State’s Evidence: South Carolina

Tuesday, February 1st, 2011 – Late, thirsty, eye strain, itchy nipple

OK, my little dung bunnies, let’s get this state business out of the way nice and early in the week, so we can get on with less educational (!) and much more fun stuff. 

This week, as suggested by the lovely and charmingly accented Aly at Calling People Names, I will teach you all about the sheer awesomeness that makes up the heart of the Southern Eastern Seaboard - South Carolina.

Now I’m pretty willing to admit that I know fuck all about South Carolina apart from what I’ve seen of it while driving through it, en route to Florida, high on the fumes of sweet, sweet caffeine and muttered insanity.   This would consist mainly of the exceedingly classy and tasteful “South of the Border”, which oddly enough isn’t south of any immediate border except the one with North Carolina.  Oh the anticipation of miles and miles of exciting coming attraction signs that build to a crescendo just as you reach the Mecca of the South.  I think I even took a picture of that high class landmark of theirs.  Yep, here it is:

I have to admit, it wouldn’t be all that high on my list of shiny theme parks I’d like to visit.  It would, however, be high on my list of rickety, horrible theme parks where you could get some salmonella infused nachos and a confrontation with a rapey predator.  Sorry SOtB. 

The other thing I remember most clearly about South Carolina was the fact that the entire state seemed to be at war with itself.   The highway was stuffed full of billboards for either Jesus or strip clubs, sometimes both on the same board.   Fascinating stuff.   I really mean that.   Insane Jesus love and while you’re loving Jesus, please consider checking out some righteous titties.   Classy South Carolina, classy.    My suggestion is just to go right ahead and combine the fuck out of those things.  A nice big, white church where ladies dance in the nip round a big crucifix, while a crazed dude with an Elvis toupe, yells at parishioners in his shiny suit.

Anyway, what can I tell you about South Carolina that you might be able to impress people at dinner parties with?   Did you know that South Carolina was NOT, in fact, named after the nether regions of a hot chick called Carolina at all, but actually named after a dude named Charles?  King Charles I of England, as a matter of fact.  Why they didn’t just call it South Charles I have no idea.  Maybe old King Charlie liked wearing ladies’ panties?  I don’t know.  I’m guessing.  But I’m also guessing that my guesses are more interesting than the actual story.  So let’s just move on.

South Carolina is also the home of Myrtle Beach, which in turn, is the home of some of the most horrific large-people-in-small-swimwear sightings, seen on the entire east coast.  Honestly, trust me on this.  My retinae still sting and I break out in Gulf War Syndrome type rashes whenever I recall some of the hideous things I’ve seen there.

Interesting to note that South Carolina’s state dance is “THE SHAG”.  Hee.   Shag.  Who’s going to tell them that isn’t actually a DANCE?  And that Jesus most certainly wouldn’t approve?

Also interesting to note – SC’s colonial constitution was written by John Locke.

Really, who even knew it HAD a constitution? 

South Carolina was the first colony to declare independence from Great Britain, in 1776, despite the fact it drinks more tea than any other state.  This is a bit like being a heartless lover – take what you need then leave and never call.  During the Civil War, it also became the first state to secede from the union, in 1860, after being terrified that Abe Lincoln was about to become president and attempt to abolish slavery, leaving no one to bake a decent pie for the chill’un.   A pie drought in South Carolina was unthinkable.  It was a big old hot mess in those days really.  

As we’re keeping track of the religious traits of these states, I’m delighted to inform you that South Carolina has the lowest proportion of non-religious entities we’ve encountered so far – at 6%.  This means that 94% of South Carolinas would eat the entrails of Atheists at the drop of a hat.  Which is probably why I drove through it in a day or so.  Just to be safe.  I mean it was pretty and all, but I need my entrails.

…and burning crosses

Lastly, twice in South Carolina I encountered the following truck that disturbed me so much I had to take a photograph while driving.

Mozzarella Cheese, Food and PAPER PRODUCTS?  By “food” I have a sneaking suspicion they mean “Soylent Green”.   Plus the company’s called “CREMOSA”.  I don’t know about you but I don’t want to eat anything that comes from a company that sounds like it burns corpses while cooking pizza.  Interesting (to me only) fact – a few months later, when I’d all but forgotten about it, I came out of my apartment in Manhattan one morning and saw one of these trucks parked in front of the building.  I just about spattered a tan doughnut into my pants.  They’re following me.

Anyway, there’s your non educational, insulting portrait of South Carolina.   I do realize I didn’t teach you anything AT ALL except for my personal observations, but you know what?  Life’s disappointing, get used to it.

Next week it’s Massachusetts. 

Oh Kansas I’m Kneeling, Oh Kansas Please

Thursday, January 27th, 2011 – late/early, hungry, pear liqueur, who put glitter in my lip gloss?

As a pre-post courtesy, I should probably point out that I may or may not have been partaking in some tasty, potent liqueur shots before I wrote this, therefore, exempting me from any liability or offense the following extremely informative and intelligent ‘essay’ may cause.

INTRODUCING STATE NUMERO TRES: KANSAS

What I know about Kansas, you could probably fit on the back of a postage stamp. A really small postage stamp. I mean, the first thing a normal human thinks of (I’m using me as an example here and you can just shut up) when they think of Kansas, is tornados and the second is “The Wizard of Oz”. Which was set in Kansas. And had a tornado in it. Thus, proving my point. I defy you to tell me something else of immediate notoriety about Kansas, unless you live there, in which case I’m sure you know other stuff that’s at least moderately fun and hopefully gossip-worthy or illegal or both.

I also know that Kansas is comprised mainly of flat prairie land and is situated in the American Midwest. Someone still needs to explain to me, to my satisfaction, why the Midwest is even called the Midwest, because to the best of my knowledge most Midwestern states are either a) not even remotely in the west, or b) in the west but in the very easternmost side of the west. Let me show you what I mean with a canny diagram:

If we're being technical here, UTAH is really the midwest. Right? Also, YOU try writing with a mouse.

Back to Kansas, sitting slap bang in the middle of the country, minding its own business.

Its name comes from the native American tribe “Kansa”, which means “flat, hot, hella windy and thankfully on the border of more interesting states like Colorado

* ”. Okay, I’m kidding, it actually means “people of the wind” but I like my version better. Although maybe people in Kansas just eat a lot of bean burritos, I don’t know. I wouldn’t go putting money on it in Vegas or anything.

Perhaps its slogan should be - Kansas: Full of farts

Anyhoo, here’s an interesting fact courtesy of the book of all that is true - Wikipedia. Apparently Kansas holds the record for the joint fifth highest temperature (along with North Dakota) ever recorded in an American State, at 121 degrees Fahrenheit. Holy fuckety that’s hot. That’s hotter than a naked Justin Bieber, sporting a tiny pink boner smothered in peanut butter, to a room full of 12 year old school girls and 40 year old moms.

Even more frightening a realization than that image I just planted in your mind, is finding out that only 9% of Kansans are non-religious. That’s an even higher proportion of Jesus Fish stickers than in West Virginia last week! If you’re of the Atheist or Agnostic persuasions, it’s probably best, for example, to detour to Colorado from Missouri, via Oklahoma or something. You know, if you enjoy the idea of keeping your balls and your limbs and your eyeballs and your hands, etc. Of course if you’re passing through Missouri you might already be sans hands if you passed through the Ozarks. I saw “Winter’s Bone” you know. I know what happens when shit gets real in that state.

That’s about it except to say, you know a state’s lost the plot a little when it has a city named after it and three quarters of that city is in another state entirely. I'm talking about YOU Kansas City.

I’m not sure I taught you anything here to be perfectly truthful…

Anyway, you all just have a smolderingly exuberant Thursday! Unless you’re in Australia or NZ or someplace where it’s already Friday, in which case, in the words of the great profit Cee Lo Green, fuck you. I’m only joking. You go ahead and spoil yourself by having a joyous Friday instead.

* Sorry Kansas

When Cute Turns Bad & Other Stories

Tuesday, January 25th, 2011 - Sunshine, coffee, Terry's White Chocolate Orange, Sci-Fi villains

This morning I was all gung ho about posting an entry I wrote last night about how sick I was of having to tell people their newborn baby was "beautiful" when to me, half the time, babies look like some sort of hideous Picasso painting or a Cabbage Patch Doll. About how I always want to say inappropriate things to new mothers like, "I expect he'll grow into those chins!" or "Is he supposed to look like that?" 

Today I'm sneezy. The rest of the week I'm going to work on being the rest of the seven dwarfs. Except maybe Doc. Because I don't cure anyone's ills.

And why is it "dwarfs" and not "dwarves"? Grammar rules don't apply. Did Walt Disney make that rule himself because in real life he was a man known for some rather questionable racist prejudices and being singular minded so one day he just decided, "Screw the grammar rules when it comes to pluralizing words ending in 'f'. I'm Walt Fucking Disney, we'll spell it my way!"?

Wait, what was I saying? Oh yes. My point is, my allergies are partying today all up in my nose caves. It's like someone toppled a tub of pepper in there. Gah. They feel full of goo. I'm sorry to bombard your visual receptors with that sexy image but there you have it. You can call me Snotty McGooerson.

On a totally different and irrelevant track, did I mention to you all I've been avoiding the news lately? Because I have. I've been not watching any news on TV or reading any news online AT ALL. Like when someone popped a cap in that lady politician down in Arizona, I didn't know for about three days and I only knew then because people kept referencing it on blogs. I was gloriously out of the loop. I like it. I feel free of global worry and liberated by ignorance. I'm not avoiding it forever, but it's certainly nice to have a break from all the crazy, scary crap going on in the world. There's a chance the world will end and the apocalypse will arrive at my door and I'll be sitting here all alone at my computer going, "Why is no one updating their blogs? Who will entertain me?" and be completely unaware of it. I'll only notice when I go to the store and there's no cheese left and the cashiers are...you know....zombies.

You may have gathered I don't have much to say today but I felt it my civil duty as one of the world's unofficial educators, that I bring you that baby article. Aren't you just happy to know me?

Happy Burns Day, Scottish people. May you eat haggis and raise your kilts and shake your hairy balls in the face of celebration! And may the rest of you stay the hell away from Scotland today.

It’s All About Me!

Friday, January 21st, 2011, breathing, exhausted, happy, itchy boob, craving oatmeal and yogurt

Well it’s been a while since I’ve produced a meme on a Friday and I bet you all thought “Thank God for that nonsense being over, we already know too much crap about your insanity!” Well surprise! Four people asked me to do memes this week because they got together and ganged up on me (not really) so I thought I’d do one of them for now and tackle the others on other Fridays. Maybe. If I remember.

 This week’s meme is from the sassy Wynn over at Chronicles of Wynn. Go see her and call her a bad name!

Rules:
1. Thank and link back to the wonderful blogging friends who gave me this award – oui! 2. Answer 10 survey questions – oui! 3. Pass the Award on to your fabulous blogging buddies - meh 

Q1. If you blog anonymously, are you happy doing this? If you aren't anonymous, do you wish you started out anonymously so that you could be anonymous now?

I do blog anonymously, yes, and I’m quite happy doing it. I’m not some secret freak or anything whose identity needs to be protected or someone would declare a jihad on me, but there’s public me and there’s private me and I like those people to be different people. I never understand people who put it all out there. There are perverts out there, people, who will print out your picture and lick it and maybe wait outside your apartment with firearms and candy.

Q2. Describe an incident that shows your inner stubborn side.

This is one of those questions like “What’s your favourite movie?” and “Who is the skinniest lady in Hollywood?” – there are so many possible answers and, yet, when asked, one can never come up with one. I’m very stubborn. I’m stubborn about everything because my head likes things to be a certain way and until it gets its way, it will not budge. For instance, last night I was sprawled on the couch with a headache and I couldn’t reach the remote to change the channel so my stubborness of “I am tired and therefore, will not move!” dictated that I lie there, frowning and watch two whole episodes of that godawful Bret Michaels’ reality show, feeling dirty and ashamed.

Q3. What do you really see when you look at yourself in the mirror?

Well truthfully it all depends on the mirror and my mood. My bathroom mirror is my BFF. It always manages to make my hair look shiny and delicious, my eyes sparkle and my skin look all peaches and cream. It never shows up those fine lines or insomnia eye bags and basically strokes my ego and makes me feel like a princess. All other mirrors in my house, however, should be covered in tarps and avoided at all cost, because they’ve obviously been tampered with and show some heinous pasty witch who needs a haircut and a decent foundation and a lip colour that doesn’t scream “WHORE IN THE HOUSE”!

Q4. What is your favorite summer cold drink?

Duh. Margaritas? FROZEN margaritas? It’s THE summer drink. They’re the perfect beverage. Cold like a slurpee, fruity like a soda, alcoholic as holy fuck yet cunning enough to go down smooth and trick you into thinking you’re not drunk until you stand up and fall over your own feet and refreshing as one of those TV showers under a waterfall in slow motion. The downside is of course, the next morning you always seem to wake up with your pants still half on because you got frustrated halfway through getting undressed and just gave up and also you feel like a team of angry wrestlers just moved into your head.

Q5. When you take time for yourself, what do you do?

Usually I like to sit and think of all the things I COULD do, then totally procrastinate all of them. I might paint though if the mood takes me. Or draw. Or read something if I’m feeling fruity. Or play my guitar or ukulele. Or work on my crochet blanket that is now the size of Texas. Or I might get a tasty, unhealthy snack and snarf it down while watching a movie. God what a boring answer. I’m almost ashamed of this answer.

Q6. Is there something you still want to accomplish in your life?

Pretty much everything. I’d still like to jet ski and paraglide and about 500 other such sporty endeavors. I’d like to just one day realize I’ve reached a point where I can go, “Holy shit, I’m content with everything and no longer feel any guilt or shame or resentment or fear or inferiority or fatigue or annoyance or urge for unhealthy foods or embarrassment or regret or the need to struggle. I’d like a nice car, that doesn’t overheat or try to kill me by dumping me on the highway when it’s minus three hundred degrees out, would that be okay? I’d like a couch I can lie down on without dangling over the edge. I’d like the metabolism of an 8 year old boy so I can eat cake and cheese all day every day and not put on an ounce. I’d like to appreciate wine properly and start running again and not curse in Walmart.

Q7. When you attended school, were you the class clown, the class overachiever, the shy person, or always ditching?

I was a hybrid of all of the above. I wasn’t the class clown except with my friends, I was shy but not chronically, I was pretty much a straight A student (yes really, shut up!) and in high school I ditched school fervently depending on the subject. Like whenever we had circuit training instead of a sport in gym I was all, “Thanks but if I wanted to be tortured to the point of death I’d listen to an entire Poison album!” then I'd go home for a couple of hours and eat cookies.

Q8. If you close your eyes and want to visualize a very poignant moment in your life, what would you see?

I’d see a time where I used to get eight hours sleep and wake up as perky as a Disney movie. Oh wait, that would be never. Not the perky part anyway. I’m not a morning person. I will never be a morning person. I have a theory that people who embrace mornings need to be put on an FBI watch list or something because they clearly have motives beyond wishing for world peace. I think the most poignant moment in my life was honestly when I was 21 and my dog died. I say this purely because I can pinpoint that that was the day I actually felt a tangible, negative change in my life.

Q9. Is it easy for you to share your true self in your blog, or are you more comfortable writing posts about other people or events?

I choose not to share anything deep on my blog. I don’t get into “me” at all in any real sense. I don’t find it hard to write about my true thoughts, I just prefer not to. Because it’s none of anyone’s beeswax. And because I prefer the social aspect of just chewing the fat with other crazy people online, without getting all serious. I’m a weird hybrid in real life of very serious and the polar opposite of very serious, which would be batshit crazy non serious. I find everything hilarious and nothing hilarious. I'm demonically anti-social. Even I think I’m a bit of an odd combination.

Q10. If you had the choice to sit down and read a book or talk on the phone, which would you do and why?

I’d rather have my arm sucked off by a jet engine than talk on the phone. I hate phones. I have no fear of them particularly, I just despise them. They’re fine in a work setting but I can’t talk on them in any social manner because they aggravate me. I get all ants in my pantsy and want to get up and do things while on the phone. I fidget. I check email. I constantly let my mind wander off the conversation. I hate it. I will send a text or make a quick call if I need to make arrangements or something but other than that, you won’t find me chatting. I can go entire weeks without picking up my home phone. I’m happy to yak all night to you in a bar or in person somewhere but don’t call me, seriously. So I guess I’d read a book. Although I need to be in the mood to even do that these days.

Well wasn’t that all fascinating? I won’t tag anyone because I never do, but you all should think about doing this meme so I can gather up information on you all for my dossier, that I will use at some future point to blackmail you. Ok? Have a stellar weekend!

My Head Would Like An Off Switch

Thursday, January 20th, 2011 – cross-eyed with the tired, hunchy, sniffly - kill me now

I always think there are two occasions you should never attempt to post a blog entry.  One would be when you’re rubber-faced drunk and two, when you’ve had no sleep whatsoever and are nine different kinds of delirious.

Oops!

You know how sometimes you toss and turn and don’t sleep at all?  I mean hardly a single wink, let alone forty of the suckers?  Then when you wake up you feel like you’re in some sort of parallel reality where things look normal but you feel like there’s a wood sprite in combat boots dancing around in your skull and you can’t quite focus properly on things?  And you have to read sentences about six times before they make sense?  And when you look in the mirror you see some hybrid, heinous, hell-spawn of a zombie and Tara Reid, the morning after a marathon orgy of cheap champagne and penises? 

That’s sort of how I look right now.   I’m all stuffed up and my sinuses sound like they’re crying.  I ran out of congestion pills yesterday and forgot to buy more so now I feel like someone got inside my head pumped it full of air with a big pair of bellows.  

On the upside, I bet that’s the only time you’ll see bellows mentioned in a blog entry today.  Go me and my uniqueness!

So I consoled myself by pouring a big glass of ginger ale even though it’s only 6am.  You see, ginger ale is my bitch.  It eases all ills.  I look forward to it.  And since I weaned myself, kicking and screaming, off of aspartame, I will drool on my own chest thinking about sweet Canada Dry instead.  I really want coffee but any hope of an hour’s sweet napping will be blasted to kingdom come if I get near that. 

I hear some people like to start the day with tea but despite my British roots I never saw the appeal in it myself.

Not that this is surprising.  There are a lot of things I don’t understand the appeal of - digital photo frames, line dancing, Twitter, Nicolas Cage…  I could spend an entire week listing things people like that I just don’t understand. But instead I’ll just suck down this glass of golden nirvana and try not to plan any murders.

Short and Opinionated Like Danny DeVito

Tuesday, January 18th, 2011 – cold, no coffee, no cake, no point

I have to point out how delighted I am at Ricky Gervais’ “Golden Globes” monologue. It was funny, yes, but the funniest thing about it was Hollywood's outraged reaction. Which amused the pants off of me because really, who doesn’t like to see privileged people who constantly award and celebrate themselves, roasted like pigs on a spit?

The more uncomfortable and rude it got, the funnier I found it. Let’s be brutally honest here, if you hire Ricky Gervais to present a red carpet awards show, surely you are not expecting tame, old school jokes, lots of ass kissing and a musical number? I mean have you SEEN Ricky Gervais live? Just go get Billy Crystal if you want that shit.

Besides, I though he was relatively tame as comedy goes. I think he toned it down a bit. Plus Alec Baldwin looked like he was about to pee himself he laughed so hard. If Alec’s not pissed or calling someone a “rude little pig” it must be ok, no?

Plus do you really think they were naïve enough to let him on stage without approving his material? If they were, then it’s their own fault.

Hell, if you really want Hollywood to just spontaneously combust in a smoky fog of indignity, get the South Park guys to host next time. You’ll be begging Ricky to come back on stage in no time.

Really, to make those award shows more bearable for the audience they should invent some new categories. Like “most overrated actor” and maybe “most pompous director with delusions of grandeur” and “biggest waste of a hundred million dollars while people are starving in the world” awards. Perhaps they could have a “most surgically enhanced parts” award or “most entitled” or my favourite, “most up his own ass” award. Which would always be awarded to Tom Cruise.

I might watch that show.

Almost Heaven–West Virginia

Monday, January 17th, 2011 – Devious, hungry, cold feet, impatient, expecting death threats

Continuing, my series of highly informative State essays, I’ve long had a theory, that I’ve mainly kept to myself for the sake of my own personal safety, that the prettier and more rural a state is, the higher the likelihood will be that Old Paw who runs the corner store is banging his own sister and proudly harbouring several junior Paws all with six toes and an unusual arrangement of facial features. It doesn’t say it in any geography books I’ve read but who are you going to believe, some learned professor type, or me? Really?

Which brings me neatly to West Virginia. Who doesn’t think of West Virginia without snickering and coming up with phrases like “inter-familial-boning” (I just made that up, it’s good no?) and visions of scraggly, old, beardy-men brewing moonshine in the woods, while wolves howl in the background and scraggly, old, beardy-dude number one’s seventeen year old daughter, Luanne, can be heard indignantly yelling way in the distance, “Noooooo Jim-Bob, y’all put it in back or we’ll git pregnate!”

Whoa, even I can’t believe I wrote that. I AM sorry.

But only a little.

Anyway, moving swiftly on, John Denver seemed to like WV and its “Country Roads” and there’s no debating that if you like mountains and forestland, and what sort of city-assed pantywaist doesn’t, you’ll see the beauty in West Virginia. Majestic mountain ranges, lush valleys, regal forests and fuck-me-I’m-running-out-of-impressive-adjectives type of rivers, all make up its inner structure.

West Virginia confuses people because it’s not actually part of Virginia at all. It’s like the forefathers were all active up in Virginia to the east and they thought, “So what we gonna call that piece of land with the mountains on it, west of Virginia? Oh wait here’s an idea…”

 In actual fact WV was once part of Virginia, way back in the fetal stages of the day, but decided to secede from its confederate neighbour during the American Civil War after Virginia took its ball and refused to give it back or even let it play with it. Allegedly. That’s how I heard it anyway. Never you mind my sources.

Despite what you might think, West Virginia’s state motto isn’t, “Don’t y’all look at my sister that way, she’s mine”, it’s actually, "Montani Semper Liberi” or “Mountaineers are always free” if you prefer English. That motto is really only true if those mountaineers are not captured by some baggy-eyed, hillbilly Appalachian types in overalls with a tooth apiece and who want you to impregnate their daughter. Yet, despite West Virginia’s “rustic” qualities it’s one of the few states that do not have the death penalty.

Not officially anyway…

Now that I’ve gotten those stereotypes out of the way what can I tell you that’s interesting about West Virginia? That it’s the most northernmost southern state in the United States? That a tiny part of it is actually above the Mason Dixon line and so dangerously close to Washington DC that they can come down from the mountain and steal your children at night? That the highest point in the entire mountainous state is a place superbly named “Spruce Knob” making me twelve years old again by saying things like, “I really want to sit on Spruce Knob”.

I hear it’s a big knob.

Did you know that only 13% of West Virginians claim to be “non religious”? If you’re a fire-breathing Atheist you might want to keep your heathen, murderin’, stealin’, hellbent ways out of West Virginia or end up being taught the error of your ways, by the penises of several toothless men who all look the same, while you’re hogtied to a moonshine-still in the barn.

I actually tried to read the Wiki page on West Virginia for serious research purposes, but it was full of actual information and statistics and links and YAWWWWWWN! Who can read pages of that nonsense without spontaneously combusting? It didn’t mention incest or toothlessness or scandal even one time, (BOOOOOORING!) so I found myself drifting off and thinking things like, “I wonder if I can bake an awesome new lemon cake tonight?” and “I really need to scratch an itch all up in my bum, but someone might notice.”

Lastly, it turns out those tooth-devoid, daddy-humping, banjo playing Appalachian people are actually descended from the Scots and Northern Irish, which makes them related to…me. What goes around comes around, as some purveyor of useless, smug sayings once pronounced. As of now, I’m delighted to report that I still have a full set of teeth and am happily not married to my uncle, so I don’t think there’s any reason to panic.

I think that’s about all you need to know really.

Please note that this informative essay is for fun purposes only. I don’t really believe that West Virginians are in-bred, half-witted, toothless, backwoods dullards.
Not all of them, anyway.