Obviously I wasn’t hugged enough as a child

So, I’m sitting here watching Bones. Eating like a boss, because its obviously the right choice while you are watching Bones. (word of advice? Don’t eat while watching bones!) There is a commercial for the season finale of Glee. At the end of the commercial Finn is in a car with Rachel and he goes “I’ll love you forever.” Which caused me to spit out my delicious, delicious spaghetti. (I suppose its good because at least I’m not choking on it… or it is not coming out of my nose.) I had one of those moments that my mother referred to as “oh, sweetie.”

I just wanted to hug that giant man of douchebagness and say “bitch, you is go’n’ die.”


Squeak the Titty Liberator

Sometimes I honestly believe I live in a sitcom. There are moments that occur that have to be because there is an audience out there somewhere laughing.

I work in theatre, so about an hour prior to curtain I have to be there in case something goes wrong with tickets. I look like a fancy grown up. It’s sometimes fun, I get to meet lots of different people and hear their stories. My favorite is when I hear about how much they love certain shows. It’s fun. I like getting out there, sometimes.

So for this particular day my friend who goes by the name of Squeak is there for the performance. He runs up and gives me the biggest hug known to man, and somehow he manages to snag my bra with his watch and break the thing open.

For the next twenty minutes I’m standing behind our half moon table petrified that if I move my elbows in any particular way the girls are going to drop in such an unflattering way and I’m not so much afraid of saggy boobs but the idea that EVERYONE IN THE THEATER would know I wasn’t wearing one. I’m one of those psychotic people that outside of a shower i like to wear a bra. It’s just how ya do.

The funniest part of this is that Squeak is the super GAY. The sight of boobs freaks him out.

And thus he became: Squeak, the titty liberator.

Let’s talk about “mawwige”

Ellen and Portia being adorable.

This entry is brought to you by this fantastic news:Obama Endorses Gay Marriage

Don’t actually read the comments on the article. If you have a logical cell in your body it will explode in fits of rage.

I firmly believe that anyone who finds that special person who lights up their world just by existing should be able to marry them. (Barring age of course) Seriously don’t think a 16 year old could fully understand ‘until death do us part’) to me it will never be a question of gender, skin tone, or being left handed. Marriage has always been about love and finding a person you want to spend the rest of your life with. One day I hope I’m lucky enough to find someone I can stand for more than five minutes. With President Obama saying this it makes my heart happy. It means we are one step closer to my best friend being able to legally marry the love of her life. It means she is one step closer to be able to stay with her in the hospital, to share things together the way any couple should be able to. Love isn’t about the childish flirting and the good moments. It’s about the hard moments they never tell you about in stories, the ones that truly make a marriage. It’s the hospital at 3:00am, sitting in the ICU trying to hold it together while the love of your life’s brain is being opened to save her (or him). It’s when the nurse can look at a person and understand that in that moment visiting hours don’t apply. It’s the cot next to the bed. It’s the funerals attended together. It’s the rock in a world of madness. It’s staying through the depressions, the fights, the car accidents. It’s in losing everything but each other and clawing back up. It’s wanting to raise the future together. Most importantly, marriage should be about love.

And everyone, barring serial killers and that guy that doesn’t think stop signs apply to him, should have the opportunity to have it. So thank you for agreeing with me Mr. Obama. I don’t believe the states or anyone else has the right to tell someone they can’t get married and be as happy, or miserable as everyone else.

Also, just think of how much money would be going back into the economy because of gay marriage? Just think of the receptions. That’s a bunch of paychecks and jobs right there. Won’t anyone think of the economy?!

Maybe you are just an asshole…

One of my… well okay I’ll be honest the guy isn’t really my friend… but he came to me once to talk about his “lady troubles.” We’ll call this guy “Ted” for the sake of me not having to keep coming up with different pronouns before I get fed up with this entire post. So “Ted” (who will no longer have quotations) came to me with his troubles and he was talking about all these different women he was dating and how once they got around to week three Ted would get the infamous “let’s just be friends” speech.

Now everyone hates that speech. It always about how its not YOU it’s them. Truth is it’s actually you, and the person is just not into your chili. Maybe they don’t even like chili. Maybe they had a bad case of indigestion because of the Chili, but the point is you aren’t the chili they are looking for. It’s fine, it sucks, its just a fact of life. Poor Ted had gone about six months with pretty much getting this speech from many, many different women. Of course Ted darling jumped all over the women, placing the blame on them for not being into his specific brand of Chili. Thankfully he never specifically went after my… Chili… (because I’m pretty sure I’m not chili, maybe some german dish but that is neither here nor there). After listening to his grievances I came to one inevitable conclusion:

Dude, you are an asshole.

The reason I know this without a doubt is that two of my friends were people who were trying to date Ted. Ted would immediately tell them on dates that they can purchase whatever they want, cause dude he can afford it. Which is nice, but its bragging. You want someone to like you on your own merit not because of money. Which Ted would then lord over their head. Ted, bless his heart, was not a nice guy at the time. Not a real one. Especially because the way he talked about the women was that they basically owed him a relationship because he bought them dinner. Listening to how he spoke to the women he was attempting to date it was really like Vietnam flashbacks to when I talk to my mother. Where you going with your life? What are you doing? Are you really going to wear that out of the house? Now imagine that being the guy who wants to be in a relationship with you. Creepy, am I right? No one wants creepy controlling mother chili.

Being a good guy gets you a relationship, being an asshole leaves you with uneaten chili.

I’m sure we all learned something from this. Ted did not appreciate me calling him an asshole, and maybe with a bit of a temperature adjustment maybe someone would like what he’s cooking. He has however made his chili a little more mild than it was before, and hopefully that helps.

Personally, I like some good sushi, or an english muffin. Every now and then an irish boxty. International flavors? What can I say? 😛


So why Pantaloons?

I was originally going to title this blog Oh My Kensington! Then I had too much sugar one day and it almost became The Devil’s Pantaloons because of something John Stewart said. It came to me in a vision! Okay so I was half asleep at work and I knew what my blog had to be called: Pantaloons. Why? Because of my absurd love for that word.

Every now and then I get a phrase, a sentence, or a word stuck in my head and I have to use it obsessively. It could be something as silly as “and that is how I roll” (thank god that phase is over) to “I love your face!” and for the brief period of time where everything was called “Monkey!” or “Bunny!” simply because it could. I also think this was a clear sign that my parents should have picked up that I was mentally unwell in some way but I think my insane habits made me quite charming in my later years. I mean what almost thirty year old goes around calling everything ‘bunny!’ and I do mean everything.

So, yes, Pantaloons: The blog. Cause why not? I mean really.

But in case you are one of those anal people who are like.. no you can’t have a blog called Pantaloons without a picture of Pantaloons!

There take the pantaloons and LIKE IT

And they were the DEVIL’S PANTALOONS!

I don’t mean I really called everything Bunny. That would just be weird.

Mew. Mew. Fucking mew.

Sometimes things happen that bring aspects of yourself into view. In this case I have found the finality in being a Cat person. I grew up around dogs, and I still love them to be sure. One of the best pets I owned was a Maltese Dog that was convinced she was a rotweiler, or lion. (I could never be sure) As the days pass and I get older I become more and more of a cat person.

It’s not that there is anything wrong with dogs. They are lovely creatures and one day I intend to own Sir Puggelston the 3rd, but I’m a cat person. It’s not that I particularly love the feline creatures who still seem to think they are in charge of the world. If you don’t think they are, just ask one of them. I’m sure through mewing and a whole bunch of ‘seriously not giving a fuck right now’ look I’m sure they’ll tell you. I’m a cat person because I seriously cannot deal with how high mainteance some dogs are. I know they look at you with their stupid puppy faces, you can’t help but fall in love with how dumb they are. I love them. They are cute. They are all up in my face, and I love them until I turn so blue  from cooing. I don’t prefer the cooing or the stupid faces. I like cats.

There are many reasons why I prefer cats over dogs. I don’t like constant neediness. It drives me mad. The constant desire to be touched, or affirmations of love I can’t deal with. At the end of the day I want to be able to go “love you” while the cat goes “I know” and goes off to do their own thing.

So what I figured out that I’m a cat person because I secretly want a Han Solo, plus a cat would shoot first.

Somebody poisoned the water hole!

There is something great about the anonymity of the internet. It’s like God came down from the heavens created a series of tubes and went “go forth my children and become a bunch of pretentious assholes who can’t spell but like to argue about everything!” And we did and it was good, and some of us pretended to be J.F.K. come back to life. We don’t question it. It just happens.. That is the great thing about the internet we’re a bunch of creative dicks with no restraints and we get to hide who we are behind a screen.

On the interwebs we can be anyone, anything. Even a duck. No, seriously.

I personally enjoy it because you can watch your favorite tv shows on hulu for less than it costs to get cable, download the best thing in the universe (porn, ya’ll!), and gosh if your favorite characters in a TV show aren’t hooking up… well behold the power of the internet and rule 34. If you can think it, it’s here. Probably horribly written in the dredges of Fanfiction.net but it’s THERE. Which is a beautiful and smutty thing.

The point is, I think I’m going to just sit here and add to the pile of “oh my god why would someone in their right of mind say weird shit like that” on the interwebs. Maybe I’ll review things, maybe I’ll just snark them. Maybe I’ll just run around with fire on my head. Maybe I’ll try too hard and cry deeply in the corner.

Probably the latter.