PART OF EVERY DAY

I
WANT TO ROCK N ROLL ALL NIGHT
AND PARTY EVERY DAY
I
WANT TO ROCK N ROLL ALL NIGHT
AND PARTY EVERY DAY
I

You mean "and part of every day"

well,
if I had my druthers
I'd party all day long
but, you are correct, there is currently only part of my day which I can allocate to partying


especially with this baby on the way.

oh, this baby?
the baby in my tummy?
this baby is going to party for sure
I'm planning on being a 'cool' parent
"Hey, Kids. If you're going to drink, do it at our house."
or
"Hey Kids, if you're going to smoke some weed, do it at our house."
or
"Hey Kids, if you're going to have unprotected sex, have it with Uncle Jimmy at our house."
and then all the kids will be like, "Your mom sure does party every day."
and she will be alll, "No, only part of every day."

Yeah, I can't wait to teach her to smoke

GET IT TOGETHER, CHICAGO

Dear Chicago,

Let's get this straight from the top of this letter. No, I will NOT call you Chi-Town or Chi-City or any of the other stupid, shit-ass names only tourists call you (that goes for you, too, 'Windy City.' That one isn't even because of the wind. I mean, COME ON!)

Now that we have that out of the way, I want to let you know that I love you, baby. I really do. It's just sometimes you do things that make me want to push you down the stairs Ike-Turner-Style.

10.25% sales tax.

CPS has a 50% graduation rate. (And this is after the magnet schools bring the average up? Is that actually true? Someone confirm this for me!)

Murder capital of the US.

And yet, we're only the 3rd Fattest City in the US. (Which probably means 'world' because let's face it, are there OTHER fat countries?)

Chicago, get it together!! What is going on here? I'm not going to leave you, girl. I just want to know what we can do to get your shit together. We need you to both hunker down and focus. There is litter ALL OVER my neighborhood. My friends are getting propositioned on their way to the gym. You can't balance the budget of the City OR the CTA. Oh, the CTA? It smells like piss because PEOPLE ARE PISSING ON IT. No amount of fare hike is going to stop the homeless from pissing on it.

Look, I love you, Chicago. I want to help you. I know the fancy planters downtown full of seasonal flowers and fountains that change with the seasons fools the people from Iowa in to thinking that our city is 'clean' and 'friendly' but we all know better.

We lost the Olympics because we're WORSE.THAN.RIO.

I don't pretend, and won't pretend that I know how to fix things, but I'm guessing it has to start with us - since King Richard has no interest in changing anything.

And since I've been saying for over a year I was going to join the community center and start a litter pick up group, and I haven't - well, I guess I'm part of the problem.

"Well, OF COURSE Woody Allen defends Roman Polanski." -Soon-Yi Previn

SEXY WORK LADIES

Dear People that Leave Lipstick on Cups,
I think it's just great that you're sexy
The workplace is a great place to meet hot, elligible bachelors.
You never know when and where love will strike, and we do have two, young single men here at the office to impress.
I am saying this because I do not begrudge you wearing your lipstick in the office.
You need to trap a mans and I realize that.
My humble, and decidely un-sexy request is only this:
You know you wear lipstick to work and you've seen what it leaves behind on cups and mugs.
So, maybe you could just wipe that off at the end of the day when you've finished using your vessel for liquids?
I mean, scientifically speaking, it will never come off in the dish washer - it's a wax-based item. This isn't an oil and water not mixing without a base like soap issue.
This is a wax on ceramics and plastics issue
I shall not delve further, because I recongnize the un-sexiness of this topic.
So, to sum up: Fuck off and clean up after yourself.
Thanks,
Doudy Old Emily

CHECK 'EM OUT!

my lovely lady nuts
check 'em out!

"you're going to get folks drunk on your lady nuts"

check 'em out!
where was I when they were writing that song?
it's just so lyrically challenging
I mean, spending all your time and money on me because you like my lumps? It's almost spiritual.

"Are you sure that's the word for it?"

uhm
it's like an epiphany - previous to the release of that song, I was unclear that my body parts, henceforth known as 'lumps' could be so beneficial in my pursuit of companionship and material possessions
check 'em out!

"Also, That song makes me want to kill"

would you say it's gonna make you scream make you scream?

"It's gonna make me do something"

it's it gonna make you spend all your money?
I don't know what's worse
the actual music
or the lyrics
Dear Sarah Furgeson, or however your last name is spelled.
It has come to my attention that you have assisted in setting back women's rights another 20 years.
Thank you for taking the admitted five minutes to put pen to paper and 'compose' a song about your humps, and how without them, you would not have material possessions. I realize, "my brains, my brains, my lovely lady brains," or "my lovely sheer will and determination to earn an equal wage," doesn't rhyme as well.
Kudos to you for finding 'the hook'
My song would have paled in comparison.

"Agreed, and it's Stacy Furgeson"

Oh
right
The other talks about weight loss
hahaha
an equally important women's issue

"Oh yes, for all women to constantly think about"

exactly
if you don't think about it, you're fat

"Which is always bad"

fat chicks = unhappy chicks
check 'em out!

HE-MAN PEE-MAN

I have a penchant for nick-naming people. I cannot address people by the name that their parents so lovingly chose for them. Just ask Big Nosed Sally or AIDS Riddled Jim.

This tendency to change people's names has me most concerned. Did I bestow the moniker He-Man Pee-Man unto He-Man Pee-Man? In third grade, in Oklahoma City, we had a kid named He-Man Pee-Man – or HMPM as I will now refer to him. To be fair, He-Man was a beloved cartoon/toy character of the day - so that aspect of the story was a real positive! Go He-Man! It's the Pee-Man part that was cruel, but hey, kids can be cruel! This was a time in my life when I was known as Bucky Beaver so I may not be the most sympathetic point of view.

At the bus stop early one morning waiting with the other children to happily scamper along to our daily lessons we had one among our ranks that was not going to be doing as much learning with his day. In elementary school, being different – like crime – doesn’t pay.

“Hey, Retard, what’s two plus two?” The bullies began to encircle the child and leer at him with their non-chromosomally-challenged grins. Obviously, said mentally incapable child stammered, uncertain of what to say. I had to help this child! My mother always told me to help those less fortunate, and it was certainly most unfortunate to not know simple addition!

“Do you know the square root of 25? Kids that are good at math know that!” Why a third-grader would think of this is beyond me, but I said it, and it was out there.

“Listen to the retard-lover protecting her boyfriend.” Ouch. I was most certainly not his lover, nor was he my boyfriend. First of all, the word ‘lover’ is most generally disgusting sounding. On top of that, my boyfriend in my mind was Ricky Schroeder for crying out loud! I turned to look at the boy to whose aid I had so quickly rushed for answers, but he just gazed back at me shaking his back and forth and was seemingly disgusted by the prospect of having me as his paramour. “Oooh, the retard doesn’t want to kiss Bucky Beaver. Her teeth would poke his tiny brain out the back of his skull.”

HOLY CRAP. Had I just been rejected by a kid that was mentally challenged? This was a harbinger of dateless nights in my adulthood to come! Before I had the chance to cry, my Snoopy lunch box was snatched from me by a hulking kid not much smarter, but more socially acceptable than my non-boyfriend, and tossed across the street. Oh, to have a metal lunchbox still! The cheap plastic one shattered in the bitter winter cold upon hitting the concrete. Thanks a lot, Charles M. Schulz. I barely managed to scrape together my tuna sandwich and carrot sticks before the bus finally rounded the corner.

Needless to say, I was having a bad day, and perhaps I took it out on He-Man Pee Man. HMPM had the unfortunate circumstance of constantly smelling of urine. Combine that with actual pee-stains on his trousers, and you have a recipe for disaster.

Honestly, now that I think about it - the kid was obviously being neglected by his family or abused. What mother would send their kid to school with pee pants? Why would a 3rd Grader wet his pants? He was probably panda touched - and this thought is real downer. Now pee pants - those are funny! HMPM had the physical ability to stop wetting his pants any time! I mean, overcome, HMPM! Rise above, HMPM! Grab life by the Depends and pinch the tip of your wee-wee until you can get to the restroom! I got braces on my teeth! You can do this!

You know, just because kids were mean to me all of the time, (actually, up until last week - and quite honestly, I'm still afraid of 11-year-old children.) didn’t mean that it was okay for me to deflect my misery and add to it my gift of naming others to create a cocktail of misery for HMPM. I had to sit by him that day, and the scent of uric acid wafting up my nose was too much for me to hand that day. It just flowed out, like a golden shower of cruelty, and I said it. “He-Man Pee Man!”

I'd feel badly, but hey - everyone agreed - kid smelled like piss. Facts is facts, piss is piss, and the phrase “He-Man Pee Man” was out there from that day forward in the third grade lexicon to ring in my guilty conscious for all eternity.

If you're in your 30’s, live in Oklahoma and have a propensity to wet your pants...If you've ever been called He-Man Pee-Man, then I'm sorry. I am not positive it was my fault...I'm just hoping it was. That's a funny nickname.

DICTIONARY

As someone who was a virgin until they were 23 (go ahead, I'll pause for laughter…) there were a few words that weren't part of my personal lexicon as a kid.

Oral Sex: I remember when I first heard that term. I was 12 or 13 years old. Some family friends were visiting for the day and Sarah and I decided to take a walk around town. And let me just say how cool I felt! I was walking around town with a friend! I had hoped everyone would see me and wonder, "I didn't know Emily had a friend! Who is that girl she is with? She looks like a cool-kid from Omaha. Maybe Emily is cool." Just to let you know - these sorts of scenarios never happen. Those things happen in movies only. Well, movies or stories that I make up in my head to stop the crying at night.

Anyway, we were walking to get some ice cream at our local, small-town Dairy Sweet. (Remember readers: all small towns have one.) Sarah looks at me and says, "I have a question for you. Have you ever heard of Oral Sex?"

I was absolutely puzzled. No. I had not. "No, I haven't."

"Well, someone said it at school the other day, and I was too embarrassed to ask what it is. What do you suppose it is?"

Now, while I had a limited sex knowledge-base, I had seen diagrams and had watched some late-night television commercials. Additionally, I had always been of the school of sounding something out and context clues. "Well, Oral means 'mouth' so maybe it means to talk about it on the phone?" I may have had public education, but I did remember that if you don't know the meaning of a compound word, you break it down...

"Yeah, I bet it's what they talk about on those party lines you see on TV where sexy people talk on the phone."

"Probably. It's probably just people talking about sex."

"Weird. They made it sound so much better at school."

I bet they did.

Douche Bag: I remember it like it was yesterday. I finally had a place to sit at a table with other kids. Sweet! I wasn't even at the end of the table being a weird hang-er-on-er. I was actually just sitting there having lunch with other students. Things were going well for me, and I had just made someone laugh. Everything was coming up Emily for the day. I was about to continue ingratiating myself when Derek came up behind us and asked...

"Katie, do you douche?"Katie looked confused, but shrugged her shoulders and replied, "No."

"Ewwww! Sick!" He then turned to the girl next to her, repeated the question, and when that girl said, "Yes" he replied, "Ewwww! Sick!"

He made his way around the table asking each girl if she douched, and whether the answer was 'yes' or 'no' each time he would follow it with, "Ewww, Sick."

I remember distinctly Tammy turning to me and saying, "Do you know what a douche is?" I was panicked. I DIDN’T know what it was, and I DIDN’T do it, but wasn’t sure if I should. I whispered back to her, "No, but either way, it's disgusting. Just say your mom told you not to tell."

That seemed to work and he moved on.

Naturally, I went home and immediately asked my mom what a douche was. You should have seen the look on her face. She tried not to laugh and asked me why I would ask about it. I told her the story and asked her if she could settle the debate as to whether it was sick or not sick to douche. That was, after all, the question.

Mom replied, almost verbatim, "Douche is when a lady squirts soap or vinegar up in to her vagina because she has had sex with too many men and doesn't shower properly. Your natural pH balance should take care of your vaginal enzymes. You are clean. Does that help?"

THAT IS SO DISGUSTING. What kind of mother says that? The same kind of mother that explains sex to you by pulling out diagrams and charts when you mistakenly ask at ten where babies come from. And who draws those diagrams of wombs and penis parts? I preferred my answer of 'no comment.'

Slut and C.U.Next.Tuesday: There were two girls in my seventh-grade class that cursed like sailors. Tiffany and Jessica were 'rough around the edges' sorts of girls, but popular nonetheless. I think this was due in large part to the fact that they could beat up all of the boys in our class and they were a foot taller than everyone else. These two were inseparable (perhaps sharing a common interest in abusive home lives and drunken parents combined with 5 inch high mall bangs) until the time when Jessica moved away...except for one day...

Going up the stairs to our classes after recess the two of them aired some dirty laundry for the rest of us to hear.

"Jessica, if you weren't such a slut, we wouldn't be fighting." (Insert collective 'ooh' from the crowd.)

"Well, if you weren't such a cunt you would know I'm not a slut. You are." (Sorry to the sensitive readers out there, but that's the word she used. don't be so sensitive. Also, that’s some killer logic!)

Insert collective 'ahhh' from the crowd.

We were watching in awe, but too afraid to say anything, lest they decided to team back up and beat up the lot of us right then and there for eaves dropping on their fight. The bell rang and us goody-goody types returned to our classes, but these white trash spawn had burned forever in my brain two of the greatest swears of all time.

That night, at the dinner table, my brother was being a little creep as usual and wouldn't pass me something and in fact, said he wouldn't because he hated me. "Fine, keep it, you slut."My mom gasped a horrible, puritanical wheeze, "What... did... you... call... your... brother?"

So I tossed my hand to the side and rolled my eyes, "He's being a cunt and won't let me have it."

My dad flipped. "WHAT DID YOU CALL YOUR BROTHER?" He was probably upset because my uncle had also used that word to describe salad dressing at the table.

Mom calmed herself slightly as she cleared her throat and asked, "Honey, do you know what those words mean?"

Did I know what those words mean? Of course! I was now a lady of the world! No longer did I have to rely on words like ‘ass’ or ‘stupid!’ I rolled my eyes and replied, "Yeah. Like, stupid and dumb, but really stupid like you want to fight."

My mom sighed patiently and began, "Honey, a slut is a loose woman of the night that has sex with men for money. And a...

(pause...stall...pause...not wanting to say it...) cunt is a very terrible word for a lady's vagina. It means 'dirty vagina.' (Perhaps it needed douching?) We do not use those words in this house. Where did you learn them?"

My reply was the biggest social mistake of my young life, "From Tiffany and Jessica." This cost me my first boy/girl party. Jessica was having a going away party and invited the entire class and I wasn't allowed to go because my mom didn't think I was old enough for boy/girl parties and she didn’t like the way those girls talked. I was also dumb enough to actually cite that as the reason I wasn't going. I wasn't invited to another boy/girl party again until college.