Category: Uncategorized

  • John, meet John. He drives a Miata. I don’t know why.

    Why do old people wake up so early?

    Why are the side effects of anti-depressants depression and suicidal thoughts?

    Why can’t a man leave a bathroom without me giggling about how he was just touching his penis?

    Why has society deemed smoking so glamorous, beauty so unattainable and money so important?

    Why don’t we change that since we are, in fact, society?

    Why can’t we just like a president for once?

    Why did they ever make Mad About You?

    Why did they stop making Night Court?

    Why are some people mean to waitresses and taxi drivers? Aren’t they bringing you food and taking you places?

    Why am I so attracted to men in V-neck shirts?

    Why can’t we all collectively decide to see death as a positive thing?

    Why can’t we all collectively decide to do anything?

    Why does everyone feel the need to ask for a tip lately? Aren’t you already getting paid to be my sandwich artist, friend?

    Why do so many mothers think their kids are so special when the majority of women have kids too?

    Why are we so scared to tell strangers they have something in their teeth?

    Why can’t we all just admit that we want love and validation?

    Why do people continue to name their kids John and Joe? It’s getting complicated people.

    Why are so many people scared to be themselves around their families?

    Why are all my knives rusty?

    Why do most women hate their bodies?

    Why stuffed animals? After 30 years, I still don’t see the point.

    Why Mazda Miatas? Really, why?

    Why are you reading this when you could be on a date with a man in a V-neck who has just touched his penis in the bathroom?

    Why don’t you read more questions here and here?

  • Rationalizing the Risqué

    I hated myself yesterday.

    My inner feminist stabbed me in the ovaries, angry that I allowed myself to fall into the same trap I’ve fallen into ever since I switched to tampons. I let myself collapse into a dangerous abyss with every other woman in LA: I got a slutty costume for Halloween. I just wrote about how mini skirts have reached an all-time size crunch, and how disappointed I am in the vagina-baring youth of America.

    And there I was deciding between a slutty maid or a promiscuous lady bug.

    WHY? Why couldn’t I have just gone as a hot dog or a funny mummy? It must have been my inner hooker calling out to be noticed…my butt cheeks screaming out to be fondled by drunk men…my belly button begging to be paraded around the lonely Los Angeles bars. And I listened to them. Sadly, I did. I could not stop my hands from plucking the nose, bow tie, and bright red boy shorts from the walls of the seasonal store and into my basket, the pieces to my slutty clown costume. Yes, I managed to make a clown slutty.

    At first I was sad and downright angry that I allowed myself to be ‘one of them.’ But then I thought more about why we’ve turned this already pagan holiday into a lingerie parade. Maybe we do it because we have a burning desire to be lusted after by all. Or maybe we do it because most of us are forced into suits and “proper” attire in our daily lives. Or maybe Freud was right and all everyone really lives for is sex. Either way, it means we’re oppressed, unable to be our true sexy selves in today’s society.

    Now that I’ve come to such a conclusion, I say we stand against this oppression! In fact, JUST ON HALLOWEEN, I encourage everyone to be slutty. To show as much skin as possible. To give nurses cleavage and police women fishnets. To turn every single uniform into a desperate plea for sexual attention. Do it while you can, my friends. Do it while you can. REVOLT!
    (Note: If you already dress like a whore, this revolution does not apply to you.)

    Note #2: I wrote this 2 years ago, but updated it just for you. My thighs are smaller now. That’s right. I’m gonna say my thighs are much smaller now:

  • Wait. Is today meant for celebrating our jobs or our birth canals?


    I ran along Venice beach this evening, a beautiful sunset in the distance. Unfortunately, this photo doesn’t capture the several transvestite hookers I saw. There were also some vagabonds and rowdy frat guys and shocked tourists, the very reason I love Venice so much. One tranny hooker was messed up. Really messed up. I’m talkin’ ripped-clothes-and-falling-all-over-shimself messed up. I could have stopped to help shim. But, as my mom always said, ‘You can’t go helping every tranny hooker each time you go running.’

    Here’s to Labor Day. I hope your holiday is filled with lots of palm trees and sunsets and plenty of tranny hookers who don’t really need your help because they kinda like being that messed up anyway.

    Love Always,
    Laurenne

  • Dear World,

    Sorry for destroying the ozone layer and now the sea.
    Oh, and for thinking everyone should be just like me.

    Smell ya later,

    America

  • Irony

    I woke up in a cannon today.