Great balls of fire

Back when Matt and I first started dating, he was a salesman for a popular energy drink. As part of his position, he drove around to stores all over the Chicago-land area. It was during this drive time that Matt came to notice a trend in some of the more rural areas - a trend which I still have not seen with my own eyes (though I desperately want to). It was described to me over the phone...

Matt: "So I was just in this store and - whoa! - that is the second pair of truck balls I have seen today"

Me: "um...huh?"

Matt: "You know, truck balls"

Me: "um...no?"

Matt: "Well, there isn't much to know - they are balls that hang off a truck's bumper"

Me: "Like beach balls?"

Matt: "If by beach balls you mean 'gigantic nutsack' - then yes."

Having never seen these "truck balls" with my own eyes, I did not believe Matt at all. Of course he was lying - how could that even be legal? I argued with him for a bit, but he was so persistent, I caved. I googled "truck balls."

What I found induced fits of laughter so strong - I couldn't speak. I was shocked!

Me: "People actually put these on their cars?"

Matt: "I am looking at a big 'ole brass pair right now"

More laughter - I was then to the point of tears. Seriously, didn't this violate some sort of indecent exposure law somewhere? Since I have still never seen these with my own eyes - a google image search lead me to this;


I was torn between disgust, awe, and jealousy - I kind of wanted a pair...just for kicks. My curiosity got the best of me, and I continued my search. I was hooked. Hell, I could be a Truck Ball Saleslady!

There were so many to choose from...

For that realistic flare, you can get flesh colored truck balls. I find it funny that the flesh color is of the Caucasian persuasion - I don't think any self respecting black man would put these NEAR his car.


There are also Camouflage truck balls for those occasions when you gotta show your junk, but don't want to scare off the critters.


For the patriotic American (pronounced Amur'cun by the Truck Ball owner), what better way to show your support for this USA than sportin' a pair of these puppies...Oh say can you see, baby.


Some may want to invest in a pair of truck balls, but are concerned for their safety. After all, what motorist could take their eyes off such glory? It could be dangerous. Well, never fear cautious 'nard enthusiast - these balls house break lights. Your loyal followers won't even have to take their eyes off your nuts to know when to slow down!


Some potential truck ballers may want to ease their way into truck ball showmanship. Why not start with your lawn mower, just to get a feel for all that extra awesomeness?


The balls make for great photo-ops...I mean, just looking at this set makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. The only thing that could make this picture better is a power-mullet or a rat tail. Consider gathering the family around the yuletide truck nuts for your next Christmas card!



What about the ladies, you ask? How about her very own pink truck ball key chain? She will never forget the special day she receives this gift from her special someone. Every Kiss begins with Kay? No, my friends, every kiss begins with hot pink plastic testicles.


Wanna know what happens when the lady in the trailer next door gets some nice testes for Valentines day - and you don't get any for your old lady? Blue balls. That's right.



Have you seen these in your hometown?

If you were going to get a set of truck balls, what color would you get?

Not. Fierce.

Really, Bravo TV fans? Christian? Really?

Everything about the kid annoys me. Sure, I admit he is a talented little booger, but fan favorite? I was a little shocked.

I will still be cheering for Chris and his bold, trannylicious style. Go Chris!

The fever makes me ramble on and on

Few people know that I was a woman's studies minor in college. My involvement in the program started as a conversation with my mother one afternoon over the phone.

Mom: "When are you going to choose a minor to compliment your worthless awesome Communications Degree?"

Me: "I have been great, thanks for asking! A little low on groceries, and the laundry is piling up, but that's why they make Ramen and Febreeze, right?"

Mom: "Ha,ha smartass. I am not going to keep helping you with grocery money and the like if you don't pick a minor. Why don't you minor in Marketing or something?"

Me: "Yes, mom, things are going very well with the roommate. We plan on having a kegger this weekend where I hope to pass out in a pool of my own vomit - wanna come?"

Mom: "Girl, you better LISTEN to me if you want to stay alive, much less stay in school"

Anyhoo, I promised to consider choosing a minor even though it completely ruined my plan of supplementing required courses with Phys Ed classes like "Relaxation 101" (Note: Relaxation was a real class but only offered at 7am - there is nothing relaxing about 7am when in college). I poured over the course books scouring my options for a chosen minor. After about 10 minutes of half-assed interest, I didn't see anything that tickled my fancy, so I gave up. A month later, when my mother called and threatened to murder me, I got a bit more serious.

I wanted to take a variety of classes thus ruling out a marketing minor (plus I would have to take more math - blech). I wanted to piss off my mother while at the same time doing exactly what she told me to do - and so I landed on Women's Studies. I only had to take a couple required courses (Women's History) and then I had my choice of many other disciplines. I could learn a little about a lot and confuse the hell out of my mother at the same time for added bonus.

I ended up taking a myriad of Psyc and Sociology classes along with a couple gems like "Growing Up Female" (no joke). For the most part, I really enjoyed my time in the courses and met a lot of really great ladies. I actually came to love the word "feminist" and I am not afraid to identify myself with the movement. No matter how much I call my friends "bitch," "slut," or "Ho," I say it with love and affection (you bitches know I'm talkin' bout you).

Long story boring, I told you the above to add something more personal to back up my disgust with this website. (At the top click on portfolio - then click on each thumbnail pic to enlarge. Mouse over the pic to see the "before") Anyone else repulsed? I know that this sort of thing happens all the time, but it doesn't take away the stench that this site expels. I also think that most of the subjects look better "before." What is so wrong with freckles? Also - check out how they completely eliminated the muscle tone out of Julia Stiles' arm. WTF?

Another feminist fun fact: Did you know that when I was searching for a job, I got 75% more calls on my resume and online applications after taking my Women's Studies minor off my resume? Kinda effed up, huh?

When it rains it pours

I am ridiculously sick - and have been all weekend. Even as I write this, I can barely breathe as my nose is so stuffy. My body hurts, my head hurts, my throat is swollen and I have 100 degree temp. The doctor confirmed that I have the nasty disgusting virus that has been going around so yee-haw- there is nothing I can do to make it better. I just have to let it run it's course.

Meanwhile, my apartment gets dirtier, my agitation rises and I become extremely unpleasant. It's not enough that I had to attend the funeral of an old friend, or that NIU (where I received my undergrad) was shot up by a maniac, I have to be sick on top of it all.

Wish me better - I am sick and tired of being sick and tired. I just want to feel better. I know it could be worse, I am just tired and crabby.

I wish she wasn't right

I was talking to my Mother this morning about the services tomorrow. I told her how some friends and I felt really guilty about not reaching out to Steph more before she died. My Mother's response - "You should feel guilty - we all could have done more."

My first reaction was, "What the Fuck! Don't you realize that we were trying to put out a message of 'tough love'?" or "We would have hung out with her more if she was mentally more stable."

Then, as I thought more about what she said, I realized she was right. We absolutely should have done more and we didn't because it was hard. It is hard to look at someone in their early to mid 20's and realize that they have a problem. It is hard to push that person towards more positive influences. It's hard to realize that it may have been difficult for her to reach out to us because we didn't reach out to her. This realization makes me sick to my stomach, but it's true. How many of us look the other way when we have the power to do something?

I am not insinuating that we should help everyone we meet, but we should try to do more for the people we love. We should do more and we should do it often. I know that I did not do everything I could for my friend. It hurts, and now I do not have a chance to make it better. All I can do is remember her fondly and take this hard lesson to heart.

My Grandpa says to give until it hurts and then give some more. I wish I would have listened to him.

The world is missing something incredible

I met her in High School through some mutual friends. She was so outgoing and outspoken and beautiful. She was beautiful in a way that would have made Barbie jealous – and she didn’t even know it.

She was the type of person where you didn’t even have to know her to love her. Just a moment in her presence was enough to know that she had something powerful inside of her – something much bigger than this world.

When I think about my times with her, I remember her infectious laugh or the 10 minute giggle-fits brought on by her sarcastic sense of humor. She was amazingly funny, and the type of friend that would call you out for a reality check when you got out of line. She was stubborn and sassy and fiercely loyal – and I adored her for all of it.

Life had been difficult for her the past few years, and she fought so hard. Though the outcome was not what anyone could have expected, she was brave. She sought help when many would have run from reality. She wanted better things for herself and her kids – and she tried to get well.

Her kids will never know the girl I knew, but she leaves behind a piece of herself in her children. We will hear her voice through her children’s laughter, and feel her touch through their embrace. She was so proud of them – and I don’t think she would have fought so hard if it wasn’t for their love.

I am going to miss her terribly, but I am so lucky to have known her while she was here. I can honestly say that I am a better human being because I knew this girl.

Get some rest, friend. You are gonna need that energy when Aunt Becky and I join you - we will have so much to catch up. Do they serve coffee in heaven?




*More reflection courtesy of Becky here and here

The Potty Patrol

When I first met Matt, one of the things that impressed me about him was the fact that he would always clean the bathroom at his apartment before I came over (It's the little things - right ladies?). So many men do not understand the importance of a clean bathroom. I have been over to male-inhabited apartments where, after using the restroom, I felt like I needed to soak myself in bleach and scrub off the nasty with some steel wool....and the smell...oh Sweet-Jesus, the smell. I shudder just to think about it.

Women, on the other hand, are anal (pun intended) about the cleanliness and smell of their home restrooms. We use plug-in air fresheners and reed diffusers for the illusion that our ass smells like cucumber-melon-apple-mango-pumpkin-spice. We put fluffy brightly colored rugs on the floor that match our meticulously hand-picked shower curtain. The soap dish matches the toothbrush holder which, in turn, matches the brightly colored rug. We buy designer soaps that are for show rather than use and we hide any deodorant, ointments, douche or tampons because we would rather die than for someone to see that we actually use such products.

We display our 15 bottles of lotion from Bath and Body works like trophies. Never mind that we got every bottle as a gift and that 3/4 of the bottles have never even been opened. Hell, we may not even like the smell of some of the lotions, but we will still exhibit our collection with pride. We buy the softest, most expensive towels for both display (to match the shower curtain, duh) and to dry our wet bodies after a long shower. After use of the towels, we gently fold them and drape them over the towel rack next to the sink.

We do all of these things, and yet, women's public restrooms are some of the most disgusting and vile places on earth. Is it because we keep our home restrooms so pristine?

I honestly cannot comprehend why a woman would wipe feces or snot on a restroom stall wall when the same woman would crucify her husband for leaving beard shavings in the sink at home. Even more disturbing is the fact that people behave this way at work. It boggles my mind why someone would use the restroom at their place of employment, urinate on the toilet seat, drop any and all used tp on the floor, not flush, leave the stall, wash their hands and return to their desk as though nothing ever happened. Do people get a rush out of being repulsive?

I don't like "away games" any more than the next gal, but if I have to make some #2 at the office, I do so as quickly and discreetly as possible while attempting to leave the least amount of trace evidence possible. I do this not only for my fellow employee, but also for myself. I just don't want to be around the nastiness the next time I have to go.

Ladies, we keep our restrooms at home so nice that we could eat off the toilet seat and sleep on the rug - our towels are nicer than hotel comforters. Can we join together and make a pact to keep our public restrooms at least clean enough to keep our gag reflex suppressed? We deserve to keep our bare asses free from mystery seat moisture! It's a Restroom Revolution! Who is with me?

Nerd Glasses

My new glasses are wicked-awesome. That is all.

Yes. We. Can.

After much turmoil...I think I have decided where to place my vote on this Super Tuesday. I have been torn....but have made my decision.





I will be headed to the polls after work. Make sure you vote.

It's Raining Cats and Dogs

With the exception of my job situation, things are actually going pretty well in Casa De KC. Since Matt has moved in, we have been getting along pretty well considering that neither one of us have done the “living in sin” thing before. We are definitely still figuring each other out but we really have not fought badly – which is a great sign.

While Matt and I are doing well, Matt and the other inhabitants of my apartment are still developing a working relationship. The dog is easy. Mojo is pretty chill and when he does something annoying, his smooshy little face and his big bug eyes have enough emotion to melt even the coldest of hearts.

(Ppppttthhhhbbbbbb!)

Karma, on the other hand is a bit of a challenge (and by “challenge,” I mean she is the devil incarnate and will rip your eyes out of their sockets while you sleep if you so much as look at her sideways). I once had a friend come to visit from out of state. She brought her boyfriend over and Karma jumped up on his lap and lay down. Cute, right? Not so much when kitty responds to touch with growling and the patent-pending Power-Hiss. (It is powerful both in sound and smell as she has the worst breath I have ever smelled on another creature. Ever.) When he tried to push her off his lap, she scratched at him. My friend and I, of course, responded to his cries for help with laughter and ridicule because we are sensitive and caring like that.

(Note the distain in her eyes...and the half Hiltler mustache...as she blocks me from my bills)

Not only is Karma a raging bitch to most guests, but she hates Matt with a passion. Lucky him. For now, they ignore one another as best they can – and I can only hope that they are able to continue their indifference-based relationship. After all, Matt would look funny with his eyes scratched out – and I don’t think Karma would fare so well after being thrown out a window.

How Could I not?

Despite my beloved Chicago Bears taking a turn for the suckage this year, I was actually excited to watch the Superbowl. I was rooting for the Giants - and they delivered! It was a great game and exciting down to the last minute - everything you could want in a Superbowl game. I even enjoyed Tom Petty's performance! There was really only one thing missing - good commercials.

Being in the ad industry, I actually watch the spots - and the Superbowl is supposed to be a time when everyone else does too. I have to say, though, that the last 2 years have been very disappointing when it comes to quality advertising. There were a couple mildly humorous spots last night - but nothing spectacular.


Whatever happened to the clever ads that had everyone talking the next day? Anyone else miss spots like this one?




Just for fun - here is the Miller High Life Guy (Wendall) talking about last night's commercials. Happy Freakin' Monday.

I am totally "That Guy"

For those of you that a)know me IRL and b)know about this blog - you know that I love going to see live music. Going to concerts has been a favorite pasttime since Jr. High when my mother took me and a few friends to go see Collective Soul at the Hard Rock Cafe in Chicago. (Oh like you had great taste in music in Jr. High - I heard you snicker)

No matter what kind of music I was into - I went to all the shows. In Jr. High, I rocked out to Collective Soul, Candlebox, Offspring, Pearl Jam, Violent Femmes and even Bob Dylan. (Ecclectic!) In High School, I saw Soundgarden and countless Ska shows before my tastes changed and I was drawn towards the Jam Band Scene. It was at this point that I began to get bitter and annoyed with other fans. You see, despite the fact that my musical tastes were of the neo-hippy variety - I have always been far too much of a bitch to embrace the "I love everyone" mentality. I don't love everyone. In fact, most people are assholes, myself included. Besides, it is far more entertaining to mock the hippy dance (video example below) than to hug a tree.



While I still loves me some Grateful Dead, Phish, Widespread Panic and Gov't Mule, I find that their fans piss me off to no end. I have been to the shows where everyone camps for the weekend. To me, camping with good friends after a good concert should be the recipe for a fantastic time...until you add in all the neo-hippy-moochers. I have literally been offered 3 crayons and a shoelace in exchange for a Heinekin. I have also had a girl stop and openly weep over my portable grill as I flipped my "death burger." Seriously, hippies, wtf?

I understand that "sharing" is part of the culture at these shows, and I have (on more than one occasion) wanted to "share" my deoderant with some of these people. I do not, however, care to share my beer, tent, money, food or blankets with other campers in exchange for anything other than money. I didn't buy my sandwich with good karma, dammit. I bought it with money I worked for and earned. I cannot subscribe to the ideology that because I decide to go to a show, I now must share everything that I paid for with idiots on drugs. I'm not gonna lie, I have been to shows on drugs (in my younger days), but never, ever, did I wander up to someone else's car and ask for a free beer.

I must be a glutton for punishment, because I continue to go to shows on a regular basis. I will continue to get mad at the flailing hippy and his cracked out arm that inevitably hits me in the boob. I will always be the one to death stare at the Trixie behind me that just has to call her friend in the middle of a song to scream (more in my ear than into her phone) about what a great time she is having.

I want to start a revolution! I dream of one day going to shows where the crowd is actually there to listen to the music being played - a crowd that is respectful of others that paid good money to see an artist perform - a crowed that picks up after itself and doesn't smell like a combination of BO and foot. I dream of...of...Ravinia. Shit...I am old.

Nominees for the worst dressed list

Some might say that I have a mild to moderate obsession with Bravo's Project Runway. I fell in love with the show after watching the first episode of the first season. Though I have no fashion sense whatsoever, I was immediately aching to be Jay McCarroll's "fag hag." I wanted to go hang out in the work room at Parson's School for Design and make catty remarks about inferior design talent. I became the fashion critic equivalent of a backseat driver as I watched and commented on the "lay of the fabric" or the color campatability of the whatchoomacallit with the light reflection against the whosawhats. I had NO idea what I was talking about - and I didn't care. I was hooked.

Many people love the show, so my adoration may not be such a big deal were it not for my complete lack of fashion sense. I wish I was kidding, but I literally have no idea how to dress myself. I have no sense of style, and the thought of shopping often makes me nauseous. Part of my current fashion retardation stems from the fact that i have gained some weight (especially since not smoking has given me the urge to eat constantly) and don't particularly revel in the thought of buying clothes in my current size. That said, I get home from work on Wednesdays - put on fleece sweatpants & a t-shirt, whip my hair into a ponytail and proceed to become the most vicious couch critic in the history of fashion.

"That hem is atrocious!," I might say or "I can't believe he would send THAT down the runway!"

Of course, if any of the budding designers on the show were able to see me and my standard uniform of jeans, tank top and a cardigan, they would probably scream little girly screams whilst scratching at their eyes in order to avoid having such bad fashion permanently burned into their retinas. Someone that willingly buys clothes from Old Navy or *gasp* Target (such as myself) are probably a creature from their worst nightmare.

Thing is, even if I had the money to spend on designer duds, I would have no idea what to buy. Knowing me, if someone were to actually give me money and tell me to go buy something "fashion forward" - I would end up looking like this



rather than this.



Where do I seek help for this complete and total style stupidity? Can trend be learned?