Chrissy Teigen’s James Brown*

I’m a satire writer. I felt the need to start with that, in case you’re new here or you haven’t already realized that 90% of my blog is humor-based.

So, I think almost anything is laugh-till-I-pee funny.

It’s true.

My friends either love or hate going to the movies with me, because there’s a 110% chance I’ll be the loudest one laughing at every.single hint of a joke.

I laugh at myself and my ineptness. I laugh at fart and poop jokes. Hell, I laugh at farts. Every fart. I laugh at the fact that my boyfriend and I call each other Miss and Mr. Poopy Butthole (instead of the usual “Honey” or “Sweetie” *gagging noise*). I laugh at my students’ corny straight-from-the-dollar-special-Scholastic-knock-knock-book. Like, I genuinely laugh. I laugh at puppies simply being puppy-y. I laugh when conversations turn awkward. I laugh at my dad’s pronunciation of a Yoo-hoo as Yo-ho.

I fucking think everything is funny.

Well, almost.

Not everything is funny.

What makes me stop dead in my tracks during a laughing fit?

What makes me instantly get on my high horse soap box?

You want to know?

It’s when people pass off utter, on-purpose stupidity as “cute”.

I’m all for laughing at silly things like this:


Because it’s not stupidity, it’s a misunderstanding, turned hilarity.

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Recently, I stumbled upon a stupid af BuzzFeed article about–are you ready for this–Chrissy Teigen’s butthole.

Get this, despite having had sex with her husband, however many hundreds (thousands) of times, she had no clue he’d spied her butthole.

Apparently, she had always assumed her coffee crumpet was the one sacred place left on her body that her husband had not seen.

Chrissy, didn’t you ever wonder why all of your friends were getting their assholes bleached? No, it wasn’t for health reasons. SMH.
I really don’t aim to be a snotty bitch, but, really? How can someone be that dumb?

Furthermore, why are we perpetuating the stupidity by glorifying it?

All images from BuzzFeed, obviously. 



I was planning on completely dismissing this article as a slow news day at BuzzFeed, until I continued reading (why did I continue reading??), and was forced to choke down her grammatically incorrect, cringe-worthy tweet.

There are at least 11,378 fools out there who either didn’t even notice the lack of any understanding of grammar whatsoever in her post or they just didn’t care.

WE NEED TO START CARING.

As an educator, it is literally my job to spread knowledge and to stop the scourge of ignorance.

Why are we continuing to share, repost, retweet, and glorify stupidity masked in I’m-pretty-so-it’s-OK?

So, I did my due diligence as an educator, and I commented on the poor grammar and lame subject of an article someone actually got paid to write, and I was met with being called a “judgemental bitch”.

I will be honest, I was my usual snarky, dripping-in-satire-self, but I simply can’t sit by, as someone’s stupidity is celebrated, and do nothing.

In hindsight, maybe I should have privately messaged Chrissy, and said something along the lines of:

“Chrissy, sweetie, I’m not being mean when I say this, and really, I’m just trying to help you, but you might want to invest in a basic human anatomy book. While you’re at it, you might want to also add to your Amazon cart, “Grammar For Dummies”. Actually, no. What am I thinking? You’re paid for your good looks. You don’t need basic common sense. Nah. You’re good. Forget I even said anything.”

Too much?

While I’m at it, ladies, can we stop playing the dumb, because it’s perceived-as-cute-card?

Maybe Chrissy Teigen is secretly a rocket scientist, but since women are still more valued for their looks, she plays that role, because a girl’s gotta eat?

Either way, I don’t care how “judgemental” I’m perceived to be, I’m going to continue fighting ignorance one snarky, time-wasting social media comment war at a time.

*James Brown= slang for butthole.

 

WTF Wednesdays #13: BuzzFeed Edition

Holy shit, ya’ll! I did something crazy! Last Friday, I sent my application to BuzzFeed London for a summer Writer Fellow position!

I think I hinted at engaging in something that could be a life-changer in my Wednesday post last week. I figured I had better explain further.

After an especially stressful day teaching, I started searching for writing gigs. I was suddenly struck with the thought, “What about BuzzFeed?” So, I searched their job opportunities, saw the fellow program in London, and was just like, “HOLY SHIT. YES!”

Not only is this gig in my favorite city that just happens to reside in my favorite country, it is a writing opportunity for the summer (I have been on the search for a summer job abroad). It really couldn’t have been more perfect.

I first saw this job posting last Monday and the application was due that Friday.

This wouldn’t have been that big of a deal for Last-Minute-Lorna (one of my many alter-egos), but the application requirements were intensive.

Not that that is a bad thing. I mean, I’d rather apply to an organization that only wants the best of the best than an institution that has no standards, but I had a week to get it all done. A week. 

This sounds like a lot, but it really isn’t. It.really.isn’t.

This is what was required to apply:

  • 3 non-fiction pieces that are at minimum 1,000 words each (I sent Aerial AnticsLinda, and Felony Stop)
  • A cover letter including:
    • 3-5 pitches that the applicant feels are relevant and that BuzzFeed London would be interested in
    • 2-3 literary influences that have helped shape the applicant’s writing, perspective, and style
    • Career goals and what the applicant would want to accomplish if given the opportunity to work at BuzzFeed London

The pitches were the hardest part, and what I spent most of my week on. Not only did I want to come up with original (or, if not entirely original, a new, Fatty McCupcakes-esque spin on an existing theme) ideas, I needed to make sure they would fit within the culture of BuzzFeed London. I revised and edited precisely a million times. I also enlisted the help of my editor and two English friends who are also fellow writers.

(Somehow, even after re-reading precisely 8,457 times and handing my draft over to my editor, I messed up my numbering and there were a couple pretty glaring typos. Woes is me, I cunt count. So, likely, my application was immediately sent to the trash bin.) 

My literary influences and the write up I sent is as follows:

As white-girl-basic as it may make me sound, Sophie Kinsella is my writing idol. At a time when I was still young and dumb enough to think that getting myself out of debt snafus was as easy as having an upscale yard sale, Kinsella was my spiritual guide on all shopping, love, and oh-shit-I’m-really-screwed matters. Her character, Becky, was a cooler, more British (like, a lot more, since I’m zero British), savvier version of myself. What I learned from Kinsella’s writing was how to reach my readers on a personal, relatable level. In reading Kinsella, I learned the fine art of self-deprecation-poking fun at one’s self and pointing out personal downfalls without seeming whiny or oppressed. Not to mention, Kinsella’s humor and hijinks have been the basis for how I’ve found my own writer’s voice.

The Twelve Little Cakes by Dominika Dery was the first memoir I ever read. In hopes of weaning me off Kinsella, my mom purchased this book for me at the Dollar Store, no less. She thought it looked meatier than your average chick-lit book, and it had “cakes” in the title. She figured it would be a win. For once, my mother’s literary suggestions paid off, and I was utterly engrossed by Dery’s life growing up in Communist Prague. It was in this book that I found the beauty in telling a story about one’s life, however mundane. Dery’s life was by no means unremarkable, but the real essence of her story was found in the simple goings-on of her family. Because Dery told her story in such a way that you could have sworn she lived right down the street, every word was like coming home. Dery’s The Twelve Little Cakes has been hugely influential for how I write my own beautifully mundane stories.

I was first introduced to Khaled Hosseini via the movie, The Kite Runner. Strangely, The Kite Runner was not my first reading of Hosseini, but A Thousand Splendid Suns. This books sits on my nightstand, dusty, but not forgotten. Hosseini was my first introduction into the beautifully chaotic Middle East and the misunderstood Islam faith. Before having read a book on the topic of Islam, written by a Muslim author, I was blind. After delving heart first into A Thousand Splendid Suns and then devouring book after book on the Middle East, I am now intoxicated by the rhythmic prose and haunting stories of suffering, love, and loss found in Hosseini’s books. As a writer, I have learned from his books how to tell a deeply complex and emotionally charged story with only a few words.

I am hoping that my three literary influences show that I am complex, a deep thinker, and am open to new perspectives, and not just a basic, white bitch. Because, as much as I am basic, I am multifarious.

So, now I wait.

Honestly, it was most likely a crap shoot, a shot in the dark, a first step of many yet to come. But, a part of me is holding out hope that I somehow stood out among the thousands of others applicants. And, those applicants had worse typos than me. 

But, also…

I feel insecure sometimes about my ability. Do I even have an ability to write? Am I relevant, but original? Can I bring up serious topics without alienating my readers? Will I run out of ways to be an asshole in my writing? Will I fail to come up with ways to poke fun at myself and be self-deprecating?

Am I even a writer?

This is my deranged-self-conscious-waiting-to-hear-about-an-opportunity-I-really-want-behavior.

I don’t even know if the rejects will hear if they were rejected. I guess if it’s July 1st and I’m not on a plane to London, I didn’t get it. 

WHAT DO I DO IN THE MEANTIME? 

Just be glad you don’t live with me and have to deal with this on an hourly basis. My poor, poor boyfriend. 

 

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