It has come to my attention that a poll must be administered. It’s a first here at ThingsThatAre, so let it be wonderful and relevant.
THE MUSTACHE POLL
yesss.....some more please.
noooo....doesn't that slow you down?
I’m on the fence about the whole ordeal.
Case and point.
So what is it then? Should we judge (not that you’re a judger) a mustache-rocker by the particular style, maybe by the rocker’s personality, or, perhaps, by the context in which said mustache is rocked.
Ok, I think America is a little hopped up on hormones.
Today, I took a trip with a friend to a seasonal Halloween costume shop. Of course, there are aisles of wigs and devil horns, scary masks and fairy wings, but along the back wall is really where it’s at. I kid you not when I say there were 90 or so options of the trashiest costumes I’d ever seen for women. Here they all were, pictured and numbered so all you had to say was, “yes, can I see number 87, the slutty fire-woman costume please?” (for the record, I tried number 87 on) (also for the record, I looked like a slut in it).
Case and point…..
This is apparently how you make that sweet little Alice…you know, the one who gets lost in Wonderland…into a raging whore who looks like she’d rather get trashed with the Mad Hatter, get high with the Caterpillar and sleep her way through the Queen of Heart’s army, than find her way home.
I apologize if any of you were planning on wearing this lovely piece of polyester this year, but you’re going to look like a ho.
Just to drive the point home….
I’m fairly certain this is historically inaccurate.
Nobody’s looking at your feather, sweetie.
When did Halloween become a contest about who can wear the least clothes?
*shout out to Midge for slut + whore = slore (use it and abuse it)
In my defense, there were no warnings that I was approaching a “construction zone.” I put that in quotations because three guys standing around chatting next to a service vehicle with an empty flatbed apparently trying to decide whether or not they wanted to construct there, does not make a construction zone!
It was an errant cone anyway….far far away from it’s original position, in line with it’s other cone buddies. I’m not bitter. Nah, there wasn’t a line up of cars behind me to see me run right over that sucker. In fact, I’m over it. I don’t even want to talk about it anymore.
Meet Chuck*. He is a baby elephant. He was born this spring at the San Diego Wild Animal Park. He weighed something like 268 pounds at birth and has been gaining a pound a day since.
Big log, little legs
Chuck’s still learning how to do stuff. This log, for instance, was a bit of an obstacle.
I'm stuck guys....no, seriously
It was touch and go there for a bit. Trial and error. Eventually, however, he managed to get over the log. Phew.
Poor ol Chuckster
Little dude just can’t catch a break, though. His friends were bullies and, I’m sure, taunting him about the log situation. Chuck was clearly embarrassed. I think he considered retaliation, but instead….
This lemur cleaning his tail.
*this is not his real name, but since I’m not sure he has one because he was just born, I’m sure the keepers at the park would find it fitting.
This is pretty much a spot on example of how I conduct my lessons.
Seriously. It’s pretty clear that mama otter is Red Cross certified. First, I drag them in, by my teeth, if necessary. Then, on to floating. First on your tummy, then on your back. Swimming is next. Personally, I think mama otter could afford to teach some of the other strokes…butterfly at very least. Finally, diving. They use sticks, we use sticks. We do prefer towels to underbrush, but I’m digg’n the post lesson nap.