Saturday, November 22

Sometimes people just don't get things. For example, my brother and my dad do not "get" this blog and mostly think I'm a horrible person. I do not "get" those super unflattering shiny pleather leggings that make it look like your legs have been shoved into metallic sausage casings. But sometimes, saying you don't "get" it is a big fat load of crap because there's nothing to get, like say, conceptual art. Saying you understand conceptual art is either a) a lie, b) admission of being a totally self pretentious douche bag, or c) a more intricate lie. I know there are artists everywhere who want to kill me, or themselves, for saying that but guess what: I went to art school, and every other major thinks you "conceptual art" majors are a total joke. So there.

Conceptual art
Look at my blank white canvas
Three million dollars

Friday, November 21

I've always had an issue with personal space... even more so since I've been living in Europe. The French have no concept whatsoever when it comes to personal space in lines, stores, or trains and are perfectly content to thrust their bodies up against you in the hopes of somehow speeding up the process of whatever it is you're doing. It is possible to avoid this up close and personal contact by be increasing body position creativity; for example, if you stand sideways in a line with one foot jutting out, the person behind you can't realistically go past your foot without looking like they're trying to bump n' grind. Unfortunately, this technique doesn't ever work for the dreaded close talker. You know, the one who leans forward a little more every time you lean back so that you are forced to bend your body like one of those Japanese contortionists at Cirque de Soleil?

You there in my face
No one likes a close talker
You need a breath mint

Thursday, November 20

Earlier today I saw a man in a suit backpacking in the metro. A man in his 50's. Backpacking. Isn't there a point where we acknowledge our actual age and stop carrying on like a bunch of whippersnappers? There are plenty of things that I would never wear because I am old enough to have my own "generational movie" (hello, The Wackness, you were my teenage), and I'm not even 30. Or conservative. So when I see what we'll call "a young grandmother" wearing what can only be referred to as the slutty equivalent of a onezie, I want to fight the violent cringing within and desperately run to them saying, "Please God cover that up! Pleaaaaaaaaaaasssssssssssssseeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!" Which obviously brings us to:

Trampy cougar, you’re
Not Forever 21
You shouldn’t shop there

Wednesday, November 19

I have recently stopped listening to music in the metro and taken up reading a book so that I can be more "aware" of what's going on around me, like the creepy dude in the corner whispering vulgarities in my direction. Before, I just didn't hear him, whereas now, I consciously ignore him. It's totally different, I assure you.

Homeless man in the
Metro, playing with yourself
Back away from me

Poll: Homeless people usually

Tuesday, November 18

This is for that special person in my life who always thinks they know what they're talking about when in fact they totally don't. No, you don't know who you are.

Hot shot smarty pants
Think you know everything?
Your face is stupid

Monday, November 17

Today's lifeku was inspired by virtually every child who has ever sat next to me on a plane, train, subway, or the next car over on the highway:

Boy picking his nose
You are not invisible
When you close your eyes

Do you have an inappropriate child's bodily curiosity story? Share it!