Say Something Funny...B*tch

So yesterday my Dad asked me to give him some shit I’ve been writing. I did what I usually do, and sent him a creative nonfiction piece I wrote about the Yangtze river back in 2002.  Then I thought to myself: Rebecca, NO.  Your FATHER should know what you’re doing nowadays, in regards to writing.  So,  like the DIPLOMATIC MOTHERFUCKER I AM, I gave my Tuesday Meditations to my Dad. He sent me back a passive aggressive note about not coming back to Milwaukee for Thanksgiving, and edited the shit out of this week’s Tuesday Meds. 

Tuesday Meditations:  I HAVE ASSLOADS OF GOOD TASTE Black Licorice, Big Dreams. 

As none some of you may know, today is an election day across the country.  It’s not a BIG election day, but if you’re into school board bullshit (re: have kids and want to educate them) but it’s something to think about doing.  Nobody Many people care about city council and school board issues, so take your ass yourself to a polling place and waste your gooddamned time get your vote on!  Nothing feels better than honest to goodness proof of the pointless, perfunctory nature of our Governmental system.  It’s your civic duty to do so, and the one right vested in each one of us!

Me? I’ll probably go.  Why? Because there’s nothing more fun than giving a handjob to an angry San Bernardino Man in a voting booth having a bit of control over one’s future and place in the greatest country on earth, CHINA the UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 

Instead, watch midget porn. http://www.xvideos.com/video73430/midget_porn.  To find your local polling place, go here: http://www.lavote.net/LOCATOR/

Which brings me to my next point- Everything is FUCKING SLOWLY CRUMBLING DOWN AROUND ME.  Hall of Fame Heavyweight Joe Frazier died.  Sometimes I really, sincerely feel like I want to drink a bunch of these Coors Lights and kill myself.  Man, that guy could box like A Rodgers can QB.  I feel like a fucking Palestinian Prostitute to a world of fucking militant Israelis.  Oh yeah, have you seen this article on how Israelis are better than Palestinians? If not, go here: http://www.forward.com/articles/145377/.  PLEASE GOD,  stop this MISERY.  Also, did you know that Milwaukee has one of the largest Jewish populations in the tri-state area? It’s true, as evidenced by this Jewish Newspaper that hails from the beautiful and booming city of my birth, Milwaukee: http://www.jewishchronicle.org/index.php.

THE WORLD IS A FUCKING TERRIBLE PLACE.  Also, does anyone know how to work this ipad?

You’re Welcome, DAD.  Thank you, World! 

Rebecca

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Tuesday Meditations: I’m Gay

Ladies and Gentlemen of the Press:

I know I have come to be known as a beautiful, talented and decidedly heterosexual figurehead in your lives, but as Dylan said, the times they are a-changing.

 And by “a-changing,” I mean I’m gay. 

Those of you who have had the pleasure of my blowjobbery and my sexual company are probably in shock. But, I’m sorry, gentle readers. You see, I do like men.  I like men very much. But there is overwhelming evidence that points to the contrary.  After a day of careful and drug-addled research, I have come to the conclusion that I’m probably a lesbian. 

Ladies and gentlemen, the evidence:

1.     My delight in Lumberjack wear    

2.     I attended Lilith Fair….twice.

3.     I think Margaret Cho is funny

4.     I listen to Bikini Kill on a semi-regular basis

5.     Shaggy haircuts seem cute to me. 

Granted, this might not be strong evidence of my affinity for women, especially compared to the fact that I’m always talking about my feelings and I’ll never completely understand sports. 

But then I found this picture from horse camp:

Sorry, gentlemen.  My lesbianism’s been brewing ever since I was a 14 year old equestrian.  I’m throwing in the hetero towel and embracing MY TRUTH.   

First orders of business: Join a knitting circle, Show this column to my mom and dad and buy some Teagan and Sarah tracks off itunes.

I HAVE WORK TO DO. 

You’re Welcome,

Rebecca

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Tuesday Meditations: Welcome to the Clan, Drink Ninjas.

Hey motherfuckers-  I bet you’re pretty flummoxed that my column is on a Monday and not a Tuesday, as promised by my actions as well as the title of this column.  I bet y’all are quizzically murmuring to yourselves in your dark, cavernous, tastefully decorated rooms wondering, “Is she crazy?” 

Short answer: Yes. 

The long answer: Also yes. 

You see, I’m reporting from Wisconsin (as  often I do) and by the grace of god (and drunk) go I.  Why have I been perpetually wasted for the past 48 hours?  Well,  an old fisherman once told me, when Leibs get hitched, shit goes down.  And that fucking fisherman is CORRECT.  My cousin got married this weekend, so NATURALLY a lot of drunk, Jewwy angst was let loose on the sleepy, God-fearing town of Carmel, Indiana, where my cousin’s bride is from.

Carmel, Indiana Not Actually Pictured Here

Day 1

I get in on a red eye to Wisconsin around 8 am, grab two bloody marys at the airport (2 fucking fifty? It would be a crime if I DIDN’T) and get picked up by my parents.  I’m wedged between my uncle and my unshowered brother so naturally I have to drink a little bit more from my tin flask I smuggled through in my carry-on.  We drive through the beautiful, flat fall countryside and I keep my buzz going by smoking some weed behind the Panda Express at the O’Hare Oasis during a pit stop.  When we get to the hotel, I grab a drink at the hotel bar,  take a five minute refresh nap, kiss my grandmother on the forehead and get back to drinking at the rehearsal dinner, where we let the slow shitface boil.  My brothers and cousins are in full fucking force,  drinking through the meal,  closing the open bar and setting the Renaissance Inn’s countertop on fire.  The bartender is WEEPING.  Fifteen of us get kicked out of the hotel bar after shattering a Dale Chiluly Glass sculpture and go outside break into a Cheer Squad Bus.

We steal 13 bag lunches from the bus and pass out in our respective hotel rooms, covered in Cheez-it dust. 

Day 2

Wake up and work out after a breakfast of 2 jagerbombs and a Diet Sprite.  My parents are shopping or some shit.  After lots of dirty looks from the night before,  we gather together and go- to a local bar by the Steak N’ Shake to take the edge off with Whiskey Sours and about 15 jugs of flirtini (champagne, vodka, schnapps, seven up).  After they run out of Flirtini mix and after one of my cousins fills an ashtray with her own vomit,  we leave for pictures. 

Then, the wedding.

After the wedding we huff some glue we found in an adjacent skatepark and get some sweet apps.  I’m not super hungry because I’ve done a couple of lines with the bride of another wedding staying at the Renaissance, but I can’t say no to mac n’ cheese on bread.  Everbody’s all up ON MY NUTS about why I’m 28 and when’s my wedding date,  and I understand this question because I’m awesome,  but I let everyone know  in the form of a heartfelt,  BOMB-ASS TOAST that I mean business and that  THAT IT WILL TAKE A VERY SPECIAL MAN WHO CAN HARNESS THIS POWERFUL, SEXUAL ENERGY. Still, the 21 year old bartender will do for tonight,  and after 30 jack and cokes the dance floor becomes MAKEOUT CITY, population WEEPING BARTENDER. 

I can’t do the makeoutz for long because my grandmother needs to use the restroom, so I escort her there and on our way back we run into a herd of deer who implore us to take more jagerbombs.  Of course, I never do Jagers without my bros, so THE LEIBS start drinking these FUCKING BEASTS RIGHT BACK INTO THEIR MOIST, LEAVY HOLES.  And we don’t stop there- after making sure every Indiana woodland creature SHOWS SOME GODDAMNED RESPECT,  the least drunk of us decide to take a small hanger jet BACK TO THE STEAK N’ SHAKE.  Naturally, I feel uncomfortable driving under the influence but my second cousin takes the wheel and though she’s an unsteady flier she gets us up but then we CRASH INTO THE WEDDING RECEPTION HALL.  Good thing for us,  we don’t ruin the wedding because though the shitty Indiana reception hall gets decimated, everyone is okay and we find 3 million dollars worth of  UNTOUCHED GOLD buried beneath. 

In short, welcome to our family, Libby. 

I’m exhausted. I need a drink.

You’re Welcome,

Rebecca

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Tuesday Meditations: My Credit’s For Sh*t, and I’m Ugly

All right,  my post was just entirely deleted and my cat’s face still lost in a vicious battle against nature, but I’m not losing hope.  (and you don’t have to, too: DONATE at http://nubbinsfund.blogspot.com/).  You see, because I have about 3,000 worth of debt from my cat’s jaw surgery, I’ve had to take out a new credit card. 

Such is my life. 

I know- just when I thought I was getting used to being debt free, my life has taken me on a time warp back to my first accrual of debt. The year was 2002.  I was in the quad, looking for something to vandalize.  I come upon a man promising me unlimited money, and with a low (see 28% interest rate) obligation for return.  So, I filled out an application and got a free foam finger and Chipote coupon, and I was on the road to bad credit. 

AND HERE I AM AGAIN! 

But don’t fret, gentle readers. My new credit card, called CareCredit, is for all types of things.  I was reminded of this when the nice reception lady at the Culver City Feline Surgical Unit when I was looking at my bill, vomiting little bits of my lunch sushi into my mouth. 

“Great.” I said.  Holy fuck, I thought-  600.00 for a cat Vapo-bath? 

“You know, anything.” She reiterated.

“Whatever.” I said, as I dug around in the halloween candy on the countertop. 

“Even stuff for yourself.  Cosmetic stuff.”

Was I hearing her correctly? I thought,  as I shoved three mini-snickers into my mouth.  I mean,  I’m ALREADY PERFECT.  What the fuck kind of cosmetic surgery do I need?  Elbow tucks?  Eyelash lengthening?  As all of you who know me FUCKING KNOW,  MY EYELASHES ARE ALREADY AMAZINGLY LUSTROUS, so that’s just ridiculous. 

Even basking in my caramel and nougat infused perfection, I was still curious.  So, I did some research. Turns out,  my CrediCare card can be used for things like:

-LASIK

-LAPBAND

-lipinjectables

-NUTROT

-massages

-buttsack enhancement

-BIOSUCKINOSCOPY

-equipment maintenance

-penal corrosion

-labial shortening

-labial elongation

-pet labial elongation

-manicures

SEE YA LATER, SUCKAS! 

I’m going to max this shit out on this old sack of a body and see what sticks!  I’ll check you on the flip side, when I look like an anime character you’d like to fuck, or at least put on the side of a pencil case. 

Right, kids? 

Right.

You’re Welcome,

Rebecca

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TUESDAY MEDITATIONS:  ‘A PLEA’ by Rebecca Leib

Hey dudes- Wanna hear about BEYONCE’S BABY?  HOW ABOUT that that CRAZY CHARLIE SHEEN?  Or, POLITICS?   

Well, I have something that I have to share with you that has to do with none of these things! You see, my cat Nubbins got her face half bitten off in a fight with a Coyote and managed to live (BECAUSE SHE’S A FUCKING FIGHTER).  I took her to the ER, then the Kitty Dental Surgeon and then back to the ER, and now home with lots of little kitty pain meds.  If you want to know more about the story, go here: http://nubbinsfund.blogspot.com/ 

Long story short, I’m out around 3,000 dollars.   

And I want you to help me.   

http://nubbinsfund.blogspot.com/ 
 

Why? Because you love Nubbins, or you love reading my column. Or maybe you had a weird cat growing up that also got its face half eaten off by a Coyote.  Fuck, I don’t care how you want to rationalize it.  

http://nubbinsfund.blogspot.com/ 

I EVEN HAVE DONOR PRIZES, FOLKS!   

For the third highest donor, you will get A JUSTIN BIEBER TOOTHBRUSH!!! 

 

For the second highest donor,  you will get a BRAND NEW PLAN B EMERGENCY CONTRACEPTIVE PILL!   

It’s more effective than the generic! Use for special occasions!   

BUT THE GRAND PRIZE?  AN INTENSE EVENING OF BINGE DRINKING WITH YOURS TRULY!!! 
 
 

Yes, we will exclusively embibe the finest of Coors lights on my front porch, or wherever you, fine winning donor, would like to see me pass out. We’re gonna get REAL CLOSE AND THANKFUL.  

Or, just donate and give yourself a pat on the back, because you’ve made this little kitty’s day! http://nubbinsfund.blogspot.com/ 

 

You’re welcome. http://nubbinsfund.blogspot.com/ 

Rebecca 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

DO IT. http://nubbinsfund.blogspot.com/ 
 
 
 

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Tuesday Meditations:  ‘Birthday Reflections’ by Rebecca Leib

(October 4th, 2011)

Hey all- 

Well, this week has been a whirlwind of activity, and when I say activity , I mean binge drinking.  But y’see, my birthday is on Saturday and I’ve been reflecting on my life.  You know, what it means and all that bullshit.   

So, I got high and listened to this song for about 72 hours.   

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D6DmtPQv7V8

Nothing!  It was worse than when I did shrooms in that Walgreens one time!  So, I think I need a little more time to think about what my birthday ME means to ME and ME and ME ME.  Also, ME. 

Speaking of ME, here’s what you can buy me for my birthday, gentle readers, if you are so inclined.  Remember- these double as Yom Kippur presents, OBVI.  

1. A 12 Pack of Coors Lite.  You can buy them at your local wherever they sell liquor store.  I like to get them at Rite Aid, because I rack up Rite Aid points. 
2. A Raymond Pettibon print. Why? Because that man is a genius.  And also, I like art shit. 
3. A horse.  You can get reasonably priced ones on Craigslist: http://losangeles.craigslist.org/search/sss?query=Gelding&srchType=A&minAsk=&maxAsk=. I prefer older Geldings in Bay. 
4. A 12 pack of Coors lite.
5. A gift certificate to Necromance.  Yeah, I like a store called NECROMANCE, but I like the website even better. http://www.necromance.com/.
6. Booze.
7. Or hey, why not send me here? http://www.spacecamp.com/.
8. Did I mention I like Coors Lite? Because I do. Very much so. 

Oh yeah, I also like shoes and gourmet food and shit. But really, the choice is clear. Whatever you give me for my birthday this year, make it a Coors Lite.   

You’re Welcome, 

Rebecca

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Tuesday Meditations: “Finding the Right Animal Trap for You” by Rebecca Leib

(September 27th, 2011)

 

As y’all know, I recently moved. Because my new house has a  yard (re: a large slab of pavement in the back, a swatch of grass flanked by garbage cans in front), and because I’m AWESOME, I took up a new hobby: ANIMAL TRAPPING, like my Canadian forefathers.   

Just kidding- I’m not Canadian.  Gross! 

Animal trapping is when I have 3+ Coors lights and set two easy-release animal traps with half a can of tuna fish somewhere in my yard.  Then, I pass out.   

The next morning…voila!  You’ve got a surprise waiting for you.  It’s like taking a pregnancy test only with more rabies, dirty towels and broom handles.   
 

AND YOU, GENTLE READERS, can do it, too!  Here’s how:  

1. Buy a six pack or more of Coors light.  I recommend buying from Rite-Aid because you can earn points for that shit that’ll get you 10% off for a later purchase.
2. Find the right animal trap for you.  I recommend Havahart’s website that interatively finds a trap for all of your trapping needs based on animal, trap size, price or repellent. Just go here: http://www.havahart.com/advice/animal-trapping/trap-guide  It’s that easy! 
3. Buy said trap and put it outside with half a can of tuna fish (I recommend Bumblebee or any garden-variety dollar store brand) on a paper plate inside of it. Set trap, according to the manual or any type of online tutorial, like this one: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rb_QCUtNsRs. It’s conducted by a six year old, so you know it’s good. 
4. Put a towel that you don’t mind fecal matter on over said trap(s).
5. Pass out.  In the morning, use a broom handle to open the traps and let the animal scamper away. Or- take the animal inside, and you have yourself a new PET! 

I’ve caught 3 stray cats and one skunk so far!!!!!   

You’re Welcome, 

Rebecca

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Tuesday Meditations: ‘My Mom Runs My Life’ by Rebecca Leib

(September 20th, 2011)

Not literally, idiots.  She controls my online personae outside of SSFB. And just to prove her vast and ultimate power,  I give you the Ok Cupid profile she set up for me in order to hook me a MAN. 

Now, most of you know that I’m AMAZING in bed and generally everywhere else, and definitely don’t need a man to make me happy or define my life (unless it’s you, Michael Stagliano. Define me. DEFINE ME).  But- I thought- my mom’s retired. She’s probably bored.  So fuck- let her have her fun when she gets bored of Perry Mason or her crossword iPad app.

The link to the full  profile is here:  http://www.okcupid.com/profile/AccordingtoMom.

But if you feel to lazy to click on something,  here it is:

My Details

Last Online

Online now!

Ethnicity

—

Height

—

Body Type

—

Diet

—

Smokes

—

Drinks

—

Drugs

Never

Religion

—

Sign

—

Education

—

Job

—

Income

—

Children

—

Pets

—

Speaks

English

My self-summaryI am the mother of an incredibly cute and incredibly talented daughter who is 27, single, straight and lives in Los Angeles,California. What I’m doing with my lifeMy daughter is a writer hoping to make some big money someday! I’m really good atMy daughter is really good at writing and comedy. She has done stand up and comedy sports and Second City. She is also really good at drawing and painting. I always thought she could make a fortune painting murals in peoples homes. Who wouldn’t want an original wall mural in their house! The first things people usually notice about meThe first thing people notice about my daughter is how cute and clever she is! I guess years of doing improvisation work really makes you pretty funny! Favorite books, movies, shows, music, and foodMy daughters favorites: Favorite book and movie-Lolita, Music-used to be Beatles not sure what now. Food-indian, chinese, thai The six things I could never do withoutThe six things my daughter could not do without: (not in any particular order) her cat, her friends, her car, her phone, bread, water. I spend a lot of time thinking aboutMy daughter must spend a lot of time thinking about what to write about. She is always looking for good ideas for pilots and comedy skits. On a typical Friday night I amI am sure on a typical Friday night my daughter is either working at a comedy club or theatre or out at a bar! The most private thing I’m willing to admitI think that the most private thing my daughter is willing to admit is that she is really a mid-western girl at heart! I’m looking for

• Guys who like girls
• Ages 22-35
• Located anywhere
• Who are single
• For new friends, long-term dating, short-term dating

You should message me if If you like cats, dogs, travel, autumn, eating and doing fun things and have any questions about my daughter, message me!


Naturally, she only filled out half and had a ton of difficulty with uploading photos.  But- she’s getting the hang of it.  Please, feel free to chat her up if you see her online, though instant messaging still flummoxes her. 

Love you, Mom!  And, you’re welcome GENTLEMEN.

Rebecca

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Tuesday Meditations: Date Me, Michael Stagliano by Rebecca Leib
 

Dear Michael, 

As you may or may not know, I first knew of your existence on Jillian’s season of The Bachelorette.  You were funny, cute, fit and local to Los Angeles.  Though you were eliminated from the final 3 before hometown dates and despite being a twin, I wanted to know more.   

And, I got my wish.  To my delight, you were cast on The Bachelor Pad, with your ex-fiance Holly.  You were still in it for the 250,000 pot, and I was rooting for you wholeheartedly!  It seems as though both our prayers have been ANSWERED!   

Though I wish you the utmost of reality television success, I also wish you success in love. I know Jillian and Holly broke your heart, BUT I WON’T.  And, I bear somewhat of a resemblance to both of them, being as all three of us are Caucasian, have brown hair, and have careers in the arts (I’m a writer, Holly is a children’s book writer, and Jillian is an interior decorator).   

So, you know, that’s something. 

I also think we’d be a good match for three other reasons: 

1. We have mutual interests.  You like the show Modern Family,  and so do I.  You like to drink, and so do I.  You like walking around without a shirt on, and I like that, too.  Finally, we both obviously love The Bachelor, The Bachelorette and The Bachelor Pad, and also finding love! Let’s do this! 

2. We have Midwestern roots. Based on a light google search, I see you went to college in Chicago. I went to grad school there! We both probably know similar things about Chicago, and enjoyed our time during our respective educations!

3.  Proximity.  I live in Hollywood, and you live in Sherman Oaks.  These are both places in the Los Angeles area!  I love you! 

In summation, I think you’re great and totally wish you the best.  I think I’d make a great match for you, in all seriousness, because we like the same things and I think you have a pretty bitchin’ sense of humor.  If we went out, we could go to some cool bars by you or me- like maybe The Mission Cantina in Hollywood, or you know, something in Sherman Oaks.   

Seriously, go on a date with me.  I’ll wear something flirty and we’ll talk about the future, not the past, recorded or non.   

You’re Welcome,  

Rebecca 

P.S. IT’S ALISHA GADDIS’ BIRTHDAY! WISH HER A GOOD ONE. SHE’S AMAZING! 

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Tuesday Meditations: ‘Relating to Others is A Bitch.’ by Rebecca Leib ( September 6th, 2011) 
 

Hey dudes.   

I see you’re back from a three day vacation, and want to read about my petty bullshit life.  Well… 

CHALLENGE ACCEPTED. 

You see, I broke my foot in the Ikea “AS IS” section, and I have a lot of f*cking time on my hands.

Time that I’ve designated towards ruminating, drinking Coors lights, and moving into my new house, a haunted mansion at 1744 Wilton.   

Stalk away, motherf*ckers.   

Anyhoo, my foots all KINDS of f*cked up, and I’m on a lot of painkillerantiinflammatorysteroidals.  And you know what? I feel f*cking fantastic.  People are telling me I’ve lost weight (the depression) and also telling me that I rule (that’s my life).  

Because I do rule, yall.  And so do you.  Listen- those of you who are in Los Angeles know that we choose the life we live.  We have nobody to blame but ourselves for our successes and woes.  Often times, however, living this rat race of a life makes us lesser people. And by lesser people, I mean we leave less of the ability to love, feel and make ourselves vulnerable because we are trying to protect ourselves from the hardships of being creative.   

AKA, we’re professionally scared shitless of failure and rejection, and it seeps into our personal lives.   

This is bad.   

Some people think that resignation from the ability to love and be with others is a good thing.  Some people think that hardening one’s self makes one better able to cope with the everyday, to be focused on work.   

I’m sometimes a workaholic. Sometimes, I’m not.  In the times of workoholism, all I thought about was where I would get my next job, how covered I’d be monetarily for the month, and I’ve been there, and I WASN’T HAPPY. Not because work doesn’t make me happy (It does, deliriously), but because when you cut yourself off from emotional outlets, you ruin yourself- and not just for you, but for others.   

The moral of the story is…f*ck up your foot and get all hopped up on meds. Why? Because you think about love, loss and work.  Those of us Los Angelinos know that life is tough here (and those of you who don’t live in LA totally may not understand this- but be thankful that you don’t, because often times you don’t have to deal with the aforementioned affliction). But- you can’t let yourself be hardened to the potential for love and connectivity,  but for the want of success.   

Over time (and it will take time, and a lot of it, in many cases) you’ll realize this but then have to combat it in others.  You’ll weed through the f*cked up people who don’t want to feel or make their lives richer in an intrapersonal sense, and will forgo everything for the next big work thing.   Sure- their motivation and focus will seem attractive to you.  They may even let you in a little bit, enough to fuel the emotion that you have and should fight for.   But in the end, they will think they have to choose between work and you, or work and relationships, and that’s going to suck.  And you’ll try to tell them that you can have everything, but they’ll be cowards and push you away.  These people will realize their incapabilities and change for you, or for the company of others.  

Or, they won’t.     

But you will know.  And you’ll move forward, with or without them.  
 
 
 
 

You’re Welcome,   

Rebecca

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Tuesday Meditations: Hurricanes Ain’t What They Used to Be.  

While most people on the east coast were quietly shitting their pants in anticipation of Hurricane Irene, I was watching storm center and eating Circus peanuts.  KIDDING!  Who eats circus peanuts these days or ever? They’re F*CKING DISGUSTING.   

Anyhow, if you haven’t been under a f*cking rock or battling a hurricane, you probably know that Hurricane Irene killed at least 40 people as it moved from the Caribbean through New England.  Pretty crazy shit, but not CRAY CRAY APESHIT, like the Chinese floods in 1931, which left more than two million people dead, or 2008’s cyclone Nargis,  which killed over 130,000 people in Burma.   

If these disasters are varsity level, Hurricane Irene isn’t even JV- she hasn’t left the bench. She hasn’t even tried out.  She doesn’t even have PHYS ED on her schedule.   

Hurricane Irene left an estimated $2.6 billion in damage and cut power to almost 8 million homes and businesses along the U.S. East Coast.  I mean, I like wireless as much as the next person, but this seems less deadly and more a first world inconvenience.  So, guess what I’m saying is that hurricanes aren’t what they used to be, as most of the people in Asia between the years of 1920-1976 can vouch for.   

So, what happened? Is our world getting better?  Or are Hurricanes becoming bigger pussies?   

Certainly human beings are still f*cking terrible.  In fact, with the advent of Ed Hardy energy drinks and the Tea Party, we’re f*cking worse as f*ck.  So, it can’t be that God in all his or her invisible, nonexistent glory is smiling onto us, giving us the thumbs up.   

I’m no hurricaneologist, but seems as though the earth and it’s rotation were much angrier at us in the beginning of last century. Therefore, Maybe the world ITSELF getting better. Maybe the world has mellowed out in its older age, deciding instead of hurricanes to concentrate on more gradual decline, like global warming and acid rain.   

Fuck- is acid rain still a thing?  

Now, I certainly don’t believe in god and I definitely think the earth’s still pissed, so maybe it’s Irene and her siblings themselves.  Maybe they’d rather be going for a liberal arts degree than flooding the coasts. Maybe they didn’t like the way Dad made fun of their baby weight in junior high, and still feel insecure about that extra middle fat even though they’re for the most part pretty fit and take good care of themselves.  Maybe hurricanes aren’t pussies, they’re just super misunderstood.   

Maybe, they’re GAY.   

Maybe HOMOSEXUALITY + TIME + NATURAL PHENOMENA = SUCKIER HURRICANES.  That sounds right to me.  I mean, the gays run a lot of shit around here (see fashion, pop culture,  interior decoration, music, art, writing) and in general seem pretty cool, despite idiots shitting on their human rights.   

So, in conclusion, we have gays to thank for less violent earthly disasters, and nobody to thank for this column, but me.   

You’re welcome,

Rebecca