There are many things in life I do not understand, and this is not to do with my intellect. Although saying that, the other day in the store I couldn’t do simple arithmetic so the woman could give me my correct change. In my defense, nor could she, but she was looking at this side of 80.
Anyway, a former German pop star (not David Hasselhoff) all of 28 years old, was just convicted of causing grievous bodily harm for not telling her sexual partners she had HIV. She had unprotected sex five times over a four-year period with three different people (math in itself) and told none of them she had the virus. Horrifically, one of her partners became infected.
During the trial she claimed that she did not intend to infect anyone, but did not want to say anything for fear of what it would do to her career as well as her daughter. So let me get this straight, she didn’t intend to infect anyone, but she knew she had the disease and had unprotected sex anyway. And her excuse, fear of what it would do to her, To HER. Not to the other individual’s life whom she has systematically and thoroughly destroyed, but to her. How profoundly unselfish of her. If I was in that courtroom and I was the person she infected, oh man alive there isn’t a chain strong enough in the world to prevent me from lunging across the room and strangling her pop star neck. And I would intend every single moment of pain I carried out.
The most sickening part of all, her punishment:a two year suspended sentence, and 300 hours of community service. Cause community service gives one some serious thinking time to ponder what they have done. What sort of message does this send out (a crap one for starters) to her ex partner that now has the disease? His life means very little? Her actions are permissible because the weapon she used is intangible? I’m sorry, but be it a gun, a knife, or a disease that can KILL you, it all boils down to the same thing. If I fired a gun, but didn’t intend to kill anyone and yet I did, I’d be doing serious time. Fine, you could argue this man could be healthy and fit for the rest of days even with the virus. You could also argue that he is not one of the lucky ones and the virus becomes full blown and kills him. Not to mention the burden he has to now carry around for the rest of his life, dictating how he lives and with whom he has sex. And the only repercussions for this are that she has to go and talk to other people with HIV for 300 hours. Something tells me those people are much more responsible than she is and they should be counseling her! Sadly, in this case it's another instance of the punishment not fitting the crime.
There is a new procedure – for lack of a better way to describe it – called vattooing. It is, brace yourself, the temporary tattooing of your…well, vajayjay. I’m sorry; I don’t know a polite universal term for this... Privates. Does that clear it up for those in the cheap seats? Essentially, for a fee – which I hope is nominal – you can have your nether regions tattooed with a henna like substance that disappears in about seven days.
I’m thinking you're wondering exactly what I was wondering the first time I heard this. Why the *(#)@#&$ would I want to tattoo down there, let alone for seven days. And more importantly, who is doing this, and where did they get all the superfluous funds? Talk about having money to burn and time on your hands. “Hey Susie, what should we do today?” “I don’t know, get our nails done?” “Nah, too mainstream.” “I know, let’s get someone to draw on our coochies!” Mmmm, not on my to do list any time soon.
More importantly, what would someone put on there? The name of the person they’re shacking up with, just to make him feel real special? Or cartoon characters to be zany and fun? I’m thinking if you’re married or in a domestic situation you may as well be practical and put a phone message on there or at least the grocery list. “Oh that’s right, your Mom called. Sorry sweetheart.” The program I was watching when I learned about this new pioneering form of body art (please know I am being sarcastic)the girl had a spider web put down there. Why, because and I quote, ‘it has been a long time since anyone has been down there.’ Okay, great, thanks for sharing. I can’t wait to see how she explains this to the next person she gets intimate with.
And wait, it gets worse. As if vattooing wasn’t bad enough, there is also vajazzling. I swear I’m not making this up. Apparently this is where you glue crystals and glitter down there to make it more aesthetically pleasing. Um, okay, words fail me at this present time. Is this even hygienic? It’s not a flipping art project; leave it alone for the love of ice cream!
I’m thinking we are either running out of beauty treatments to invent or people are ridiculously bored. What’s next, or do I dare even ask?? Then again, saying all of this, I have a tattoo below on my lower stomach. It hurt like hell, cost a lot, and it’s never coming off. Maybe I’m the idiot after all.
Forgive me, but I’m disturbed today, as civilization has officially hit rock bottom. I just read that some guy from a reality show called “Jersey Shore” was going to pull in five million dollars in earnings this year. Five MILLION DOLLARS. His name is…sorry I need to work up to this as I may choke on my tongue…“The Situation.” Apparently Frank was too commonplace for a man from Jersey. Firstly, since when is The Situation a name? Prince was allowed to be egregiously pretentious and call himself a sign only because he is so damn talented. And this is after years of putting out hit after hit, not a few episodes of some show that pretends to be real life. The situation is indeed dire – yes a pun is intended cause it’s so damn easy – when this moron can pull in seven figures a year, especially because as far as I can gather all this man does is hold his shirt up and show his abs.
Apparently, between his salary from the show…wait I have to stop for a moment; I’ve never understood this. It’s a reality show, about their supposed real lives. Why are these people paid salaries to be themselves? They should be paying the show to put them on TV. Or more importantly, they should be paying people to watch this stuff. [Apparently someone is watching it and this fact worries me even more].
Sorry, where was I…he also makes money from his endorsement deals – he was just paid almost half a million dollars to be the face of some protein infused vodka, cause yes, it’s good for staying lean and keeping those abs front and center, and lastly, he pulls in money from his own products. Again, I’m thinking an ab machine of some sort, or wait for it, body oil to lube up them abs. Apparently he also gets paid to show up places and simply be his dazzling self. I’d like to meet the establishment or group of individuals that are paying this man to show up and lift up his shirt.
And it gets better; he also has his own clothing line, exercise tape, and is writing his autobiography: ‘Me and my abs, a love story.’ Don’t get me started on people that write autobiographies when their accomplishments can be summed up in a sentence. I may have to shoot myself…actually, scratch that; I may have to shoot the people that let this happen. What I don’t understand is how there not mutiny in the streets by the common folk in economic times like these. The hardworking people of the world that toil and slave away at 9 to 5 jobs. If I walked into a bar and saw The Situation (oh god it pains me to write his name) trying to hawk some vodka beverage as he stroked his eight pack, I may smash him over the head with the bottle. Then again, if I had known I could’ve made this sort of money I would’ve lifted up my shirt a long time ago.
What would life be without news headlines? Scratch that. What would my blogging life be without the daily barrage of the inane to the insane knocking on my door? The latest headline to catch my eye?…“The crazy things stars do for love.” Oh you just know this is going to be good. [And yes, I’m not reaching high on the intellectual ladder today as my brain is as high functioning at the moment as a bowl of oatmeal]. The fun thing about this topic is that celebrities never fail to entertain. However, this is certainly not intentional on their parts.
Why is it that in such a transient universe such as theirs, they fool themselves into thinking things are long lasting? Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying they’re not capable, many have proven that they are. Okay, a few. But when people are marrying after four months, or four days in some case, I’m not going to call my bookie to bet on them lasting longer than the year. [I don’t have a bookie, I’ve just always wanted to say that]. The best are the on camera protestations that this person is the light of their life, their soulmate that will journey with them until they are coffin bound. Cut to a week later and it all goes tits up and they're forced to learn the hard way to glue their mouths shut.
Then there are the overt and outrageous displays of affection outside of the interview forum. The vials of blood around each others necks (that went the distance, eh), or the exclamations of wild animalistic sex; and if that isn’t good enough to prove how crazeeee in love they are, they take it one step further and move to the permanent gestures. Call me cynical, but tattooing people’s names on one’s body, or shaving their initials into one’s scalp as some moron from one of the many (TOO many) reality shows out there just did, well it doesn’t seem…prudent. Okay the hair will grow back, but altering a tattoo that says ‘so and so’ forever ‘is going to be expensive and painful as hell. And really, forever?? Did it ever pass through one’s mind that forever is a term up there with perfect? It’s really hard to get there, folks. I mean really hard. And one drunken weekend high on Viagra and red bull doth not make an everlasting union. Okay, I have no proof that this is what goes on, but it sounds fitting, doesn’t it?
Didn’t anyone learn from Pamela Lee Anderson and Tommy Lee? I know I have learned volumes from watching their relationship unfold over the years. Like for example, marrying someone after knowing them for a few hours is probably not the best way to start a marriage or please my mother. Also, getting married in solely a g-string bikini does not send a dignified message to the in-laws that I am of good stock; I know that much.
I’m trying to think of the craziest thing I’ve done for love - cause yes, us civilians also do some crazy sh*t in the name of our hearts…I suppose giving up my dog and moving across the world would be considered crazy in some people’s eyes. At the time it seemed like the only course of action and in my defense, I found my dog a really good home and I’m still living here. So something about the decision proved wise. Or I used to bike across London for miles at 2 or 3 in the morning, sometimes in the driving rain, just to see my partner. And of course I made it look like it was something I did all the time. 'Oh, yeah, sure, I'm always out at this time on the ol' bicycle.' Then there was the time I tattooed ‘Foxy Frank’s Forever,’ across my chest in big black calligraphy lettering.
Just kidding. I just wanted to see if you were paying attention.
A friend of mine – knowing I like the weird and wonderful – enlightened me to a hysterical invention coming out of Japan. We’re not sure if it’s true, but I'm going to say it is, as that country is known for its progressive, and often flamboyant inventions. It’s called the 'Baby Mop.' And it’s all right there in the title folks. You stick your baby on a little mop pad when it’s at the crawling age, and voila, you’ve got yourself a floor cleaner. Might as well put these little things to work early. The way I figure it, if I can teach my son to look after himself and clean the house this early, I’m doing a great service for women everywhere. In fact, I'm creating an anomaly as far as I can figure.
Anyway, so this got me thinking about my own invention. It’s out of the box, I assure you, but ripe with possibility. Fine, it perhaps sounds a bit sadistic, but it’s an efficient means to an end that would benefit many....okay, it would help mothers (and a few fathers that haven't run away mysteriously saying they have a work emergency), but isn’t that the best possible beneficiary? We’re like teachers, or nurses, so unheralded it just hurts.
So imagine if you will a screaming baby. The kind of piercing, incessant scream that goes on for hours and assaults your nervous system, your innards, and your very soul with such ferocity that you feel like you are going insane. (If you haven’t experienced this, consider yourself lucky. If you have, I’m truly feeling your pain). Not a nice sound, right? So, my invention would take care of this little noise detail. No it’s not a pillow over the child’s head, I’m not that sadistic. Instead it’s a small apparatus, a bit like a pacifier (‘dummy’ to the Brits) that you pop into their mouths. I’m thinking it should have some sort of strap on it that goes around the baby’s head it to keep it in there. Don’t worry, I’m not that cruel, it can come in fashionable colors.
So this little device acts as a sort of vocoder, if you will. I shall explain for you non-music types. In essence, the kid cries, and the device takes this piercing noise and puts it through a magical filter making the sound something altogether different. I haven’t decided yet what that should be. I’m thinking maybe the melodious song of birds, or the sultry sounds of Robin Thicke. Either would work for me. Then again, maybe one could choose their own from a variety of sounds, whatever it is to their liking. Whale cries, or waves washing upon a beach. However, I suggest if you’re going to listen to this sound for 3 hours straight you better like it. A LOT. Think of the relief during those long colic hours, instead of the wails of a baby, you get Robin’s latest hits powered by the lungs of your bouncing bundle of love! I can’t believe I’m this inspired on so little sleep.
You want to call me crazy, but you think its brilliant don’t you?