off and then draw on some more or pluck them to the point where you look like Cookie from The Bozo Show. . .   What is that about?  Who started that?  We need to find this person and take away their razor and tweezers.  This look is not for everyone (hell, it probably isn't for anyone).  Ladies, we need to stop doing things because we see other women doing them for this very reason.  I mean, what's next?  If your bff shaves a plug of hair out of the middle of her head, are you going to do that too?  In fact, I think I'll start an Internet rumor that this is the hot trend for next spring.  I bet I'd get a least a few takers.

One other thing that women do that just astounds me: flocking around one man like a bunch of pigs at a trough.  Seeing this phenomenon makes me cringe. I don't care how good looking a man is. That is really thirsty  behavior.  Am I saying that it's wrong to approach a man? Not at all.  But have some dignity.  This scenario is going to lead to nothing but unhealthy competition between the women engaging in it.  Every time I observe it, I hear this in my head.  If it's gonna be all that, let's just skip the formalities and start slapping bitches.  I also have to question the integrity and intention of any man that entertains this sort of behavior.  Is it flattering?  Well, is an abandoned briefcase full of money finders keeps (The answer to both of those questions is "yes")?

Look, I know that some men like that herd mentality in a woman.  After all, you never see a cow demanding that a bull man up and take care of his responsibilities.  But do you ever stop to think who else these chicks might be flocking around when you're not there, men? There's easier ways to get on Maury Povich.

And ladies, you deserve a man that's going to focus on you and you alone. Don't sell yourself short because a guy has a nice smile.  You'll be treated the way you allow people to treat you.  This is the wrong foot to start off on.

Third no-no (and this one is really for everyone): Don't leave the house in your pajamas.  Now, I don't know when exactly this became mainstream, but  I have seen waaaaay too many women out and about in what is obviously sleepwear.  Let's make no bones about it: this is tacky.  It just is.  And it's not like girls are stepping out in sexy satin numbers either.  They are rolling out in plaid pajamas bottoms and a wife beater.  Obviously, there's nothing wrong with sleeping in this.  That pairing is one of my favorite boudoir ensembles (which could be one reason why I'm single, but that's another blog) .  But going to the grocery store or class in that outfit with some mystery brown stain on the crotch. . . . Not happening. At least not with me.  Mostly because I could pretty much guarantee that I would meet the man of my dreams while wearing sock monkey sleep pants.

Cliff notes version: going to the mailbox in pjs = acceptable. Going to the public library in pjs = unacceptable. I mean, no one is asking anyone to get all gussied up to run an errand.  Just put some damned clothes on.

Men, Do Your Market Research

So the other day, I was coming out of a store and there was a guy standing outside at the bus stop on the corner.  I don't really remember seeing him before I went in. Maybe he was there. Maybe he wasn't.  The point is that before I went into the store, I had no interaction with this gentleman whatsoever. However, when I came out, the guy was immediately hitting on me. . .  hard.  It was like getting sucker punched with sweet talk.

Anyway, whatever he was trying to say was pretty unintelligible and, as I was not particularly interested anyway, I just smiled, got in my car and proceeded to drive away.  I have no idea whether his pickup lines were any good or not, but I do know screaming them down the street didn't really win me over.

But the encounter got me to wondering if similar behavior had really paid off for this guy before or if he really didn't think his methodology through before he executed it.  I know some men have a game plan when it comes to picking up women, while others like to fly by the seat of their pants. Some men are smooth, some men are not so smooth.  Some men are successful, other men crash and burn like the Hindenburg.  What's the difference? Who knows.  A lot of factors figure into it. Sometimes it's physical attractiveness.  Other times, it's experience level.  Occasionally  it's as simple as hitting on a chick with either low standards, high desperation levels or both.

It can even come down to  sheer creativity.  Unfortunately, this is where some men get into trouble.  There is a fine line between being creative, being a creep ass and being a d-bag.  So, gentlemen, before you go slicing off your ear a la Van Gogh or popping up the collar of your shirt like it's 1986, maybe you want to try doing a little research on just how women like to be approached.

Granted, all women aren't exactly the same.  But there is a laundry list of things that will absolutely turn 99% of us off.  One of my personal big ones: guys pulling up to the curb in their cars.  Why?  Because 1) I am not a sex drive-thru and 2) I am not a hooker.  I have to wonder if this occurs at all to men that do this, that the only other time most men pull up to a curb to talk to a women is if she is a prostitute.  Obviously, this isn't the case all the time (she could also be a drug dealer), but, yeah. . .   Just in case you didn't know, being treated like a hooker is bad. . . unless the woman actually is one.  In which case, cut the crap and show her the money.

 Running up to a woman's car at a street light  is not really kosher either.  First of all, it's dangerous. There is no piece of ass on earth worth playing live-action Frogger over. And if you do manage to make it in to the car without going splat, there is a pretty high chance that you're are a) going to get maced or b) be  dragged several hundred feet when the girl accidentally rolls your sleeve up in her window.

Also yelling "Hey shor-tay, you bad!" from the bus stop. . . ?
No. Go stand in the corner.

A similar phenomenon (and yes, this happened to me too) that does not win you brownie points with the object of your affection: driving up on the sidewalk.  By and large, seeing a two ton vehicle come careening in our direction does not inspire us to want to go to dinner with you.  Sure, you've got the woman right where you want her, but once she regains consciousness, she not going to be real inclined to give you her phone number.

Also, a move that I find circumstantially effective but perhaps shouldn't be applied to women over 18 years old: walking a girl home.  Don't get me wrong, it's cute in an old-fashioned way; but  once you're out of high school, it can be a bit creepy, especially if you've just met.  And I'm not talking out-on-a-date-end-of-the-night just met.  More like, follow-me-out-of-Starbucks just met.  It's not cute then and actually, more likely than not, the woman has just dialed 9 and 1.  You are now one number away from a restraining order.

I guess what I'm trying to say here, men, is just stop and think if you can.  But I also understand that sometimes when an opportunity presents itself, there is little to no time to really figure out the best approach.  In those cases, trying  "Hi, My name is [insert name here]", couldn't really hurt, could it?

What They Don't Tell You About College

I'm am in the second year of a two-year veterinary technology program.  Though I have learned a lot and have, for the most part, thoroughly enjoyed my experience, I am seriously ready to graduate.  Apparently, in the 7 years since I have been out of school, I have developed a mild case of attention deficit disorder. . . or senility.  Don't get me wrong, I get good grades, but it feels harder to  focus now than before.

I never thought that, at nearly 31 years old, I'd find myself back in school.  In high school, I thought I'd go off to my initial four years of university level work, graduate and live happily ever after.  I might as well have thought that the my fairy godmother would wave her magic wand and make me the Queen of Candyland.  That was just as likely to happen as me going off to college and having it pan out the way I thought it would.

In a lot of cases, going to college doesn't pay off the way people are led to believe.  There's a few tiny details that the guidance counselors and advisors leave out.  One of those details is how you'll be bent ass-first over a table by student loan debt for years after you graduate.  Seriously, you're going to be like Sisyphus with that shit; unless  you're smart enough to embezzle a little money here and there without getting caught.  Of course, you also have to be working somewhere worth stealing from.  There doesn't really seem to be much point in doctoring the books at 7-11.

There's also the fact that a Bachelor's degree just doesn't cut it the way it used to.  More and more jobs are looking for people with advanced degrees. And what does this mean for the average student?  It means two to four extra years of trying to quietly get laid in your parents' basement and asking for underwear for Christmas because all the ones you have are being held up by packing tape instead of the original elastic.

But the biggest thing advisers usually forget to mention while they're pimping  schools to you: YOU NEED TO GRADUATE WITH AN ACTUAL  SKILL.

Really, this is pretty key to going to college and having it make a measurable difference in you life.  Any degree that doesn't  have immediate application to the world outside of college is probably a waste of time.   The only job anyone is going to land with an art degree is teaching a class of unappreciative brats how to paint shitty watercolors. Which is fine if that was your intention all along, but somewhat anticlimactic if it wasn't.

Ok, I take that back. SOME people can make a decent living with a art degree.  But most people are going to end up in the teacher's lounge every day at lunch smoking a joint just so they can face the world.  And this little scenario doesn't only apply to liberal arts degrees.  Most general science degrees are going to be the same way UNLESS you've had the good sense to work in research while you were in school. Even then, getting a good job is a crap shoot without at least a Masters.  Otherwise, you could yourself right next to that pothead art teacher drinking vodka out of a coffee mug.

I'm not saying that people shouldn't go to college. They totally should. Kids just need to have a better understanding of how their degree is going to apply to real life. College does not necessarily mean more money.  Ever seen those Education Connections commercials with the waitress singing about making more cash by getting more education? Yeah. . . not quite.

First off, what reputable university advertises on the Cartoon Network at 3am?   I understand this thing is just a service to connect you with schools, but you don't see an ad for Harvard between episodes of Aqua Teen Hunger Force. Just sayin'.

Secondly, I just don't appreciate this company shopping this pseudo-fallacy out to down-on-their-luck people.  Because, honestly, if you're up watching Adult Swim in the wees hours of a weeknight, you probably don't have a job to go to the next day ( and yes, I know this from experience).  Going back to school isn't necessarily going to improve your circumstances. Every single time I saw that commercial, I wasn't thinking "hmm, maybe I should go back to school and further I my education". I was thinking "Fuck you, Education Connection".

No, I'm not bitter at all.

My Love Affair with Caffeine

I love caffeine. Anyone who knows me knows that this is a fact.  Caffeine has been there with me through the storm.  Through late night college cram sessions, through the mornings when I could barely drag my ass out of bed to go to work, through drunken nights when I needed to sober up enough to make that walk of shame, and through the hangovers the morning after, caffeine has been my rock.  It is the wind beneath my wings (that's what Bette Midler was singing about, you know. Caffeine).

Our relationship started way back in my childhood with chocolate, but we didn't really get serious until I was in high school.  Since then, caffeine has been my one and only, my stimulant of choice.  It is easily is on my short list of things that I'd probably never be able to give up, right behind breathing and flashing truckers on the interstate. Some things are just sacred, after all.

My preferred caffeine delivery method is coffee, preferably espresso. I'm pretty sure that I'm independently paying someone's salary over at Starbucks, potentially even putting a kid through college.  Still, there is absolutely nothing like a good latte.  It's like Prozac and  Xanax rolled into one miraculous liquid all without that pesky drug interaction. Plus it's cheaper. At least, that's what I tell myself when I'm digging through the couch cushions for looking for $5 to pay for what's basically half a cup of milk.

Recently, I have also discovered Red bull and Oh. . . My. . . God.  I bet this is the same feeling that warriors of bygone eras had when they realized how much more efficient and overall better shooting people was than stabbing people. I mean musket vs. sword?  The end of that fight is a foregone conclusion.  That's the way I look at Red Bull.   The taste is nothing like coffee (it weirdly tastes like a Flintstone chewable vitamin dissolved in corn syrup), but the caffeine rush magnificent; so magnificent that I've limited myself to one a week lest I find myself pimping a stable of hookers for Red Bull money.

What? Chicks can't be pimps, too.

Anyway, I suppose that, at this point, my love affair with caffeine is starting to sound much more like an addiction. Well, it's not. I can stop anytime I want.   I actually did quit for about a month last year.  Some people claimed that I was more irritable than usual, but that had  nothing to do with caffeine withdrawal. I'm actually just a bitch.  I was rather surprised no one noticed sooner.

But as much as I love it, I do occasionally try to curb my caffeine intake. Apparently, too much caffeine isn't good for you.  Of course, this finding varies from day to day and with the lastest "study".  Frankly, I'm tired of "studies" bashing my beloved caffeine. It's not like I'm freebasing meth. . . . yet.  And if it's keeping me sane (which it partially is) and keeping me nodding off while driving in the wee hours of the morning what's wrong with a few muscle tremors? As far as I know, muscle tremors never caused anyone to accidentally run over a hitchhiker then have to bury their body in some shallow grave  (all of which totally never happened).

Caffeine, I just can't quit you.