Old and New Links

I found a post draft from a few weeks ago with a few links I never shared with you.

Want 'em?

Sure.

The Old

Vintage Crime Scene Photos Superimposed on Modern NY Streets (Warning: Graphic)

Very nifty.

No Friendship Can Compare To This One Between A Dog And An Elephant

Life. Complete.

Comedy Gold

BAHAHAHA. Some excellent ones on here. Some...not so good.

The New

For Everyone Who Has A “Thing” For Redhead Men

....I'll be in my bunk.

Everything You Need to Know About Douchebags You Can Learn From Booze

Oh god. SO GOOD. My favorites:

"Tequila is a man with hand tattoos and hairy feet who makes you feel terrible about yourself."

"IPA doesn't get along with your friends."

Party Like It’s 1988. Celebrating The Best Songs From A Quarter Century Ago

Yeah. Let's travel back to the year of my birth, and get down.

A Stealth Dick

So, MI? The Chicago boy in my bed yesterday?

Turned out to be a bit of a dick.

I mean, not totally. Down to his very core, maybe not. But yeah, he showed some dickish behavior. I might even go so far as to proclaim him a stealth asshole.

The details of how I came to realize this are pretty much unimportant. I give plenty of TMI on this blog, but this data is too T, even for me. But suffice it to say the cherry on top of the dick sundae is that he cancelled on me for tonight, his last night in town, quite unceremoniously, without even a perfunctory apology.

Dick.

Star Trekkin'

Last night after therapy (rescheduled from Wednesday since I had my work BBQ) I met up with my daddy-o in Culver City for Chipotle and Star Trek! Super entertaining, I recommend it.

However, the intent of the film was probably not for me to walk away with a crush on the villain, but that's what happened.

Mmm. Benedict Cumberbatch. So weirdly attractive.

That is all.

Man Meat

Have you all heard about this "Kitchen Nightmares" drama?

Basically, the finale of the show aired last week, and the featured restaurant owners went batshit crazy on Facebook, bring the wrath of the entire Internet down upon themselves.

And it was amazing.

I watched their episode of "Kitchen Nightmares" on YouTube, and it was some high-quality entertainment, I have to say. And I found myself incredibly, undeniably, thoroughly attracted to the host, Gordon Ramsay.

Via realityravings.com

So all I've been doing for the last two days is watching more episodes. I'm surprisingly entertained, considering I don't watch a ton of this sort of reality tv.

Gordon screams a lot.

It excites me.

I can't stop watching.

God, he's tasty.

Via hillreeves.com

D'aww.

A Sunday afternoon on Pinterest, scroll scroll scroll, click click click, then BAM.

You find this.

And your world is complete.

Abercrombie & Fat Bitches

I've known for years that Abercrombie & Fitch is not a place I wish to shop.

I mean, I'm not gonna lie to you. In middle school, when I was developing too early and I had fat bulging out in all the right and wrong places, I wished I could shop there. I envied my stick thin friends who pranced around in tiny shorts and dresses from A&F, and more than once I stepped foot into those hallowed halls, reeking of strong cologne, walls plastered with idealized, half naked bodies. I'd try on everything I could, and finally leave clutching a bag with more fantasy images containing one or two of their t-shirts. No doubt emblazoned with the logo, so I could show it off.

But I grew out of that era quickly, luckily.

An anonymous commenter requested I weigh in on the whole Abercrombie CEO hating fat chicks thing.

I mean...what da fuck, yeah. Seriously. But also...yeah, and this is news?

I knew it then, at ages eleven and twelve, bespectacled and tubby, and Mike Jeffries is just confirming it now (or in 2006, when he made these comments): Abercrombie is for the cool kids.

This is not a surprise to me.

I mean, obviously this is goddamn bullshit and I'm outraged. Abercrombie doesn't make women's clothing in an XL or XXL, 'cause you know, fat chicks be gross, y'all. Jeffries said some disgusting things I care not to repeat here because I AM A FUCKING LADY. Everyone who has half a brain should never step foot in one of these stores again. Burn 'em to the ground...metaphorically, by withholding your dollar.

But getting riled up about it is exactly what a supreme alpha male douchebag like this Jeffries creature probably expected back in, god, 2006, when I was a mere child graduating high school...shit. He wants controversy, and attention, and all these impressionable so called "cool kids" to aspire to not be gross normal fatties like us and want to wear his clothes. Which is a tragic state of affairs for our society, but I fear I may speaketh the truth.

So don't shop there. And don't cave to this ideal, this message he's trying to send. It's health, not perfection, it's happiness, not "cool". Be you, not some Abercrombiebot.

And fuck you, Mike Jeffries.

No one wants to see some perfectly skinny airbrushed fantasy right now, right?

Let's check out some abs.

Apologizes to any male readers I am currently making feel bad with my
objectification and promotion of perfect male ideals. But DAMN. 

The Foreign Land of Man: A Timeline of Love

I remember when I first started "dating" my first "boyfriend". I air-quote that shit because we didn't really date, and he wasn't my boyfriend, but it was my first romantic experience, and it was a thing.

We spent most of our time hanging out in his parents' office, watching movies and making out. Then we started moving into his bedroom occasionally for more serious making out. He said that every time we stepped foot into his room, I hesitated and looked around in wonder like I'd never been there before.

Like it was a foreign land.

I still kind of feel that way when I enter a guy's room. Honestly, it doesn't happen very often. The last time was oh, say...almost a year ago. And that was like, just ONCE.

I really don't have a ton of manly experience. This last year of online dating increased it significantly, but to describe my history would be fairly brief.

A timeline follows behind the cut. Behind the cut, because my father reads this blog, and this is INAPPROPRIATE.*

*Moreso than everything else you write, Taylor? Good point.

Nonsense Links

Roger Ebert's 20 Most Epic Movie Pans

Rest in peace, Roger. You were seriously a wonderful, hilarious talent.

"I had a colonoscopy once, and they let me watch it on TV. It was more entertaining than The Brown Bunny."

Classical Portraits of Extreme Plastic Surgery

Whoa. This is seriously blowing my mind. Fascinating. Honestly, I often wonder if I'll fall victim to the temptation of plastic surgery, I already detest the lines in my face, but man...

Make Your Own Pizzas That Look Like Cheese-Filled Ice Cream Cones

OH MY GOD I WANT TO PUT IT IN MY MOUTH.

Dogs Wearing Pantyhose, A Popular New Meme in China

I don't know how I feel about this. I think I feel disturbed.

Des Hommes et des Chatons

My whole life has come to this.

The Trap

I finally, FINALLY, took my car in this morning to get fixed up after my accident in August. Yeah. AUGUST. First people were refusing to give statements, then everyone was fighting over whose fault it was, but it was never MY fault, and I gave my statement, so I just waited patiently for my check, and now I get my damn car fixed.

So, I take Miss Marilyn to the auto body shop today, and get picked up by a cutie from the car rental company. As we're driving to get my loaner, we're chatting, and seriously within five or six sentences he just had to awkwardly drop in, "my wife blahblahblah..." Either to let me know, or remind himself, that he is married.

What, did it seem like I was trying to trap him with my insistence on being oh so nice?

It amuses me how guys assume any time you're remotely polite, you're flirting. I mean, I would have flirted, had the opportunity presented itself, but I had yet to flirt, and he had to go and shoehorn his wife into the convo, in a totally inorganic way, just to point out he had one.

Silly boys. It's like once they're taken, they think every vagina is a trap, a honey trap, built to entice, lure, tempt, taunt. Was it absolutely necessary to mention the wife? Could we not have had a nice, pleasant conversation, and parted amicably, without him having to mention his marriage license?

Apparently not.

I don't really have a point, except he was a well-trained husband.

For The Biff

Time for Trade

Tonight was my first yoga for trade shift at my studio! From here on out (or until they fire me, or I decide I'd rather pay $100+ bucks a month again instead of working on Friday nights) I will be cleaning the studio three hours a week in exchange for unlimited yoga.

Pretty solid deal, right? It works out to be more than $10 an hour, or if I go 3+ times a week, one class per hour, and I'm hoping it'll get me more involved in the community, and maybe I'll even make a FRIEND. Just one. I'm not greedy.

And my prediction came true. I knew I'd be working with a guy, and I figured he'd be hot and have lickable abs. Yup. Hot, as most yoga boys seem to be, and nice. And since there were two of us, there was less work overall. It got to be about 7, and he asked me if I was planning to take a class.

"We can...we can DO THAT?!" My mouth dropped open.

So I did. Two classes in one day.

Unfortunately, I didn't have my shit together in time to do the 7:15, which would have been my preference (my stuff was in the car, as I didn't think I'd be practicing), so I did the 7:30 sculpt with him. Well, not WITH him, he was in the front and I was in the back, but you know.

1) Laid down most of the time.

2) 'Cause this teacher was fucking BRUTAL. Without a doubt the hardest teacher at the studio, he was seriously kicking everyone's ass, no matter how in shape they were. Honestly, he wasn't really to my taste, very "gym" in tone, like "one two three vinyasa!",  but he was really nice and positive, maybe I'll try his classes again but NOT sculpt for awhile!

After class, my fellow cleaner finished his shift, and I mopped down the floors, dragging my already exhausted ass around with a mop.

Just as I was telling the instructor that my nickname is "Hurricane Taylor" because I make a mess wherever I go, I spilled the entire bucket of soapy water all over the studio floor.

That was fun.

I'm such a disaster.

I'll confess, I was having major anxiety all day about tonight. I had convinced myself I'd forgotten everything I'd learned at the training, everything I know about how to clean, how to be a responsible adult, how to be a person. I was convinced I'd accidentally burn a hole in the floor. So, I guess spilling a bucket of water is the best it could have gone.

Yeah, that was my night. Total I was there almost four hours, so I feel okay about taking a class during my work shift.

And then I drove up to SB and now I'm tucked into bed with the pup, ready for another spa-like weekend of housesitting.

What Men Want

A few weeks ago while hanging out with my college roomie, we discussed a common observation amongst ladies of a certain age. Our age, that is.

The two of us are, quite proudly, slaves to the feminine ideal. I myself have spent hundreds, probably more like thousands of dollars over the course of the past decade or so making myself pretty for my preferred sex. I'm guessing lots of girls are in my same boat. We buy makeup and hair products and tight skinny jeans, we cram our feet into high heeled shoes that lengthen our legs and kill our toes, and shove our breasts into constricting bras that lift and smoosh and are designed to attract the penis-having kind.

But you know when guys go the craziest? You know when it was my high school boyfriend decided he fell in love with me (at least, according to him)? You know when my roomie's long-term boyfriend says she looked the hottest she's ever looked, and had to attack her right then and there?

I was fresh out of the shower, in cutoff sweats and a wife beater, and she was in borrowed drawstring pants four sizes too big.

Seriously, what the fuck?

Apparently, what men want is not heels and curls and face paint, it's wet hair and baggy pajamas and zero fucks given.

Is it the vulnerability that's appealing? Seeing a woman at her most undone, like she's in bed? Or is it just that guys really do prefer a more natural look, if "natural" means "no effort"?

I don't know. I don't get it.

I'm still gonna paint myself up, though. 'Cause that saying is true, girls really do dress up for girls, not for guys. And I dress up for me, because it makes me feel better about myself.

But seriously, I know if I really want to snag me a husband, I just need to go out looking like crap.

Wait. I do that anyway.

A Response To Steubenville

As a follow up to the Steubenville mess...

Sun and Sand

Of course, a beach walk. You didn't think I'd have a Santa Barbara weekend without one, did you?

A slight change to the line up of the usual suspects this time, though: a boy. Here's proof that, yes, I do have male friends.

I know, right? That's, well...a former manfriend, let's say. We dated then we didn't then maybe I kind of rerunned a bit on that for awhile, and now we're just friends who mostly chat online and exchange links and shit. I haven't seen in him in months and he accompanied us on a glorious morning stroll.

I offered to make lunch for him, but unfortunately he is the only human being in the world that Deuce does not like. He was fine at the beach because it was neutral territory, but the second we got back to the house and started to go inside he freaked out and started barking and biting at my friend's feet, so he decided he'd rather eat somewhere else. Boo.

Weird dog.

My Ginger Fetish

I got honked at in traffic the other day.

Usually I assume every single honk I hear is meant for me, so self-absorbed am I, and they never are. I'm usually a pretty good driver. This one was though. This one was directed right at my idling ass as I sat blocking traffic at a green light, distracted by the sight of a particularly gorgeous ginger jogger on the sidewalk.

He was delicious. Shaggy red hair. Nice shoulders. Aviators. Abs glistening with rivulets of sweat, thighs strong in tight running shorts, ass I certainly wouldn't mind grabbing and...

Ahem.

Guys, I have a problem.

You'd think I would have learned my lesson after dating a few gingers. They tend to misbehave. Soulless creatures. But I cannot resist.

So let's check some out.

Prince Harry

Via The Sun

Damian Lewis

Via Salon.com

Tom Hiddleston

Via ONTD

Seth Green

Via LATimes.com

Michael Fassbender

Via Celebitchy

Oh, deary deary me. I'm feeling a bit flustered.

Too bad gingers are apparently so disinterested in me.

Fickle little fuckers.

Hump Day

In honor of Hump Day Wednesday and tomorrow's celebration of love, it seems reasonable to bring you a brief photo demonstration of men I would like to hump.

Because I'm classy.

This is by no means an exhaustive list. If you're famous, and your picture doesn't appear here, I probably still want to hump you. Email me, we'll talk.

Michael Fassbender

Joe Manganiello

Eddie Redmayne

Wilson Bethel

Pardon me, I'm like this...