More self embarrassment

I've already dedicated a previous post to explicitly humiliating myself with random embarrassing tidbits about yours truly, but I have yet another thing to confess.

I honestly deliberated whether or not to make this confession for quite awhile. And by "quite awhile" I mean, like, five minutes. I had to outweigh all the pros and cons of the matter- i.e. How many friends will I lose by admitting this? Will Blogger delete my blog upon admission of this deep, dark secret? Will I be able to walk the streets unharassed once this information gets leaked to the public?

Ultimately I decided to put myself on the line, as well as my popularity (which is non-existent anyway) and safety, in order to get this off my chest. So, here it is…



I really, really adore Katy Perry.


Ok, now that I let the cat out of the bag, please, PLEASE keep in mind that I'm a fundamentally good person with good values and, in my opinion, good taste in music. I will admit that in the past I've foolishly listened to some horrid music, including the Black Eyed Peas, Chris Brown, Limp Bizkit, and Lil Wayne, but I assure you that since then I have gained wisdom and have moved on to better tunes.

I would like to point out though that I was never idiotic enough to listen to Hanson, Nickelback, or Creed. Never, ever... ever. I do have some dignity for Pete’s sake.

Thankfully I’ve moved past that era of my life- the crappy music era- and now pride myself on listening to good bands. By ‘good’ I mean original, talented artists and/or bands that utilize real instruments. I’m not into the cookie cutter, overproduced, and gimmicky stuff that plagues mainstream music these days. This includes nearly everyone that is ‘hot’ on the Billboards these days, but especially Ke$ha, Justin Beiber, Miley Cyrus, and all those other so-called pop sensations.

I’m not saying all pop music is bad… just 99% of it.

With that said, I'm sure you can understand why I struggle to admit that I like Katy Perry. She is very much all those things, but especially very gimmicky and overproduced. Instead of being annoyed by that, however, I am saddened.

Why am I so emo over Katy Perry, you ask? Because the girl has talent.

Unlike most female singers these days, she is actually capable of being something other than an auto-tuned sleazebag. She has an immensely unique and expressive voice that would do so well in the rock/alternative/indie/acoustic genres of music. It’s not spectacular by any means, and actually it’s quite imperfect, but that’s exactly why I enjoy it. Also, she has personality! One that hasn’t been molded by label execs. I only say this because I became familiar with Katy more than a year before she ever hit the scene with “I Kissed a Girl”. She was an unsigned singer with a blog that featured ridiculously entertaining posts and videos. Her love of cheesy sayings and gaudy outfits is nothing entirely new either. She truly is nutty.

Do I like the music she puts out? No. As I said, I wish she would shimmy away from all the bubblegum pop and veer toward a more daring and alternative direction. Then again I understand that her music sells and thus I can’t knock a girl for trying to get fame and moolah. I only hope that now that she has made a splash in Hollywood and has established a firm fan base, she will consider taking the ‘risk’ to put out more innovative and reputable music. Right now she’s simply a performer. Hopefully she’ll one day transition into an artist.

Any-freakin’-way… In spite of my disinterest in her current music, she put on a rockin’ performance on SNL this weekend. She performed both “California Girls” and “Teenage Dream”. The former wasn’t anything noteworthy but the latter, “Teenage Dream”, was surprisingly impressive. I especially like how she started out acapella to showcase her grungy voice.




On a side note, I like the cover she did of MGMT’s “Electric Feel”. Of course it was already an excellent song so she didn’t have to do much there, but I do like her spin on it.

Of course this is all my own personal opinion and I am not a qualified music journalist who works for Rolling Stone or BLENDER magazine so you can take all this with a grain of salt. I just ask that you still be my friend and not make fun of me behind my back now that I have unleashed this beast of a secret.

Wait… Hello?



Are you even still reading this?








Ugh. I knew it.

A post in which I sound like a priss

I have a bit of a phobia and, as you may likely assume, it is not entirely 'normal'. But then again which phobias are?

Wait. I take that back. Some phobias are in fact normal. I mean, I totally get why people are dramatically fearful of dark, hairy eight-legged arachnids, and I entirely understand why being lifted 1,000 feet above the ground leaves some feeling paralyzed. There is a reason why certain phobias such as these are notably common: they make sense. Spiders are gross and heights give you a sick feeling in your stomach. People should not like them. Period.

Get my point? END OF STORY.

So what is my phobia? Goodwill. Yes, folks. You heard right. I have a morbid fear of gently used donated items. This is nothing new either. I have been awkwardly afraid of the discount megastore since I was just a little girl.

Oh, the horror!

I spent a reasonable portion of my childhood with my grandma, either at her house or tagging along with her on various trips and errands. I typically enjoyed all of these trips, especially since my grandmother is void of the ability to say ‘no’ to a begging child (translation: she bought me a lot of stuff). There was but one place I loathed visiting and unfortunately it was one of my grandmother’s routine stops: Goodwill.

My grandmother would habitually drag me along with her to Goodwill so she could sort through their bin of second-hand sewing patterns- and when I say ‘drag’ I literally mean drag. I strongly vocalized to my grandmother my adamant disdain for the place but she didn’t care; she had sewing projects on her mind. I still debate as to whether or not this was child abuse.

That was me, a sad and abused child

Some of my detestation for Goodwill is a bit unexplainable. For instance, I get a mysteriously ill feeling every time I walk into the front doors of the store. It’s sort of like the feeling I imagine a person experiences when stepping foot into a house that is haunted by ghostly spirits. (Hi, I’m Clarissa and I’m super dramatic!)

I’ll save both of us the difficulty and instead focus on the reasons which I can explain, provided in numerical form.

1. I strongly believe that everything in the story, from the clothes to the books to the furniture, is completely contaminated by boogers and dust mites. As a child I would either refrain from touching anything in the store or frantically wash my hands after coming into physical contact with an item. Of course the latter would then require me to use the Goodwill bathroom (which I have yet an entirely separate phobia of); therefore, the safest bet has always been to keep my hands in my pockets at all times.
2. The majority of people in Goodwill are straight up weird with a capital “W”. This includes both the employees and the customers. Every where you look there are combovers, camel toes, tube socks and LA Gears. It goes beyond physical appearance, too. I personally cannot trust the mental soundness of anyone willing to buy and wear a used pair of shoes or, even worse, used UNDERWEAR. No, this time I am not exaggerating. Goodwill does in fact sell used underwear, or at least boxers, briefs and tighty whiteys. I saw the wretched rack with my own eyes, people.
3. One time my grandmother was checking out a blanket at Goodwill and when she unraveled it a huge spider came charging out in her direction. We both screamed and jumped around wildly because, well, spiders are scary- remember? Also, I’m 99.9% sure the spider was a fatal black widow, meaning my grandmother almost lost her life that day. In other words, Goodwill tried to kill my grandmother.
4. Another time at Goodwill, when I was approximately fourteen or so, I was followed around the store by a pedophile. Again, I am not exaggerating. That day my grandmother and I were approached by two Goodwill security officers and shown actual video surveillance of the prowling man. He had since left the store but we were still told to be wary in case he was lurking outside. Once being informed of the perv stalking her youthful granddaughter, my grandmother immediately wrapped up her shopping (THANK GOD) and we were escorted to her station wagon. The officers advised us to keep an eye out in case any vehicle begins following us and to call 911 if we sense any suspicious activity. From that day on I’ve refused to walk through Goodwill without mace and a switchblade. Ok, fine. That part is an exaggeration.

Anyway, there you have it: My 101 four reasons why Goodwill gives me the creeps. Perhaps surprisingly though, I actually mustered up the courage this past Saturday and visited the Tacoma Goodwill with B. I still refused to touch anything and openly gawked at all the shoppers that were fondling stained flannels and worn shoes, but it was definitely an unforeseen effort on my part. Naturally I rewarded my brave attempt with the purchase of an ice cream sundae… and, of course, a vigorous hand washing.

"Yo, mama!"

While watching Hook the other night I came to realize that the film packs some mighty impressive insults, more particularly during the dinnertime spat between Peter Pan and Rufio. I've included the script below in case anyone may be in need of verbal ammunition for potential future squabbles.

Peter: I bet you don't even have a fourth grade reading level.

Rufio: Hemorrhoidal suck naval.

Peter: Or maybe a fifth grade reading level.

Rufio: Boil dripping beef fart sniffing bubble butt.

Peter: Someone has a severe ca-ca mouth, you know that?

Rufio: You are fart factory, cheesy, scab picked, pimple squeezing finger bandage! A week old maggot burger with everything on it and flies on the side!

Peter: Substitute chemistry teacher!

Rufio: Mung tongue!

Peter: Math tutor!!

Rufio: Pinhead!

Peter: Prison barber!

Rufio: Mother lover!

Peter: Nearsighted gynecologist!!

Rufio: In your face, camel cake!

Peter: In your rear, cow derrière!

Rufio: Lying, crying, spying, prying ultra-pig!!

Peter: You lewd, crude, rude, bag of pre-chewed food dude!!

Rufio: You... you man! You stupid, stupid man!

Peter: Rufio, if I'm a maggot burger why don't you EAT ME, you two-toned zebra-headed paramecium brain, munchin' on your own mucus, suffering from Peter Pan envy?!

Kid/Bystander : ... What's a paramecium brain?

Peter Banning: I'll tell you what a paramecium is. It's a one-celled critter with no brain, that can't fly!! Don't mess with me man, I'm a lawyer!

 
I personally plan on keeping many of these in mind for the next time B and I get into a heated battle, especially the 'nearsighted gynecologist' stab. He won't even know what hit him.