I Would Switch Hit for These Ladies

I know lots of women have a Freebie Five list of famous men they would bang hard and fast, but I thought I would change teams for the evening. I haven't a clue if it's normal for a woman who normally drives stick to fantasize about bushwhacking for the day. (Obviously there was that one evening in college, but I blame the Goldschlager.) Meh. It's a little late in life for me to start worrying about normality now.

My Top Five list changes often. Part of that has to do with being the ADHD poster girl (Was that a butterfly?), but some of it is not entirely my fault. I'll see a beautiful woman and think, "I would tap that in a millisecond." Then I hear them speak and I'm out. (Scarlett Johansson, I'm looking at you.)

Here's my list as it stands now. Please don't tell me if you know any any idiotic things they've said. I really don't have time to reorganize my list. My time is better spent stockpiling photos of pretty people. You know, in a non-creepy way.


KStew. Obviously. She's got the whole package — pretty face and hair, legs for miles and an ass you could bounce one of those giant Sacagawea dollars off of. I would hit that so fast her head would spin. Call me, Kristen. And keep the shoes on.


Emma Stone. I had to IMDB her to make sure Chris Hansen wasn't going to show up on my doorstep. What am I doing here, Mr. Hansen? Just ogling Emma Stone and wondering if she'll come play in my Zombieland. Er, wait. That didn't come out right. (P.S. — If you haven't seen Easy A, do yourself a favor and buy / rent / steal it immediately.)


Amy Adams. I have loved her forever. She already had my heart long before Enchanted, but I fell super duper, extra giant lesbian-in-a-heterosexual way in love with her in Sunshine Cleaning. The girl can act and she's gorgeous to boot. Bitch.


Idina Menzel. We are totally going to make out. If I could figure out how to make out with her while she serenades me, she would need a protective order against me. True story. Her voice is insane. She shouldn't be allowed to have that kind of talent and those kinds of looks. It's not fair to the rest of us.


Kristen Chenoweth. She is my all-time biggest crush ever. Everything about her is adorable. I want to carry her in my pocket forever and ever. I have no clue how a voice that big comes out of a person that small. I would marry her if I thought she'd have me. We could have crazy, wild monkey sex, Kristen. Bring the pie.


My last two crushes are related. I may or may not have a fantasy about an epic three-way. Bring the costumes. Let's get Wicked.

Now is your chance to make me feel normal. (This will be a new feeling for me, so I'm a little anxious.) Do you have any unexpected crushes? Lay your cards on the table. Keep your hands off my women, though. I feel very... protective of them.

Interior Decorating. For Some Reason, ML Won't Let Me Do It...

Even though ML and I have been living in our house for nearly two years, we’ve done a nominal amount of interior decorating. This isn’t necessarily because we’re lazy (though that does play a part in it) but because my darling boyfriend and I have very different ideas of what good home décor should be.

ML is slightly more conservative than me. His tastes run more along the lines of “Italian Grandmother” while mine are a tad bit kitschy and abstract. I think my decorating ideas are awesome. ML says they’re frightening. And demented.

I honestly don’t know what his problem is. How could anyone NOT want this hanging on their dining room wall???

I MUST get this. (Found at my favorite website for home decor, Regretsy)

That being said, ML has a birthday coming up and I wanted to surprise him by doing a little redecorating in his honor.

Did I mention he’s not home? Because he’s not home.

I enlisted the help of my best buddy ever, and Snarkier Than You showed up the other night with all sorts of amazing… stuff that would transform our living room from “meh” to “fucking shit-balls awesome”.

When ML left, our living room looked like this:

Before we continue, I need to address something in this picture. Yes, that's the backseat of a van near the Grandfather clock. When ML texted me, "where can I put this seat?" my response was, "somewhere where it's not noticeable." Well done, ML. Well fucking done.

Anyway, those three photos above are what our living room looked like when ML left.

This is what it looks like now:

Hey, at least there is still a stallion on it...

 

Oh look, it's Edward, Wolf-boy and Frodo Baggins' sister.

 Ah yes, that eye-sore of a benchseat looks MUCH better now.

If you ever want someone to come over and completely but tastefully defile your home with Twilight merchandise, STY is your gal. Let's admire some of her handiwork, mmmm?

 

When ML's away, the mini-Edwards will whip out the Pattinson Panties and get totally loaded off of shitty deer blood from their New Moon Thermos.

Of course it's hot in here! Look at those fucking panties.

I said "in a not-obvious place", ML. Payback is a bitch. 

I'm not a betting whore, but I'm gonna say that ML will be a little... astounded when he comes through that front door. Also? His whole band will be with him. I WIN!!!!

ML will have endless memories of the moment he walks through the door and sees this. Because his band will never EVER let him forget it. 

I'd wish ML a happy birthday on the blog but a) he doesn't read it (THANKFULLY) and b) he's probably going to be kill me. And STY. I'm totally blaming her.

What Happens When "A Case of the Mondays" Extends Beyond, Well, Monday

I'm not sure what it is lately that has us all amped up in a complete rage-y mess here at Twitarded -- maybe Jupiter is up Uranus or my anus or some shit like that. It just has to be planet related! It seems like every other email we exchange these days contains something along the lines of "are you sure it's not okay to punch someone in the kidney at work?" So of course, now I feel the need to jump on that big bitching bandwagon Jenny Jerkface and Texas Katherine started and complain about all those who piss me off. If I had my way, I'd be handing out more ass-kickings than Roadhouse Patrick Swayze (RIP dude).

"If somebody gets in your face and calls you a cocksucker, I want you to be nice."

Let's start with me. I totally pissed myself off today. I am a horrible parker. Normally, I would spend the extra couple of minutes to carefully fix my car if it looked like it would cause problems. But today, I got out of my car, noticed that I was diagonal between the lines, thought "huh, TK would totally bitchslap me for this", but instead of getting back in my car to correct my flawed attempt at parking, I shrugged my shoulders and headed into my office. Fuck it. Even I can't make me happy this week.

Speaking of cars and driving, I'm also really annoyed by the people who try to go through the EZ Pass lane but HAVE NO EZ PASS. Yo, shit-for-brains! Was the giant purple sign that says "EZ Pass ONLY" not fucking clear enough for you? Or maybe you thought someone had magically put an EZ Pass tag in your car when you weren't looking? Or were you just too busy texting or getting road-head to notice??

What? This isn't clear enough for you? **head desk**

If you find yourself in this lane -- here are a few tips on what not to do. First, don't park your car and get out waving your fucking dollar around hoping some kindhearted Turnpike Authority worker is going to come skipping over to your car to collect your toll. It's not gonna happen --believe me, their job is thankless enough. Second, since when does backing up sound like a good idea in rush hour traffic? Just go through the fucking thing and accept the consequences -- take it like a man!

But the thing that's causing most of my fury these days would be the inconsiderate assholes that travel my street. Since when did it become okay to just heave glass bottles and trash out of your car? Nothing pisses me off more than some taint licker mucking up the beautiful Maine scenery. Last I checked, Maine had a littering fine. Who knows when the last time it was enforced... but if one fucking cop just sat on my road and fined every litterer that traveled my street, I'm pretty sure we could take care of the state's deficit in like 3 months.

This has become more of a problem for me recently since I'm back to regular dog walking. It's a wicked lot of fun dodging piles of broken glass while making sure you or the dogs don't wander too close to the road where one of us could easily get mowed down by some idiot doing 60mph (the speed limit is 40 - no one goes 40.)

Broken beer bottle + dog paw = giant fucking headache

{{Takes a gigantic breath}} I could go on and on but I bet you're probably all rolling your eyes, wondering when I'm just going to shut my gob already. Or you're making a mental note not to get within a hundred miles of Maine right now!

Oh shit, I can't help myself today. Told you I'm cranky! Just one more -- my husband can't tell the difference between a hobby and a chore. If I'm vacuuming the house - that's a chore. If he's working on his old truck - that's a hobby. Why does he always act like what he's doing is the most important thing in the world? Piss. Me. Off.

Ok, really done now. Promise.

Huh? This has oddly made me feel better. I think I often have a problem with keeping my anger bottled up inside. Which isn't safe -- for anyone. Especially when I finally blow. So thanks, for letting me get it off my chest. I'm going to my happy place now...

Did someone say blow?

Newsflash! Men Find Their "Twilight"!!! Twitards, Meet Bronies.

Let me start by saying that I am in no position to point fingers here... As a not-Young Adult-aged chick who has spent a ginormous chunk of the last two and a half years focusing on all things Twilight (books! movies! blogs! Forks! Robward!), I know I don't have a leg to stand on here... But I just can't help myself. Insert your own "pot calling kettle black" joke here--I totally have it coming.

Even if some of the zeal has been knocked out of your Twilight obsession of late, I'm sure you can still recall what it was like to be totally CONSUMED. I'd spend my days lurking around Hot Topic for the latest merch, dizzy with the prospect of scoring a new Mini-Edward or that elusive piece of Cullen-crest-themed jewelry that I could wear on the sly. When Jenny Jerkface got me started reading the saga, I did nothing for days on end but read and reread the books, all the while playing the Twilight soundtrack over and over and over again. Discovering there was a whole online fandom of women my age who were equally obsessed was such a revelation that I am surprised I didn't get fired for my lack of productivity (unless you want to count my prolific blogging and commenting on other blogs). And fanfic?! Sweet baby jeebus, the fanfic!

But what if the focal point of my unwavering devotion wasn't Twilight, and instead I'd developed an obsession with...My Little Pony? And what if I had a penis?

People, allow you to introduce you to the "bronie."

The Bronie Crest. If you really mean it, show me your tattoo...

A bronie is an adult male who is head-ever-heels ga-ga for the television show (you guessed it)"My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic". I can't make this shit up! Bronies, it would seem, are all the rage these days...

 Seth Green, bronie extraordinaire.

They were discussed on my favorite radio show two weeks running, and apparently even former president Bill Clinton is in on it (ok fine he's just a good guesser). There's a bronie-run website that has over 14 million pageviews.

Bronie in the back - why so sad? Did you not want to be Purple Pony?

Let me put that into perspective: the Twilight fandom isn't exactly small, and while we might not be the biggest blog out out there, we hold our own. To date, we've racked up two million pageviews. You can pick up your brain matter off the floor now. There's even fanfic... Plus there are bronie tributes and movie mash-ups on YouTube!

So twisted it WORKS.

These are men. Obsessed with My Little Pony. Can't wrap your head around it? I know, neither can we. And that's saying somethin'.

Some bronie quotes from a recent profile done by Wired.com -

“First we can’t believe this show is so good, then we can’t believe we’ve become fans for life, then we can’t believe we’re walking down the pink aisle at Toys R Us or asking for the girl’s toy in our Happy Meal,” Allen said in an e-mail to Wired.com. “Then we can’t believe our friends haven’t seen it yet, then we can’t believe they’re becoming bronies too.”

“Honestly, if someone were to have told me I’d be writing a pony blog seven months ago, I would have called them insane.”


“I believe the fan base for this new generation of MLP is one of the most amazing/unexpected things to come out of the internet in a long while.”

Sound familiar??? It sure does to me!

Honestly, I don't know what to make of this... When I first came across bronies, my immediate reaction was clapping my hands with glee and proclaiming to Mr. Snarky "Ah HA! FINALLY!! A group with an inappropriate obsession that makes my Twilight obsession seem normal by comparison!!!" But really? who am I to judge? If it makes you happy and it isn't hurting anyone, I say have at it. Wave that freak flag as high as you are when you watch that show, bronies! And thanks for taking the pressure off of us Twitards. We owe you one, bros.

Case of the Mondays

If you're on this side of the hemisphere, you are on the cusp on the most dreaded day of the week: Monday. It comes around the same time every week, yet I am never prepared for it. I like my job; I just like napping in the middle of the day better. (Technically I can nap whenever I want to, but it's easier to not have to pretend like I'm praying at my desk.)

My office got word from on high that some changes were coming down the pike. That is usually business speak for "TK is about to get ass fucked." This uncertainty had me perusing one of my favorite sites, Despair, Inc. I go here often and reorganize my list of favorite demotivators according to how I'm feeling about my job. They are pretty much all my favorites, but these rose to the top last week.










I'm not terribly concerned I'll lose my job (but if you'd like to make a donation to the "Save Ferris & TK" fund anyway I'll send you my address). I just like to go to work, be paid to shop online most of the day and go home. I don't like when people mess with my routine.

I leave you with one of my all-time favorite clips. If you haven't seen Office Space, we can't be friends. True story.



Office Space Printer from Shang Xiao on Vimeo.

Damn it feels good to be a gangsta! Happy Monday, Twitards!

A (Different) Twitarded Book Rec: I'm Trading Porn for Pups

It's not often here at Twitarded that we recommend reading materials that don't contain enough porny smut to make a hooker blush -- but there's a first time for everything, right? Not to worry though -- we haven't been abducted by aliens or anything. I'm sure we'll be right back on the porn train before you know it. I'm just feeling a little mushy today.

My goal this summer is to get back into "normal" reading. And by "normal" I mean no young-adult vampire books. Actually, I'm going to try and stay away from vampires all together. I'm not so sure how that's going to pan out for me, but I'm going to give it my best shot.

A few weeks ago, my grandmother called to tell me my aunt had given her a book she thought I would really like called "A Dog's Purpose". I guess since I have two dogs, it would make sense to her that I'd like this book. I was a little suspicious at first -- my aunt and I have never swapped reading material before. She's more of the religious type and frankly, would probably have a heart attack over some of the stuff I like to read.

Click here to order or for more information.

So I curled up on the front porch one afternoon and started reading "A Dog's Purpose." I will say one thing -- if you own a dog, or love dogs, you MUST read this book. Sure, it's sad in parts, but it's also a smartly written novel told from a dog's point of view. And I'm totally the type of person who likes to put words in my dogs' mouths so I immediately fell in love with this book's voice.

The author, W Bruce Cameron, who also wrote "8 Simple Rules for Dating My Teenage Daughter", tells the tale of a dog who finds himself reincarnated and decides there must be a reason, a purpose he must fulfill, and until he does so, he'll continue to be reborn. The story is narrated by Bailey -- a wise and funny dog who is very much... a dog.

I'm not going to sugar coat it and say you won't cry because that would be a lie. I cried more during this book than I did when I read "Marley & Me" -- but don't let that deter you. I laughed too! For me, there's nothing funnier than the antics of a puppy and especially hearing it from their own point of view.

This book also got me thinking -- will my George be reincarnated as a new dog with another family after he leaves us? He's getting on in years and honestly I think I mostly cried because it made me realize he may not be with us for much longer. I only hope if this does happen, his new family treats him with the same love and respect that we do. And that he's a good boy.

My furry children: old man George (on the right) actually being nice to his new sister Daisy.

Now I'm all anxious to read more doggy books, there are a ton out there. I know Twitarded nation boasts a lot of dog owners and lovers -- has anyone read a good dog-related book lately? Help a h00ker out...

Bad Boys on Motorcycles? Yes, Please!

It has happened again. Every once in awhile someone suggests I read/watch/listen to something and then two months later I actually do and the next thing I know a few weeks have gone by, my house smells like a gym locker room and ML starts pawing at me muttering something like, "pay attention to me, you asshole!!"

 My living room looks like this. And I'm okay with it.

I think I gave ML a complex because of how heavily engrossed I was with the loincloth-wearing hotties of Spartacus. It took weeks for my neck to stop aching after I spent one whole weekend, hunched over my computer like some deranged Quasimoto, and devoured all three books in the Hunger Games series.

And I don't even need to mention what happened when I read Twilight. You know.

I swear if I could have this unswerving fixation on other things in my life, like my career, I'd be a fucking billionaire. As it is, when I'm not totally obsessed with something, I spend the rest of my time wandering around in some kind of oblivious semi-coherent daze.

But this time, oh man, this time I've got it bad. For the Sons of Anarchy.

Hot guys? Check. Kick ass action? Yup. Fucking amazing storyline? Oh hells yeah.

Beard and tattoos? My vagina just 'sploded.

I had no idea how sexy I find bad-ass motorcycle dudes until I started watching this series. It originally aired on FX and the fourth season is set to renew this year (if it hasn't already).

Having grown up in a town where my friends and I were possibly the closest things to criminals, I have no idea just how "true" this show is to what goes on in a real motorcycle gang (or club) but if you don't care about that sort of thing you'll love this show.

The Sons are an interesting group of characters and one of the things that I like so much is that, no matter how despicable their actions might be, there is still something so... endearing. About all of them.

The scenery is just exquisite.  The mountains are nice, too.

The plot (and sub plots) twist and turn and make for one crazy roller coaster - the kind you never want to get off. In general, I am not the kind of person who yells at the television when I'm watching something but I've done it while watching this show. More than once.

If you're interested in checking out this series, you can stream the first two seasons on Netflix. I ended up buying the third season from Amazon's streaming service.

I promise, you won't regret it.

Also? I kind of want Twitarded leather jackets now. I  mean, we might not be gun-running motorcyclists but we are a pretty fucking awesome gang...

 Looks like RPattz already has his Twitarded leather after all...

Who Are You? What Do You Want? A Twitarded Poll.

Who are you? What do you want?! 

Lately we've been running a little rudderless here at Twitarded. OK, we've always pretty much operated on a fly-by-the-seat-of-our-pants system, but sometimes we wonder what everyone out there is thinking... We're like Edward trying to figure out Bella - it drives us batty that we can't figure everyone out! With that in mind, welcome to our Very Important Twitarded Bloggy Poll. We were going to ask for comments, but this is anonymous soooo...have at it! We know a lot of you don't have time (or the inclination) to leave a comment every day, but we'd love it if everyone who stops by this week would respond to the poll questions. It's fast and easier than most of you were on prom night.

Why do you come to this blog?

Do you care what we write about?

If we move to a general content blog, will you follow?

Our content is...

Our blog posts are...

If we're not speculating on RPatts' family jewels, what would you like to see more of?

Something on your mind that we didn't cover here? It's gnawing away at you, isn't it?! Surely we can't be the only ones losing sleep over Twitarded. It keeps you up at night, too, right? Right?! If you have something to say, lay it on us in the comments. Say what you want: good or bad, we promise bloggy amnesty. Go anonymous or send us an email if you want (I swear we won't hunt you down and you probably won't end up in Latchkey Wife's freezer). We want to hear from everyone, good or bad. Bring it.

Life Skills 101: Parking for Dummies

JJ went all rampagy over public transportation and rolling briefcases the other night. Now it's my turn. I don't take public transportation as I prefer to drive like a maniac and have a near stroke every day on my commute.

This is me on a good day.

Since you apparently have to be a fucking Mensa member to master the use of a wheel and two pedals, parking should be child's play. This is the easiest part of driving. I'm not talking about parallel parking. I'm talking about turning the wheel slightly and easing between the pre-printed lines. If you can't manage that, I need you to send me your address so I can beat you even more senseless. I know I'm not the only one feeling stabby about this because I saw this post on someecards today.

I had to park in a parking garage this morning. This should be a non event in my life. Unfortunately, drama follows me wherever I go. An elderly driver happened to be leading the pack of parking space hunters this morning. This man slammed on his brake every third space because he thought someone might possibly by chance be backing up. He stopped and threw on his blinker every five spaces when he had a strong feeling about a space opening up. I'm no psychic, but if someone is pulling a baby stoller out of the trunk and loading a small child into it, THEY ARE NOT LEAVING!

This continued until the man was finally able to wedge his Cadillac into a compact space. It took about a nine point turn, but he finally forced the car in. I felt confident we could actually make some progress now. Wrong. The next leader of the pack continued in the same pattern, refusing to cede ground on the coveted first level. Why does everyone feel they must park on the ground level? I've never been to a parking garage that didn't have elevators and forced the patrons to rappel down the side of the building. You can park on a higher level and survive. I promise.

I am never parking on E4 again.

Douchebag #2 finally located a parking space after an exhaustive search. Regrettably, it was on the second level, so I image the driver jumped to his death. I parked on the third level because I like to live on the edge. I was the only car in my section of the garage. That's how I prefer it as I don't like people near my car. Or me, for that matter.

This is what it looked like when I parked.


This is what it looked like when I came back. Except, I had one close-parking asshole on each side of me and no other cars anywhere in sight. I will kill someone.

I managed to shimmy in my vehicle after coating my back with dirt from the car. Seriously? I expected Alan Funt to pop out and tell me I was on Candid Camera. My car and the two on either side of me were the only ones parked on that side of the garage and they were BOTH over the line. How can you suck that much at parking?! A blind chimpanzee with a nervous tick could do better.

Fast forward to when I'm trying to leave the garage. You have to pay a nominal fee to park, AS IS POSTED ON THE TICKET MACHINE WHEN YOU ENTER. Again, this is not rocket science. The man in front of me has no money. I am sitting patiently (by my standards) with my ticket and dollar bill in hand, while Douchebag #3 begs the cashier to let him have a free pass. She offers to bill him in the mail, but he decides to pay with change instead. He throws the car in park and climbs all through it like he's in the Chuck E. Cheese playscape, emerging periodically with a dime or a nickel. Meanwhile, the lane next to me is not faring much better. Douchebag #4 at the front of that line is flipping his shit and causing a scene, only to speed off and nearly slam into another car. Is it a full moon or something?

Douchebag #3 was only able to locate $0.42, so he had to fill out the form to be billed anyway. He only filled out the form after arguing for five more minutes about how stupid it is to make an upstanding douchebag like himself pay for parking. Now I was on borrowed patience.

This post has a theme. Can you find it?

I would just like to go on the record as saying I did not stab anyone today. I think I deserve a medal, or at least a free stabbing in the future. Does anyone else have parking rage? Don't even pretend like it's just me. I will cut you.

Happy Birthday, Edward - 110 Spankings Coming Up!

WARNING: For those of you prudes trying to stay pure for Breaking Dawn - there's a tiny little spoiler-y thingy at the end. Just wanted to warn you.

June 20th is the one day of the year when I'm reminded what a pervert I am. This year it's the day when Edward Cullen turns 17 for the 93rd time. The day that paints me as a fucking pedophile for lusting after this (magnificently beautiful) underage boy. And yes, I'm just twisted enough to risk the authorities showing up at my front door by lusting after the 17 year old -- not the 110 year old (although they did dress him this age in New Moon).

In celebration of Edward's 93rd 17th birthday, before we line up to give Edward his 110 spankings Twitarded style (you know, with lots of grabby hands), let's take a short trip down memory lane... and remind ourselves as to why we fell in love with him in the first place.

Dear Edward -- I'll never forget the first time I saw you walk through those doors. It was the first of many pairs of underpants... ruined. But in a good way.

If I had been in your Biology class... I would've been glad to let you eat me. IYKWIM

I hope you can read my mind. I'm thinking about sex. With you. Angry sex.

I'll say it in the throes of passion. Out loud. Really loud.

No one does that smirk any better. Are you going to spank me now? Is it my turn?

Sex strut... *gaspsputtergaspgaspded*

You were responsible for the orgasm heard 'round the world. Even with your wonky nipple. And air-brushed abs. Which I still want to lick.

No words...

Ok, maybe just three...

Lucky fucking bitch.

I can't wait until November. For it will be then that Edward gives us his greatest gift. A good bruising, headboard crumbling, thrusty fucking that I know I'll be happy to just witness -- even if I can't be at the receiving end.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, EDWARD! I'd really love to give you a birthday blowjob so call me, 'mkay?

What are you all doing to commemorate this special day?