The World is Such a Weird and Disturbing Place

I went for drinks with the some ladies the other night. Not just some random ladies, mind you. I actually knew the ladies. So, don’t worry. No stranger danger.

As these things are sometimes wont to do, the talk at one point turned to dating in D.C. Specifically, now difficult it could be. Or for some of us old ladies, how difficult it had been, back in the day. Pre-XFE-fineness.

I, like many ladies in D.C., had a horrible time dating here. I went on a lot of first and last dates. The pinnacle of my illustrious dating history was an evening where a guy I brought to a party left the party with another girl. We were on our first, and last, date.

I never did try online dating, but I certainly did think about it. And, there seems to be a dating site for everyone. One for cat lovers, of course (Purrsonals.com) I’ve also seen the truly masterpiece-level commercial for FarmersOnly.com, which has the excellent tagline: “City folks just don’t get it.”

 

Into the undead? You’ve got a couple of websites to chose from. Zombie Passions is for “zombie lovers & people who have been working in a dead-end job for too long.” Zombie Singles promises “a Zombifier to create your own Zombie profile picture, then meet and browse other Zombies from around the world!” But I couldn’t get it to load on my computer.

From the people who brought you Zombie Passions, we have Vampire Passions, of course. There are actually a whole lot of vampire sites: DateVampires, Vampersonals, and the broader GothicMatch. And from the people who brought you Zombie Passions and Vampire Passions, there’s WerewolfPassions.

And now, finally, there is a dating site for ghosts seeking other ghosts. Because ghosts need love too. What, no GhostPassions? Here’s an excellent description: “Finally, a dating site for singles who know how to get a life! Well, an afterlife. Okay, maybe some sort of in-between, nether-world, ethereal existence. But if you’re looking for love, and you’re dead, Ghost Singles is the site for you.”

Considering how some guys just disappear when you’re dating them, seems like Ghost Singles would actually be a pretty good place to find someone who may or may not actually exist.

ghost boyfriend

During our Lush Ladies Happy Hour, we also discussed another disturbing new trend: Dinosaur erotica. I mean, we discussed it in between contemplating the subtleties of the government shutdowns long-term effects on the voting electorate and solving the debt ceiling crisis with sound fiscal policies that could garner bipartisan support, of course.

But back to the dinosaur erotica. Yeah. That’s a thing. Here’s E! Online’s description:

Christie Sims and Alara Branwen are two authors who have garnered lots of attention lately for their “monster sex” erotica. Mainly, woman getting it on with dinosaurs. But they’re not limited to the prehistoric period, they also have stories of women having sex with weretigers, ogres, dragons, whatever.

You know, I’m a pretty socially liberal person, particularly when it comes to extinct reptiles. But even I cringed at this passage supplied by Huffington Post:

She wasn’t sure if her sudden arousal was because of her earlier thwarted climax in the cool stream, or if she was just desperate for one last pleasant sensation before being torn limb from limb by the great, scaly beast. Either way, Azog relished the rasp of its tongue, hot and rough, on her sensitive skin.

Huffington Post also has this excellent interview with the two authors tackling the really important questions, like which dinosaur makes the best cuddlers and how T-rex’s short arms are a problem during lovemaking.

I didn’t find a dating site for dinosaur lovers, but I did find something called a “dating sim,” which appears to be some sort of Third Life, alternative online thing. It’s called Jurassic Heart. Of course.

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Friday Links: Russian Cat Portraits and Dolly Parton

Welp, I made it through another week as a single pet parent and house caretaker. I’ve only peed my pants imagining someone was breaking in to murder me about 25 times this week, including one very terrifying instance where I was woken up at 5 a.m. by the sound of XFE’s shower mirror falling in his shower. There were some tense minutes while I crept around the house, wielding a high heel as a weapon, until I finally pinpointed the source of the clatter.

Needless to say, my nerves are a bit thin. Every the dutiful boyfriend, even from thousands of miles away, XFE has bought me a nice, long massage tomorrow. And I’m very much looking forward to that.

While it wasn’t a good week for rest, it was a good week for random stories on the Internet. Enjoy!

hermitage-cat-portraits-5

  • Since I dug around and learned about my heritage, it only seemed fitting that I would do the same for Princess Petunia. Turns out that she’s Russian royalty, of course. We’ll be commissioning one of these cat portraits to hang in the Hermitage any day now.
  • XFE was in Japan for work last week, and well, I love bunnies, so a story about a Japanese island that used to be testing grounds for chemical warfare and has now been left to be overrun by the former lab bunnies suits my weird sense of humor.
  • First Subway footlongs are not actually a foot long and now this? Oh, I smell a future class action lawsuit, by the way, which I will join and from which I expect to be paid in mounds of insufficiently stuffed Oreos. I’ll make it a work. I’m a survivor.
  • According to people who were there, members of this Peruvian “uncontacted” tribe asked for bananas, rope and a machete (ummm, quick tip: don’t give the strange angry people machetes). I think they were asking for Double Stuffed Oreos.  They obviously got worked up and hostile because they couldn’t make themselves understood.
  • Travel is so exhausting. This kid has the right idea.
  • Dolly Parton is my spiritual guru. I decided this while walking quite tipsily in the middle of the day in London in 1997. Me, and my older and way cooler British friend decided right then and there that Dolly was an absolute genius and we bonded over our love for her. Suddenly, the American Revolution seemed ridiculous and the key to British-American relations swas so clear: Dolly. Parton. This video sums up that day pretty damn perfectly.
  • Being blunt is a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, insults just bounce off of you (slide 1) and you’re the life of the party because of your honesty and big mouth (slide 14). On the other, people are just so damn sensitive (slide 2 and 7). Here’s hoping you think I’m an ironic genius anyway (slide 20).

Freaky Friday: Bagel Heads, Ghosts, Attack Owls

It’s been a bit of an odd Friday around here. For example, I was trapped at a work-related event for a large portion of the afternoon and when I returned to my own floor at around 2:30, no one was around. It was actually pretty creepy. Just empty chairs in every office and cube. Even the Party Crue from the Finance Hizzy were half gone. If there was a Get-Out-of-Work-Early memo, it was not circulated to me.

Yep. That’s pretty weird. (Owls will also figure into this post, so that’s creeping me out.)

Perhaps all my co-workers merely turned into ghosts, in which case they are probably off having an orgy with Kei$ha.

Our favorite white trash songstress has a new song out called “Supernatural,” which, of course, she needs to promote by going on Ryan Seacrest’s radio show. Seacrest, being the intrepid reporter that he is, delved deep into Kei$ha’s creative process and found out the inspiration behind the song:

“It’s about experiences with the supernatural… but in a sexy way,” she told Seacrest. “I had a couple of experiences with the supernatural. I don’t know his name! He was a ghost! I’m very open to it.”

Actually, my friend Katie over at MaddieUncensored has a much more plausible theory on the whole ghost-sex thing, including who it might have been.

I highly doubt she had sex with a ghost. It’s more likely the trash bag she was wearing billowed up and confused her. But please refer to the ghost as Ca$per.

The only Casper I know is J-Lo’s boy-toy, so Jenny from the Block better start enforcing her man’s curfew.

“You stay away from that Ke$ha or I’m going to $hiv you, Ca$per.”

Kei$ha also mentioned that she went on:

A “spirit journey by myself. No security guard. No managers. I just went around the world and lived on a boat. I was in Africa rehabilitating baby lions. I went diving with great white sharks, and just went on this crazy spirit quest. I got hypnotized, and I just really wanted this record to be really positive, really raw, really vulnerable and about the magic of life.”

Sounds to me like she’s been hanging out a bit with ol’SnoopKitty. And by hanging out, I mean, smoking some very special medicinal cigarettes.

In case you were wondering, some of the other titles off her new album are “Die Young,” “Last Goodbye,” and “Love Into the Light.” I’m definitely sensing a theme here.

(By the way, that Wikipedia page linked above is pure comedy gold. Some funny, funny stuff on there. Spandex on the Distant Horizon?? A song about “futuristic sex toys??”  National Geographic documentary?? Also: cover art = genius)

While we have some pretty compelling evidence purely speculative ideas on what Ke$ha’s ghost might look like (J-Lo’s leftovers), there’s just as good a chance that this ghost has a bagel for a forehead, particularly if this is a Japanese ghost.

“National Geographic Taboo” chronicles the bizarre beauty treatment in an upcoming episode set in Tokyo, following three people who opt into the temporary forehead injections which have become a keen part of the Japanese “body modification” art scene.

Here’s how it goes down: technicians insert a needle into the forehead and inject about 400 cc of saline to create a forehead-sized blob. (One bagel-ee describes is as feeling like “something’s dripping down [his] head” and a “slight stinging sensation.”) The practitioner then places his or her thumb into the blob to create the indentation….Luckily, the bagel-shaped injections aren’t permanent; the round protusion fades after about sixteen hours as your body absorbs the saline.

Eeewww. So. That’s now a thing.

Just in time for Thanksgiving, the next craze out of Japan? Turkey head.

Which leads to my last item of weird news: Apparently, there are some owls out here on the running trails of DC that want to take a chunk out of our bagel-less foreheads. This is THE scariest paragraph ever written:

I had been attacked by a bird previously, on a trail in Rock Creek Park just after dawn, so I was familiar with the feeling of bird claws raking my head. It feels like a kitten has been set on your head, claws out: There’s a light pressure and a mildly sharp prickle.

(Actually, the whole first-person account is terrifyingly graphic. I can’t believe they put that in the newspaper.)

Runners World also has a blog post noting the increase in unprovoked owl attacks, which they’ve pegged at four.

Now, it’s a well documented fact that I am not fond of birds. I have pretty much been attacked by every bird I’ve ever been around, including one memorable time when a grackle attacked my head one fine day while I was walking to class across the University of Texas campus. There were even witnesses.

(Both of whom failed to render aid, I caustically observed.

I may have shouted at them at the time. It’s all a feathery blur.

OK, fine, I did yell at the two small female exchange students, but seriously! How long did they intend to just stand there watching me get attacked??)

But I especially don’t like being dive-bombed by aggressive asshole owls while trying to get my fitness on. Running is difficult enough. I seriously cannot add defense moves (ie: flailing) to the mix. Somebody’s going to get hurt and it’s most likely going to be me.

I guess I could just throw my ipod at him and then stop-drop-and-roll my way home.

Very weird week. Hopefully this weekend is free of ghosts, body modifications and especially, owls. But not Ke$ha. I dig her jams.