An Open Letter To Jake Pavelka, aka The Bachelor

Jaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaake!
Jaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaake!

(Imagine that as a muffled scream the way Anthony Michael Hall screams for Michael Schoeffling when he's trapped under the coffee table in Sixteen Candles.)

Listen, Jake. You are totally cute. You remind me of my c. 1983 Sun Gold Malibu Ken, only your haircut looks less like Velma's from Scooby-Doo and it's not painted onto your head.


You are way cuter than that tubby Jheri curled Bob or geriatric bass fisherman Byron or your immediate predecessor Jason Mesnick, who looked like Enrique Iglesias' love child with Bruce Jenner. Not only are you cute, but you seem like a genuinely nice guy, albeit one who has suspiciously failed at finding love despite being an anatomically perfect Texan pilot (do you have uncontrollable sleep diarrhea or something?) and a person who would willingly go on a show like The Bachelor to find a wife.

But Jake, can I be real with your for a minute? Like really real?

Your taste sucks, dude.

I've watched all episodes now and among the 3 girls you have left only one of them is even remotely OK. You kicked a bunch of decent girls to the curb on the first night and kept around:

1. A woman who in every single scene has Prince's Purple Rain hair!
2. Pre-plastic surgery Jessica Simpson!
3. A girl who suffers from the worst case of Stankface in recorded history!
4. And a "25 year-old" who looks suspiciously like she is two centuries older than that and ready to star in the Lifetime biopic of Judith Light, tentatively titled "I'm the Boss."
5. A stroke victim who talks out the side of her mouth a la Drew Berrymore.
6. VIENNA!!?? Really? Check her out sometime that bitch is cross-eyed.

And the rest are all giant bitches, with the exception of that Southern redhead with the 7 year-old kid you have to pretend not to be totally freaked out by and the one named "Tenley," which is in and of itself a drawback (although in future seasons I think the producers should just dispense with names and call the women Onely, Twoley, Threeley, Fourley, etc.).

Anyway, my point is: You are up the river without a paddle, my friend. Those roses won't help you. Get some Depends and a Japanese anime body pillow and call it a day.

Kisses,
Me

Girl Scouts: Little Drug Dealers

This seems really inappropriate to do on the blog, but I’m desperate, guys. I need a fix. The good stuff. You know what I’m talking about. I feel like I haven’t had any in forever.

The thing is I don’t know anyone who’s selling. I will buy in bulk, I swear, I just need a hook-up. I’ll put it in my freezer so it’ll keep. I’ll let you have some. Just give me a number, for the love of Christ. I won’t say it was you who sent me.

Do I have to spell it out for you? I NEED SOME FUCKING TAGALONGS, okay?. Thin Mints, Samoas, Do-Si-Dos, whatever you’ve got, man. I’ll even take Trefoils, the schwag of the Girl Scout Cookie catalog. I’m like Cookie Monster on the Master Cleanse right now; it’s not pretty.

Seriously, though, why are Girl Scout cookies harder to procure than illegal drugs? There is something wrong with that lesson. If I sent you on a scavenger hunt right now with a list that included a quart of unpasteurized raw milk, an ounce of marijuana, an eight-ball of cocaine, a whole roasted goat, and a box of Thin Mints, guess which item would be the biggest bitch to find? That is not right, y’all.

The main reason for this, of course, is that Girl Scouts are forbidden from selling cookies online. I’m not really sure why this is—I can only guess it's to even the playing field, in case some girls don’t have reliable access to the Internet—but it seems pretty archaic. Explain to me how forcing pre-teens in short pleated skirts to walk the streets soliciting strangers is character-building? If you go to the Girl Scouts of America website, they explain that "Girl Scouts of the USA does not currently allow online sales, but its cookie site can help you locate girls selling in your community." Yes, that's right. ANYONE can log onto this site to FIND YOUNG GIRLS. Seriously, does this not seem wrong to anyone else?

The whole experience of trolling for cookies makes me feel like a pedophile. I find myself breathlessly Tweeting sentences that are probably on government Megan's Law watch lists: “Anyone know any Girl Scouts? I NEED one. Anywhere in the country. I’ll pay anything!!!!” I stare a little too long at kids on the street, searching their outfits for tell-tale flashes of green.

There is nothing not illegal that's harder to get than a box of Girl Scout cookies when you are a childless person. In fact, I could probably buy a baby on the black market faster than I could get my hot little hands on a box of Girl Scout goodness.

Stay tuned for updates; if I get the baby first, I'm naming it Samoa.

Superbowl Questions...I need your answers!

"Where is Kim Kardashian?" (I need at least one quasi-celebrity in the stands to serve as my pop culture North Star; otherwise I'm lost.)

"If Peyton Manning is from New Orleans, shouldn't he be rooting for the Saints?" (Also, what is up with that weird Oreo ad with him and Eli licking cream filling in front of Donald Trump and Darrel Hammond?)

(Inspired by the Colts' logo) "Why do horses wear shoes?"


"Why does Monster.com use fiddling beavers in its ad? Is that sexist?" (Mine doesn't even play the kazoo. It must be slow.)

(Upon seeing Dan Marino) "Is that the guy from Ace Ventura: Pet Detective?"

Are you a douche-bag

A recent study* conducted by a world renowned researcher has shown that people who back up into parking spaces are actually douche bags. Many individuals who do this believe that they are saving themselves time back backing into the space. This is not, in fact, correct.

Take, as an example, one person who had to keep backing up, pulling forward, then backing up, then pulling forward, then backing up again. While that person was fooling around with their spot, the very fancy researcher had pulled into her spot and was already walking into the building. In fact, I believe that said researcher was enjoying her first cup of coffee and checking important the morning news** while that d bag was still trying to back into the god damned parking space.

Another finding suggests that those who pull into spots will actually laugh at those that back into spots at grocery stores. Apparently, watching those people who backed into their spot realize that they can’t get to the trunk of the car to load the groceries provides a sense of joy to those that pull into spots.

*This scientific study was conducted by me this morning in the parking garage.
**News as featured on DListed.

Straight up, wait up, hold up, Mr. Lovah...

Oh no! I shouldn't have hesitated! These are sold out!

"Free Bird"

I recently attended a concert at the Tractor Tavern in Seattle. After the behavior of the opening band and those in attendance, I decided there should be some rules. This, my concert loving friends, is what I'm calling: Sandy's guide to concert manners.

For the Performers

Lead Singers

Do not, under any circumstance, grab the microphone with two hands and close your eyes to sing... ever. Oh, and stop dressing your hands and wrists with strings, bands, henna tattoos, rings and whatever else you're using to try to mask the fact that you aren't playing an instrument. And, shut up about politics and your views on the environment. I’m at a concert to rock out, not to learn about land use and sustainability. If I wanted a political statement I’d go to a Dixie Chicks concert.

Bassists

Hang out in the back, don't move around too much. If you need to talk, then talk to the drummer. No more of this primping and prancing. We want to see you showing off like we want to see some fancy moves from the referee at a football game.

Drummers

We need you guys to start wearing sleeves, thanks. Also, The gloves; you're not bench-pressing here. How much hand protection do you need to grip a couple of sticks that are about the weight and girth of two pretzel logs?

An End to Witty Commentary

As someone in a band, you're probably surrounded by people who think you shit velvet, and those people have probably led you to believe that you're a pretty funny and smart guy. But here's the thing: you're not. Like, at all. If I wanted to see some asshole sing a song about turning off the lights and other “green” stories, I'd get drunk at the next Al Gore rally. Just remember, you're going to need those hilarious anecdotes when you're trying to woo those PBR drinking hipster girls.

So, that was simple enough. Now on to the real offenders: the throngs of people stupid enough to pay money to see these assholes in the first place.

The Concert-goers

No Yelling Out Song Requests

Bands have these things called set lists, and they are integral with lighting and... never mind, you're drunk. Just stop it.

No Band T-Shirts

Everyone knows that you're not supposed to wear the T-shirt of the band you came to see, but it's a little known fact that wearing any band T-shirt at a concert is also permissible grounds for the use of violence. We get it, you really like music and were able to find a T-shirt of an obscure band that you'd never heard of until you found the T-Shirt. Ghost Town Boxes is a favorite of yours? Really? I know, your buddies told you it's a pretty cool shirt, but why don't you save it for your yoga class tomorrow morning.



Do Not Make Out at Concerts

We're glad you and your on-again, off-again boyfriend/girlfriend rekindled your medium-rare romance for a night, but this isn't either of your parents' basements. Stand still, look at your stylish retro sneakers and remind yourself over and over again that your mother wasn't lying when she said you were the most unique little alterna-snowflake in the universe. And, speaking of you people with the retro sneakers...



Enough With the Ironic Facial Hair

See that guy? That's Tom Selleck. He is one of the few people who could rock a mustache and get away with it. You, ironic-facial-hair guy, are not. I know, the singer from that band you like looks cool with a handlebar mustache so you figure, why not? Or, maybe you think that making yourself brazenly ugly beats being just ordinarily ugly. The fact is that if you're the type of person who is wearing ironic facial hair to a rock concert, you do not need to be sabotaging your chances of getting laid any more than the gene pool already has.

Tall People

If you’re six feet tall, don’t stand in front of the 5 foot people. Seriously stretch, move your giraffe legs and stand in front of someone your own size.


Stop Taking Pictures With Your Cell Phones

You people spend $100 to go to a concert so that you can watch the entire event on a 3-inch by 2-inch, green-lit, night-vision screen. Rather than enjoying the music, you spend your time trying to determine if that speck that looks like a glow-in-the-dark amoeba swimming around in a cloudy bucket of piss is Bono or the Edge. I'm going to take a wild guess and say that you are the same people, who as parents, will spend your entire family vacations taking pictures rather than taking a vacation. You'll be too busy making your kids look like they're enjoying themselves when you say "cheese" to ever enjoy your kids.

Horror of all horrors…

I embarrassed myself at work today. It was worse than the time several years ago that I slipped, fell down the stairs, and ended up on my back at the bottom of the stairs wearing my lunch. Did I mention that there was a round of applause and a random “See you next fall!” shouted towards me? Yeah, it happened.

This is even worse than the time that my secret boyfriend at work caught me adjusting my bra and boobs.

Or when I accidentally flashed a project manager.

I was standing at a coworkers desk this afternoon. She is very nice and very pleasant, and I’m just counting my lucky stars that I wasn’t talking to my boss. Anyway, this coworker of mine made a joke and I opened my mouth and laughed. It was a hearty laugh, and as I opened my mouth, I felt something fly out. Then I caught site of a GIGANTIC loogie taking flight, it was aimed right at her.

Ever had one of those moments when you think to yourself, “Please, God, if you are merciful you will strike me dead right now”? Well, this was one of those moments. It was as if I was watching a movie in slow motion and the loogie hurdling through the air was travelling at a snail’s pace. Suddenly, it landed in the middle of her desk. Right on a pile of notes that she had stacked. Meanwhile, my poor coworker had a look that can only be described as horrified delight. She burst out laughing.

“OH MY GOD! I am SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO sorry!!” I said as I felt the blood rush to my face and my cheeks felt like they would burst into flames.

Do you know how freaking hard it is to clean a loogie off of paper?? It’s really freaking difficult.