These are not the turtles you're looking for. Move along.

Someone found my blog by searching "gerard butler and the house of unicorns" which I can only assume is some sort of pre-"hitting-it-big" porn.

Hmm. Excuse me while I surf the interwebz.


In other news, motorcycle accidents suck. Insurance companies suck. Lawsuits suck. And for some reason. lawyers seem to think they're entitled to information that has ABSOLUTELY NOTHING to do with anything. Like, what color were my socks six years prior to the accident, and do I still HAVE said socks? Why not? What effect did wearing/not wearing the socks on the night of the accident (in which I was not involved) have on said accident? And have I TALKED about the socks since then? To anyone?

Yes. It's that stupid. I'm unimpressed and this whole thing makes my head ache (if I thank the gods for ibuprofen and caffinated soda to help deal the headache caused by idiotic requests, do I need to report THAT to the lawyers?).

Last weekend we saw The Dropkick Murphys in concert. If you don't know who I'm talking about (WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU??), here:

You're welcome.

So, they were headlining at a casino "resort" (I use that term extremely loosely considering the attitude of the employees at the casino hotel, the general repair of said hotel, and the drastic uncomfortableness of the beds) in Northern Minnesota for an annual beer festival. Tickets were cheap so we were excited to go, and I swear other than the concert itself I was SO FUCKING ENTERTAINED by the crowd mix. You had your stereotypical casino-goers, your redneck parents who bring their 10-year-olds to the casino (for a beer fest...and punk concert), your hipsters (complete with ridiculous beards, flannel shirts, skinny jeans and attitude), college kids just there to swig as much beer as possible from shot glass sized cups, and your Murphys fans (tattoos, the occasional crazy hair color, kilts, piercings...and us).  

Oh. And the khaki-and-fanny pack-wearing crowd who were CLEARLY there for the prior year's headlining musical act: Trampled by Turtles. Yes. That's what I said. No, I'm not linking a video for you. You're on your own there, people.  

Since Husband still has a cane after his accident, we snagged a chair and hung out at the back of the ballroom (the rest of the crowd did not have chairs, although I'm fairly certain the hipsters didn't participate in the usual mosh pit so it's likely there wasn't much of one). The opening band was hard punk: the Trampled by Turtles fans next to us (also hiding at the back of the rowdy crowd) were horrified and confused, but they stuck it out, waiting for what they seemed to think was an Irish folk band.   They stood with arms crossed and cranky faces for three whole songs before the lot of them left, disgruntled.

Seriously, ALMOST as amusing as the amateur drinkers throwing up in trash cans and drunk dancers accidentally kicking people around them. I fucking LOVE the Murphys.

OH...and congratulations to Rowdy Ronda Rousey for KICKING ASS in her big UFC fight Saturday night. Which, of course, was on PPV the same time as the concert, so I couldn't see both. Dammitall. Now...to get her and Gina Carano in the octagon together.

No this had nothing to do with the rest of today's post, but NOTHING in today's post made any cohesive sense anyway, so I'm not sorry.

Gerard Butler and Unicorns (or why I haven't blogged in January much)

January I've been unemployed, and as such I've been watching WAY too much TV, reading pagan-y books, and sleeping off some ongoing depression issues. Not really a valid excuse, but there you go. However, this week stuff happened that was blog-worthy, and so here I am.

I've discovered I'm allergic to martial arts. Or vigorous exercise (sorry husband). Or possibly dojos.

Monday I took my first kickboxing class in oh, seven years or so. I suspect it's called kickboxing because my ass was thoroughly kicked. Out of 60 minutes I believe I did about 35 minutes of motion, and of that only the first 15 were decent form (as proven by the scrapes on the WRONG SET OF KNUCKLES on my hands, because the more noodly my arms became the more I ended up punching the bag like a drunk 3 year old with depth perception issues).

In addition to looking like a fool, my pasty Scandahoovian heritage causes me to turn tomato red when I work out, and being overweight and out of shape means I easily overwork to the point of either feeling faint or puking. I accomplished all of the above on Monday. And about 40 minutes in I started sneezing and couldn't fucking stop.

To whoever got my heavybag when I was done...sorry dude. I swear I didn't snot on anything. I sneezed until Thursday. It was FABULOUS and I signed up for a 30 day trial program.

In other news, I received one of the COOLEST presents EVER from my friend Cait.

See Celtic Knotwork Locket

SEE GERARD BUTLER AND A UNICORN PRE-LOADED INTO SAID CELTIC KNOTWORK LOCKET!!!

That's right...now when I'm having a crankypants (or as my friend calls it: Senora del Pantalones Irritado) day I can look down at a suave, tuxedoed Scotsman hanging around my neck.

Wait...something about that just sounds terribly inappropriate.

Excellent. 

I Am Not Resolute, Bitches!

I'm wholly unfunny this week, partially due to the chest cold from hell which forced me to not-sleep on the couch one night (as opposed to not-sleeping in bed) so Husband could get SOME shut-eye. He's back to work full time, and I'm currently unemployed, therefore in all fairness he needed sleep more than me.

I attempted to create a cohesive, real post out of the random bits of snark I'd collected, but Blogger ate my post. Asshole. So I'm starting over and screw any literary idealism.

• All the cold drugs I took did NOTHING for the goddamn cough, but they did make me dream of polar bears ripping my house apart while chasing me. I woke up just before they ate my head.
• I'm greatly unimpressed by my fucked up subconscious, which should've been dreaming about Gerard Butler naked instead of killer goddamned polar bears digging through my floor to eat my head. WTF??
• Chewy is now on notice that if he turns all Jess-a-cidal he'll quickly find himself turned into a rug. He responded with an adoring stare and snuggling, which I suspect is his sneaky ploy. 
• "Omnomnomnom" and all variations thereof should be banned. WHAT THE FUCK. This is the linguistic equivalent of chewing with your fucking mouth open in public. Ish. That is all.
• Lifetime-television-for-vaginas has a new show about BRA FITTINGS. Really Lifetime? Sigh. I'll admit there are certain times of the month when I need a little ridiculous drama, but BRA FITTINGS? Because being in fitting room with the hellish sallow light and magnifying glass mirrors isn't horrid enough.
• New Year's Resolutions. I am neither resolute NOR do I consider 1/1 the beginning of my year. Resolutions are often silly, shallow attempts to feel better after a month of alcohol and chocolate. I CELEBRATE my alcohol and chocolate overindulgence, and have no guilt.

HOWEVER. I do wish to grow and learn in general, because I'm not dead nor am I a zombie (SURPRISE, the apocalypse didn't happen) as of 12/22. Now I have maxed out credit cards, a trip to Timbuktu to plan, and that $200k loan from a dude called "Shorty" from that bar...shit...

It's possible cold meds are distracting and cause odd tangents.

Anyway...shit I've considered/worked on since November.

• Use a different curse word each week. I've had lazy in my linguistic abilities lately, and it's unacceptable to me to allow my vocabulary suffer from lack of imagination. Since I firmly believe cursing has its place, I need to work on expanding my usage from George Carlin's seven. (PS: Titts IS my husband's nickname, so I'm always amused.)
• This week: "fucktwat."
• Eleanor Roosevelt said "Do something that scares you every day." I'd love to say this is one of my goals, but let's be honest here: I'm FAR too lazy to attempt to do something EVERY DAY. 365 scary new things might make my brainpan implode.
•  I am, however, trying to say "yes" to opportunities more, particularly if they make me nervous. We'll see how those work out as they appear, and I recognize this is a way to encompass all possible goals into one bullet point. I'm a cunning linguist.
• So I got a gun for the holidays and am going to try to improve my target skills (my best shot so far was the crotch of the dude on the '80's bad guy paper target).
• I suppose I should include finding a job, since I'm currently unemployed (contract ended 12/31) and though my boss said an offer was coming I've yet to see it. But I'm fairly unconcerned at this point, and am having ROME and Lord of the Rings marathons.

 Since I've lost this post twice now, I'm quitting while I'm ahead and have fully-formed saved sentences.

Fucktwat. I may have to keep that one going an extra week, just because it makes me giggle every time.

UPDATED: Romantic Lazypantsness: It's a technical term.



Hot man, Scottish accent, AND coffee? Yes.

So I'm quite sick of the stupid "if you love her, buy her THESE diamonds" holiday commercials, and unfortunately they'll just keep getting MORE annoying until 1) the apocalypse on 12/21 kills the power or 2) Valentine's Day is blessedly behind us. So, let's discuss REAL romance, shall we? Because in my world every kiss does NOT begin with Kay (ok, technically the letter K does begin the word Kiss, but that's like spelling doughnut "donut" for marketing purposes, which irks me anyway), and fuck you De Beers.

A particularly cynical friend of mine thinks romance in concept is deception designed to get a partner into bed/relationship/marriage and is ultimately a big fucking lie because it's unsustainable.I find that attitude...depressing as hell, and so I checked with other friends (male and female, touchy-feely and not) about romance in relationships and as a seduction tool.

Flowers: Husband, CF, and a few other males I asked are unanimously against buying/picking/giving flowers to a woman. And I'm sorry boys, but your reasons are FUCKING STUPID. Worded in various ways, the basic cop-out is "why would I want to buy you/her/anyone flowers as a token of my affection when flowers die? Isn't that a temporary and not-nice symbol?"

Nice try, but fail. Flowers are pretty, they smell nice, they brighten a room/day/life for a time, and know what? They MAKE RECIPIENTS SMILE. Their temporary nature, if you must be philosophical about it, is a reminder not to take things for granted because everything is temporary.

The fact is, not giving your partner flowers because YOU don't like them is a selfish reason. If SHE doesn't like flowers you're in the clear. If flowers make her day it's romantic to give them: it shows you're thinking about HER feelings.

Candlelight: CF doesn't like candlelight because he thinks it's part of an ulterior-motive: creating a seduction. Well...um...FUCKING DUH. I'm sorry, when did being seduced become a bad thing?

Soft lighting is the equivelent of make-up, lingerie, high heels, a dress, shaving, suit-and-tie, perfume/cologne or any other "dressing up" mask people wear to make themselves look appealing to their partner. Of COURSE you want your partner to find you sexy, and low lights are an easy way to 1) set a mood of quiet attentiveness and 2) instantly airbrush some of the flaws about which a person may be self conscious (stretch marks come to mind: they're fucking ANNOYINGLY obvious in harsh light). Do you notice the flaws? Maybe not, and finding your partner attractive with all his/her flaws is part of what makes you awesome. But it's not about whether YOU notice them: it's about whether HE/SHE feels self-conscious about them. Is a partner who feels attractive not a better date than one who is distracted by self-doubt? Yeah. Thought so.

Compliments/Cards/Mushy Talk: Seriously, this isn't romance, people. This is part of loving someone. If you aren't randomly complementing your partner after X years, why the fuck NOT? If you like something about him/her, TELL THEM. Your partner isn't a mind reader, and everyone likes to be told in no uncertain terms that they're appreciated, loved, liked, admired, that their boobs look awesome that day.

Jewelry: I admit I'm not a very girly girl when it comes to traditional presents. It irks me that jewelry commericals insist so strongly that men ONLY love their women if they buy fancy-pants cold stones. However, if that's what gets you all mushy and gooey about your partner I say go for it.

It's not that difficult: choose the gifts that your PARTNER will love. For example, for our anniversary this year I got my husband a pistol. Because he's an avid gun enthusiast and his plans of saving for it were dashed in the accident that stole a few months of his time. It meant something to him, even though I don't necessarily find a gun a romantic gift. *shrug* If you want to romance ME with gifts, buy me books. Get me a MN Wild jersey (my most EXCELLENT anniversary gift from Husband last year) or tickets. Clean my house so I can write. Make me dinner. BUY ME FUCKING FLOWERS*. Ha.
Effort, people. EFFORT: If "Romance" is effort put in to woo your partner and left at the wayside after a few years/marriage/kids/etc then maybe it was a deception. In that case, I guess I can agree with CF's assessment, but it makes me sad. But mostly I think it's laziness, not intentional jackassery that locks romance in a closet.

I've been guilty of romantic lazypantsness. It sucks: resentment and unappreciated invisibility are sneaky bastards who weasel their way between people in relationship: they must be executed. No matter how long a couple has been together, a little effort to set a scene, to purposefully seduce, to ROMANCE their partner is always an appreciated and cherished gesture. Ultimately, romance is never a waste if it makes you both feel appreciated, wanted, and valued, right? The trappings are utterly subjective, but they're still an important part of a loving and long-term relationship.

*in the interest of not making my husband look like a dick, he HAS given flowers on multiple occasions after we had that exact discussion about the worth of floral gifts early on in our relationship. Win.

UPDATE: I've been told Husband DID buy flowers before the conversation. However, I maintain we did HAVE that conversation at some point. Since I don't recall whether it was before or post-flowers, I concede the point.

Enough mush. On to the most important point of this post:

Let's discuss the total bowl of awesome it would be to give me Gerard Butler (preferably naked but not required) for any occasion, shall we?

Why Kristen Stewart isn't the devil

I made some fantastically stupid mistakes in my teens and twenties. I managed to stay out of jail and brothels, but I still had plenty of asshole moments. For instance: I skipped 90% of my lecture hall classes for the first two years of college. I tried to have a one night stand with a guy my friend introduced me to (fail, but that's another story). I stayed in a relationship where I was never the girlfriend (always just a friend) and rarely given affection or romance. Stupid. There are a LOT of examples...

And when I was 22, I cheated on my boyfriend with the 41 year old Scottish driver I met on my tour of Ireland. That's right. I was 22, he was 41, it was a fun vacation fling, and it resulted in the end of my relationship when I got home. Because I was stupid.

I'm remarkably lucky: not only because I was able to make mistakes and learn from them, but because I didn't have to deal with international idiots during the fallout.

Over a decade later, I can look back and say "dumbass, why didn't you END a broken relationship before you fucked someone else...for their accent...and why fuck someone for an accent anyway?" (DAMN Scottish accents: that's some powerful stuff!) Because I learned from my mistake, and forgive my younger self for being a stupid asshole. I also don't have a zillion Twitterers attacking every aspect of my life under a microscope. I don't have TMZ following me, slavering for photographic evidence of any misstep I make and broadcasting it to the world.

People, even celebrities, are human. Humans fuck up, regularly. A LOT of those fuck ups are relationship and/or sex driven. Human nature is to focus on the most salacious public falls from grace, but the sick fascination we have for barely-out-of-teen mistakes is really pretty disgusting.

Honestly, I'm not a fan of the Twilight crap (again, another post). I'm also not a huge fan of Kristen Stewart's work, although I DO want to see her Snow White. *shrug* I highly doubt she gives a hoot whether I enjoy her acting or not. I also (GASP) don't give a SHIT who she sleeps with, whether that person is married or not, and whether she breaks up with her boyfriend over it. Why? Because I don't know her, I don't know the circumstances of her life or relationships or anything other than what Huffington Post, US Weekly, TMZ, and Twitter have posted. Shockingly, I don't think any of them are all that accurate...and to be fair, I don't care.

But, the level of horrible things I've seen said about this 22 year old is just...gross. I think public skewering for something so fucking stupid, so trivial in the scheme of everyone else's lives, is 100% asshole behavior. There are six people's lives ACTUALLY involved in this stupidity: everyone else needs to focus on stuff that actually matters in life.

Like how to get Kevin McKidd or Gerard Butler to show up at my door...