Monthly Archives: October, 2012

An Alice Halloween Special

Remember back when there used to be actual sitcoms on T.V. that were written by actual writers that were actually occasionally funny?  Now that we’re saturated in Reality T.V. (you’re soaking in it) it’s hard to remember those old shows.  But I do remember that every year there was a Halloween special.

Holidays were the best plot devices ever.  Sometimes they were even combined with another plot device, the flashback, which consisted of a bunch of old episodes pasted together.  So creative.  Family Ties, The Cosby Show, and later on that dreadful Full House, the ship that launched the Olsen twins, all had Halloween specials.

Now that’s scary.

But the most memorable Halloween special had to be “It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown” starring the Peanuts gang.  You remember them.  The bobble headed kids who acted like adults yet never seemed to age past the 5th grade. This one starred Linus, the neurotic one that carried around a blankie which probably got his behind kicked on the playground, although we never saw this.  It’s hard to blame the kid though, having Lucy, the she-demon, as an older sibling.  I’d probably carry mace.

Linus was obsessed with something called “the Great Pumpkin” because even Halloween needs a Santa Claus I guess.  Everyone else thought he was crazy, which was a safe bet with this kid, but Linus believed!  Meanwhile, the kids dressed up for Halloween.  Good ol’ Charlie Brown dressed as a ghost with a holy sheet and got rocks in his Halloween sack.

The making of a serial killer.
I’m just sayin’.

Wait, what?  I mean, I realize he has male-pattern baldness, but this is supposed to be a little kid, here.  What freaking adult puts rocks in a child’s Halloween sack?  I mean, what the heck?  I’ve always imagined Charlie Brown coming back to school later on with a machine gun.  Lucy would get plugged first for that football trick, but then he’d just rampage the rest of the gang.  Chainsaw Peanuts Massacre.  Now THAT would have been a great special.

Wait, I’m getting distracted here.  Anyway, we are also celebrating the Great Pumpkin at our house.  You see, I did this whole Martha Stewart theme with a pumpkin centerpiece (there’s not much more room on the table) and Halloween themed place mats and wall hangings and . . . yeah I’m totally full of it.  Most of our family is rather apathetic about most stuff that requires our active participation.  Except Thing Two.  She is our party planner extraordinaire.  You will party, whether you like it or not.

So we have a Great Pumpkin set up.  Right now on the living room floor is a blue pillow case.  Sitting on this pillowcase is a jar of candy corn, a note for the Great Pumpkin, and a little pumpkin with a face drawn on it.  Oh, and the little pumpkin is wearing a pair of her underwear, which is supposed to be a cape.  I was forbidden from taking a picture of this for my blog post.  Now keeping the junk in the living room for a month was okay, but not on the blog.  But trust me, you can’t make this stuff up.

Lame Linus. You didn’t even set out any freaking candy corn.

There also used to be a green Halloween bucket over there, but poor Thing Two got suddenly sick, and that was the closest thing around.  Though we’ve sanitized it, nobody is too eager to use it for treats anymore, although it might make a good trick for somebody. 

Thing Two is going as Princess Leia this year.  She has a costume complete with a honey bun wig.  Suffice it to say, she is the cutest and chattiest Princess Leia ever.  And at eight years old, she is almost as tall as actress Carrie Fisher, so she’s perfect for the part.  The rest of us have decided to go as ourselves, which is scary enough. 

I’m not sure if the Great Pumpkin will visit our house or not, but it will not be for lack of planning from Thing Two.  I think she is even more faithful than Linus.  I’m sure the special will be on again this year, as it has been every year since, like, Biblical times.  But I’ll probably just watch Thing Two instead.  She is more entertaining than any Halloween special.

*Note: I will take a temporary break from Rants With Alice because this time Alice wants to rave.  Stay tuned this Friday for a review of Carrie Rubin’s book The Seneca Scourge.


What is NaNoWriNo?  Well, it started with Jen of Jen and Tonic when she decided she thought NaNoWriMo was too much work, so instead of writing 50,000 words, she’d just write a blog post every day for a month.  Like with Nano, it’d be more about quantity than quality, which means we can make our posts suck if we want. Now I’d been doing that anyway (writing posts once a day, not sucking, although possibly that too), and it was making my head spin, so I decided to not do that. But then Jen said she was doing it, and then Speaker 7 said she was doing it too, and then this other blogger said she was doing it (I forgot her name, sorry) and so then it was like I had to do it too.  Because when they say would you jump off a cliff if your friends did, that pretty much describes me.

Of course, I think Jen and Speaker have a much better chance of getting people loving even their suckiest posts because they are awesome plus they have mob ties with Le Clown™.  He invites them over to his blog for parties all the time. Does he invite Alice™?  No.  And all because she might have said her contest was better than his because she lets people cheat.  And she made fun of him.  And she started trademarking whatever he hadn’t trademarked, including his name: Le Clown™.  Still, is that a reason not to invite someone to be a guest on your flaming clown blog?  No it is not. Don’t you like how I answer my own questions?  Of course you do.

So anyhoo, that’s 30 blog posts right there, but allowing suckiness is definitely making me feel better about this.  You see I type pretty fast, but not nearly as fast as I think (eleventybillion words a second), so I can write most blog posts in around 10 minutes or so (except the 50 Shades ones as they require reading and puking breaks).  However, I like adding pictures, and this can take hours hunting around on scary Google Images for just the right stupid picture that probably no one will notice I snatched.  So I figured I could try recycling my pictures, which I have never done before.


Speaker mentioned she might just write the word “Post” which is brilliant.  She is also fortunate in that she has two blog helpers, providing they let Hugo out of puppet prison and Goofy gets out of rehab.  I need blog helpers, besides Thing One and Thing Two who perch beside me at the computer while I type (except NOT when I am writing the 50 shades posts.  I want to protect their fragile brains from Dumb™.)  Maybe I can dig around in their toy chests. Or I could get a voodoo doll that might or might not be a clown.

Oh, right, and there was this other thing going on next month.  No, not the turkey thing, the Movember thing, with the mustaches and prostate awareness and stuff.  I’m thinking many bloggers will write moving and enlightening posts on this topic.  I will not be one of them.  Probably I will put a mustache on a turkey.

So this is Alice™ signing off.  Let’s see which one of us poops out first.  Or just uses “poop” in a post.  Why is everyone looking at me?

50 Shades Flunked Lesson Three

It got worse.

Speaker7 and other helpful blogger friends tried to tell me.  They did.  But – wow.  I have only read three chapters, and this is already worse than both of the first two books combined.  I AM NOT KIDDING HERE.  This chapter once again had me:


Okay, let’s get to the quiz results.  If you guessed (B) Christian flashes back to crackwhore braiding his hair, you’ll realize I sneakily tricked you.  Oh, crackwhore mommy’s there, alright, but it’s just . . . crap, I’ll touch that fucked-upness when we get to it.  (C) is also, damn it all, incorrect.  No drowning Christian and Ana at the bottom of the sea.  That fills me with the sads.  Frowny face for you guys and for Alice.

Nope, it was (A), so all you people give yourselves happy faces and prepare to scream in horror.  And remember, each red mark is two points off!  Here we go. Ana looks at herself in the mirror and sees that she is covered from head to toe in red marks (that’s a lot of points off, there).  She’s seriously pissed about this because, eww, hickies? (AnaFail) I mean, sure, truss me up with handcuffs but . . . oh, hey, wait a second.  She looks at her wrists and ankles and realizes they have huge red welts on them.(Red Flag)  Huh.  Who’d a thunk after all the other crap they’ve done, she’d actually get injured this time?  I mean, I can’t remember where else I saw something like this happen, that is, a girl covered with bruises after romantic honeymoon sex with another Mr. Fabulous. (FacePalm)

It’s just on the tip of my tongue here . . .

Well, Ana is not just going to take this abuse.  She is seriously madfaced!  She tells Christian he has to stop trying to tell her to heel (even though he went to the trouble of buying that dog training manual!) and Christian says, “Well, at least you won’t take your top off anymore.” (AliceRage, RedFlag)

Really?  Really??  Thank GOD he was able to justify his abuse, because you know, that’s nothing like what a wife beater would do. (Red Flag) So Ana bitches at him some more, but is careful not to push him too far (Red Flag) because even as upset as she is about this, she doesn’t want her “Fifty” to get upset too and you know, kill her. (Red Flag)

I hate you E.L. James.

So Christian finally says “I’m sorry” and it’s such a heartfelt apology and not at all a load of steaming hot crap.  And Ana huffs and says “You’re such an adolescent sometimes.  (FacePalm) Yeah, you know those teens, always beating the crap out of their girlfriends, those scamps!  So Christian pulls her into an embrace, and asks if he’s forgiven, and Ana knees him in the groin and says, “No, you asshole, you aren’t.  I’m getting a freaking restraining order on you, and Taylor and I are going to tie your ass up, kick you around a bit, then disable the boat and leave you stranded while we take off on a Jet Ski.”

Hahaha, yeah, of course she doesn’t do that.  No, her spine collapses and she “melts” into his arms and they go get a bite to eat. (AnaFail, AliceRage).  Then they dance together and it’s like, so romantic, and they sing the song together about their “love” and Alice pukes (FacePalm).  Later, Christian is shaving, and Ana gets all hot over it, and asks to shave him.  He lets her, and she slowly runs the razor over his neck, then slices his neck open like Sweeney Todd while laughing hysterically.

Need a shave, Christipoo?

Wait, sorry, yeah that didn’t happen either.  I must be getting Ana’s mini seizures cause I keep drifting off.  Speaking of, so does Ana, as she remembers when she shaved her pubic area. (WTF, FlashbackAbuse)  Christian says she didn’t do it right, so he finishes it himself (Red Flag) and then she gets all hot, and he sticks his finger in her (is he plugging a leak?), and end flashback! I’m going to (FacePalm, SexyTimes) this, but there probably should be a (AlicePukes) category added in.

So back in the present, Ana finishes shaving Christian, and he decides they should go buy some art.  Oh, okay, what? (WTF) They shop and Ana decides to buy pictures of vegetables because they remind her of herself, and they cost half a billion dollars, but Christian is all “Get used to it”. (RedFlag)  Cause, God forbid he use some of his massive fortune to actually, say, build a hospital or something freaking useful.  Nah, let’s just throw it away on crap while people die from lack of medical care! (AliceRage)

They go eat again (BoredNow) and Christian tells her that crackwhore mom used to let him braid her hair (see how I was all sneaky there?) and that’s why he likes to braid Ana’s hair before he bangs the crap out of her (RedFlag).  Talk about your transitions – anger about spousal abuse, flashback to pubic shaving, buying art, and now talking about crackwhore mom and his sexual preferences in one breath. (FacePalm)  What next?  Oh, this is like the best part!  Christian looks at Ana’s bare wrist, sees the welts, and Ana says, “They don’t hurt,” because E.L. gets all her romance ideas from reading accounts of battered women. (AliceRage, AnaFail).  

Seriously, Ladies? Seriously???

But it’s all okay, because Christian decides to make this right by buying Ana an expensive bracelet that – ta-da- covers up signs of his abuse so he doesn’t have to get all sad seeing what he’s done to her (RedFlag, AliceRage).  Cause we wouldn’t want Christian to be sad, now would we?  Or for anyone else to notice he’s abusing his wife.  Asshole.  They get in the back of his car, and he takes off her sandels and looks at the marks on her ankles, and Ana’s all like, “Jeez . . . I thought we’d dealt with this.” (AnaFail)  Yeah, I mean, that was so totally last night when he beat the shit out of me!  Water under the bridge!

Ana assures him it “doesn’t hurt” again (AnaFail, RedFlag) and Christian realizes seeing her wounds makes him uncomfy.  Again, reader, I am in tears at his pain! (AliceRage)  Ana assures him that, hey, the big welts are nothin’ cause it was only the hickies that bothered her and I’m like, just, really, I don’t even. (WTF)  She tells him the sex was “mind blowing” because hey, Ana apparently enjoys being beaten up as long as, you know, you don’t give her a hickie. (AnaFail)

There’s another one-sided ultra-sewious conversation on the Elmo phone, and we find out there was a fire at Grey House, which I guess is Christian’s house?  His parent’s house?  Something from a creepy horror novel?  I don’t know.(WTF)  And Ana thinks about the Charlie Tango blowing up, and now a fire in this house, and she’s all “What next?”  And I’m all, I don’t want to know.  And thank God this chapter freaking ended.

Oh, I almost forgot.  Christian told Ana not to pee cause it makes her orgasms more orgasmy. (FacePalm)  I would think it would make her pee on the sheets.  What do I know?

Final Score: 100 -70 = 3o or (wait for it)

Question Four: What will happen in Chapter Four?

(A) Ana takes off on the Jet Ski but the Jet Ski is sabotaged by the evil doer that took down Charlie Tango!  She slams into the yacht and the Jet Ski explodes, igniting something flammable in the yacht and the whole thing goes up in flames.  Ka-boooooom!

(B) Christian takes dirty pictures of Ana with his new camera.

(C) The emails return and a kitten’s brain explodes.

The Caucus Race

The candidates are bigger dodos every year . . .

First it marked out a race-course, in a sort of circle, (‘the exact shape doesn’t matter,’ it said,) and then all the party were placed along the course, here and there.  There was no ‘One, two, three, and away,’ but they began running when they liked, and left off when they liked, so that it was not easy to know when the race was over.

– Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland

*Note – this was originally published in 2011 back when my audience consisted of three people or so, one of them me.  I decided to resurrect and update it some in honor of our upcoming doom election.  Hope you enjoy it!

There is a cold, soul-stealing chill in the air.  Leaves die and fall from the trees, as the world prepares for the killing frost.  What could this be a sign of?  That’s right – it’s the political season!   Haha, I’m only kidding.  Politics does not have a season, for yea, it is eternal.  As soon as a president is elected, the opposing party mounts a campaign for the next election while the newly elected president tries to keep himself popular enough for reelection, unless he is the incumbent, in which case he just tries not to do anything too embarrassing for his party.  You know, like randomly declaring war or messing around with interns or selling illegal weapons or just generally acting like an asshole.

Obviously, many presidents fail at this.  The only president most people have any respect for is Abraham Lincoln, and that’s because we don’t remember much about him except that he freed the slaves and all, which was swell of him to do, what with us having been a “free” country for a hundred years.  So Abe was cool.  Also George Washington because he was first.  We like them so much we have a federal holiday for them (and a three day weekend if we’re lucky).  But they are the exception.  Gone are the days when our leaders were idolized figures.   We’ve been cynical about politics for a long time, but with the economy in the toilet, people are getting downright psychotic. 

Case in point.

In Wonderland, there is a caucus race, in which several strange creatures run round and round again in a race with no clear beginning or end.  So politics have not changed since Carroll’s time, nor really since the beginning of time.  The only people that would subject themselves to being President are clearly mad, so our pool of candidates has created what is known as voter apathy.  As in, Americans vote more for their favorite American Idol than they do for President.  Really though, you can vote for American Idol on the Internet, whereas with the president you have to figure out what district you’re in (they change them every election for fun), track down the obscure location, stand in line (if you’re in Texas, I advise you vote Democrat – much faster lines), and figure out the screwed up ballots.  Every state does it differently, with Florida winning the medal for stupidest voting methods ever.  On the plus side, during the 2000 election we did get to use the term “pregnant chads”.  When else would you have opportunity for that?

So let’s say you’re crazy – er ambitious – enough to run for President.  What do you have to do?  Well, it helps if you are a wealthy, middle-aged white male with plastic hair.  If you can’t manage that, you’d better have a great campaign slogan.  Like “Choose me.  At least I’m not so and so!”  Be your own man – or really hot woman (this helps the sexist men look over your fault of not having a penis.  Cause you’ve got bosoms, which are better.)  The People like someone who speaks his mind.  Of course you’d better not speak your real mind, or you’ll embarrass everybody.  You have to impress your party platform also, or no amount of plastic hair and waxed teeth are going to get you the nomination.  Hint: If you are a Republican, try not to mention “choice” too much.  And if you’re a Democrat, don’t talk about how your favorite dish is endangered seals.  It won’t go over well.  If you’re a Libertarian, you can say whatever the hell you want, because no one will vote for you anyway.

Typical political candidate.

But what if you don’t have any real viewpoints?  What if you’re so stupid you only got through college because your wife (future First Lady!) did all your term papers for you while you drank heavily with your frat brothers?  Not a problem.  You don’t actually have to have views on the issues, or even know what they are necessarily.  All you have to do is make the other guy look like more a loser than you are.  This is known formally as Debate.  The moderator will ask you questions to see how you stand on the issues.   Oh, oh, questions!  Again, don’t fret, project.  And if that doesn’t work, change the subject.  Observe the model below:

Moderator: Mr. Smith, what will you do to improve the economy?

Smith: Well, I will not do what Mr. Jones did.

Moderator: Great.  What will you do?

Smith:  Abortion is wrong.  Jones likes abortion.  He aborts babies for fun.  In fact, he likes getting women pregnant just so he can perform more abortions.  Abortion.

Moderator: That has nothing to do with the issue we are discussing.

Smith: Well it should.  Abortion is important.  Mr. Jones likes abortion.  Also, he’s gay.

And so forth.  Keep dancing around the questions while taking jabs at your opponent.  Be sure you don’t say anything concrete that they can nail you on later.  If they keep pressing you, claim that you are being prejudiced against because of your sex, race, national origin, or lack of intelligence.  And then point out that the other candidate likes having orgies with nuns.

If you can do all this and secure your party’s nomination, you’ve got it made.  Well, until you actually get elected.  Then it’s time to start all over again.

Rants With Alice: Mind Your Own Freaking Business!

Okay, so it’s another pneumonia related post, but since it’s still hanging on me, it can hang on you too.  That’s just the kind of mood I’m in, peoples.  I am much better, but tend to get exhausted after walking, like, ten feet.  Our parking situation is less than ideal, which you’d know if you’d read my post (No Parking).  So, since I get so tired so easily my boss suggested I get temporary handicapped parking.

Here’s where it starts to get fun, guys.  I asked the doctor for a note and took it to the university’s parking services, because I figured they controlled everything on their campus (they try to, at least).  Well, not that.  So I went back to the doctor and he filled out a form and I signed and some notary person signed and I took it to the DPS in town and paid five dollars and ta-da I had a fancy new placard to hang from my rearview mirror.  It’s not exactly stylish.  I’m thinking of fixing it up with some glitter and rhinestones so it can be all handicapped blingy.

Needs more bling.

Wheee, close parking!  Finally something halfway decent was coming out of this lung crapola.  Granted, I would have preferred breathing clearly to having a nice parking place, but I’ll take what I can get.

But it gets EVEN BETTER, guys.  I have no problems the first day, but the second day using my handicap bling I’m walking toward the library’s back entrance (which is just a short distance away – Score!) when another employee (not of the library) who by the way is fugly and annoying says to me ever-so-helpfully, “You know they’ll catch you for parking there.”

WTF?  I’d like to say I swung around and flipped him off or some other appropriate response but I never do that because I’m just too stunned that anyone would be such an asshole.  I don’t know WHY this surprises me, since there are assholes everywhere, but somehow it always does.  Instead I say, “I have a placard.”  Meanwhile it’s blowing cold air out in the fucking parking lot and I’ve got my face buried in my jacket defending myself to Mr. Dickhead.  He responds, “Is it yours?  Because that’s what they’ll look for, if it belongs to you.” Or some other such shit.  Oh, great.  So now I mug handicapped people for their placards?  WTF???

I say, “I have pneumonia,” somehow leaving off the “asshat” part and go inside.  Meanwhile I’m still fuming.  I mean, really?  Where does he get off?  So you’re not handicapped unless you’re in a wheelchair or on crutches or have an arm hanging by a tendon or something?  Sorry, moron, but there are other disabilities, like, I dunno, LUNG DISEASE.  It’s listed in the little form thingy that you fill out to get one of these awesome fucking placards.  But you wouldn’t know that, would you?  Because you’re a dickhead.

Another thing that really struck me was how he acted as if he was concerned for my welfare here. Like, oh dear, I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble with the law, sweetie.  The policemen get madfaced when you park where it’s illegal.  Really?  No shit, Sherlock.  I’ve only been driving for 20 freaking years, so I kind of picked up on that already.  It’s not like handicapped parking is unique to the university.  And if I have the placard?  I must have stolen it!  So I’m an illegal parker and a thief!  I have this image of myself knocking over some little old lady, grabbing her placard, laughing evilly, and dashing off into the night with my prize.  What.the.fuck.

I knock over handicapped people and steal their placards!

But here’s the most important part.  Even if I WAS a thief and illegally parking, why would this be his business?  I’ve seen him around some, sure, but we aren’t pals by any stretch of the imagination.  If I’m stupid enough to park illegally and rob old ladies, would I really listen to reason from Fugly Ass here?  Just – shut up.  Shut the fuck up.  You’re not trying to help me.  You’re jealous because I have a good parking place and I don’t look sufficiently disabled to you.  My dear, I’d love to give you just an ounce of this pneumonia so you can see how it feels.  Also a kick in the nuts.  It’s none of your business.

So shut up.  The world would be a much better place if more people just SHUT THE HELL UP.  End rant.

Biological Clocks, and Other Betrayals of Mother Nature

From the time I was a little kid, I loved babies.  I thought my mother was terrible for not providing me with a younger sibling, thus granting me that oh-so-favored place as middle child.  Of course, as the baby of the family, I didn’t understand that babies weren’t just cute: they were loud, and smelly, and a big pain in the butt.  Nope I only saw this:


As I got older, I continued to adore babies.  My mother once pointed out that I’d better look at the boys first.  Good point.  Then again, I liken that to the way many girls think of weddings.  The groom is generally the last piece of the puzzle, long after picking out your dress, the location, the flowers, your colors, etc.  Notice there is a Dream Wedding Barbie, but no Dream Wedding Ken.  That’s because guys don’t dream of weddings, they dream of trucks.

Anyway, by the time I had gotten out of my teens, I had developed full blown Early Onset Biological Clock Syndrome or its acronym STUPID.  When I met my future husband I scrutinized him carefully.  He was kind, patient, reliable, held an actual job, and children were attracted to him like he was the freaking Pied Piper.  Perfect father material!  Oh, and, yeah, I loved him and all, but a large part of me was thinking this:


STUPID is insidious, and is not termed “biological clock” for nothing.  It feels like a constant ringing inside your head.  You can be the most competent, intelligent woman around, but once STUPID hits, this is all you think about:


People will try to warn you.  They’ll say sensible crap like “Babies are a lot of work” and “Babies are expensive and you’re freaking broke” and “Maybe you should wait until your marriage and / or career is more stable” and “You realize you can’t ever take them back.” All good advice.  But you hear:


My husband and I could not agree on when to have a baby.  I wanted one on the honeymoon.  Him not so much.  He was a good provider of the sensible advice.  So I asked when he’d be ready, because I’m a planner.  His answer, “I dunno.”  This did not impress me.  So I went along, irritated, and continued on with my job as a teaching assistant while working on my graduate degree.  I actually started school because they offered me a job.  Not only was the pay outstanding (right), it caused schizophrenia because you got to be both teacher and student, but not enough of both.  So naturally it was right in the middle of a college semester when we had an Oops.  Finally!  I had gotten just what I wanted!  But as soon as that stick turned pink, I thought:


CRAPPPPP what have I done???  We have no money.  We’ve only been married 9 months, so we hardly even know each other.  And most importantly: We cannot keep a plant alive.  We are so in trouble.

My husband, the one who wasn’t so into it, took it in stride.  Hey, a baby, cool okay.  Just – what???  He is so laid back about most things, I’m amazed he is ever actually upright.  Then came the joy of morning sickness, which doesn’t just occur in the morning, sorry.  And hormones playing ping pong with my depression and anxiety, so that I was freaking out almost every day.  I went to the classes I taught, handed out assignments, and took mini naps on my desk, trying not to puke.  For four months, my constant companion was “Mr. Bowl”, which I took with me everywhere in case I had to vomit.  Yay, pregnancy is so much fun!  But that’s okay, because at the end you get . . .


Once the morning sickness abated, things weren’t too bad.  Until we took that Lamaze class and they showed how your cervix will widen to ten centimeters.  They had a handy chart.  Every woman in the room gasped.  I’m pretty sure almost all of us wanted off the ride at that point.

But in the end, I did get my baby, and she was beautiful and perfect and even came three weeks early.  My mother said “See, I told you that you couldn’t wait 9 months to have a baby.”  She slept most of the first month, and I delighted in dressing her up in all her cute baby clothes while she snoozed, oblivious.  My friend and I took her along with us everywhere.  She was the best doll ev-er.  And then she woke up.

The first year was kind of like this:


So naturally, after we survived that, I started thinking, hey, it’d be kinda cool to have another one, you know, like matching luggage that poops.  So four years and a mixup with the birth control later, we got our second baby.  And immediately after, I had my tubes tied.

Now I can safely say that I no longer like babies.  I mean, sure, I’ll coo at a cute baby, maybe even hold it a few minutes, but then I’m done.  Done.  Because I know what lies beneath the cuteness.  Mother Nature is done with me, and so gave me relief from the STUPID.  I realize she has to do this to us, so that we can continue to overpopulate the planet and whatnot.  But dang, you do not want to mess with her.  She’s ruthless.  Just like this:

They eventually become teens!
BTW, you suck!

50 Shades Flunked: Lesson Two

Before I even begin, may I just say this chapter was a buttload of . . .

This cat knows what it’s talking about.

I mean, I just, what, I can’t, why, I don’t even, fuck, fuck, fuck.  I think that about does it.

First off, I suppose you probably figured out that (B) The yacht blew up, was not the right answer, but kudos to any who answered that out of spite.  Also, those who selected (C) Ana shows a spine for five seconds, are also wrong.  Frowny Face.

So, yes, that means that (A) Christian trusses Ana up like a stuck pig, is correct.  Happy Face for you, which might be the last happy face you ever make.  That bodes so well for the rest of this recap, doesn’t it?  SIGH.  Let’s get to it.

Chapter Two opens with Christian flipping out because Ana has been showing off her boobies to, like, security, and the rest of the beach, and OMG possibly the paparazzi!  ( Red Flag) Wait a minute.  I mean, I get that she’s showing off on the beach, although she points out that so is every other woman, but you know Ana’s a speshul freaking snowflake, so I’m sure her boobs are rounder and pointier and sparklier than everyone else’s.  But even then, I don’t get why the paparazzi would give a shit.  I mean, he’s a businessman, not an actor, a famous athlete, or a freaking prince.  No one should care that much about this guy.  So he’s rich.  A lot of people are rich.  Big fucking deal.  The paparazzi have their hands full what with all the talentless reality TV stars they have to trail.  There’s no time for stupid talentless businessmen.  He also adds that her speshul boobies might be on the cover of Star!  This is just ridiculous. (FacePalm, WTF).

Papparazi are also chasing this chick.

So Christian is pissy with Ana and an asshole to the innocent waiter (Red Flag) and Ana’s wondering why Christian didn’t see the funny side (Ana Fail) of her little stunt.  GEE, ANA, I don’t know.  Maybe it’s because you married a freaking psychopath you moron!  Sheesh.  He drags Ana off, and we meet Taylor’s two new sidekicks since Ryan and Reynolds had to go make an awful Green Lantern movie together.  And get this – the names of the two new sidekicks are Phillipe and Gaston, and they’re, like, twins.  Gaston?  Really?  E.L., you just got through watching Disney’s Beauty and the Beast, didn’t you?  Gosh, that’s so freaking clever (FacePalm). 

Holy Crap, Belle, this book is filled with porn!

Christian and Ana get on the Jet Ski and Ana thinks yippee this is so much fun zooming around like a twelve-year-old even though Christian’s planning to kill her when he gets to the boat.  Wheee! (FacePalm)  They get to the boat and have drinks (I could have taken points for alcohol abuse too, but really, she’s doing badly enough already).  So Christian brags about how he got his boat from this British knight whose grandpa opened a grocery store and whose daughter is like married to a crown prince of Europe and if you believe that I’m like freaking Queen Elizabeth II (FacePalm).  They discuss how badly Christian is going to punish Ana.  You know, romantic honeymoon talkies. (Red Flag, Sexy Times)

Thinking about this makes me feel all warm and fuzzy, like this little guy.

Christian reminds Ana that she’s stinking rich, so she should get used to throwing money away on useless shit, and I’m reminded of why we should totally offer tax breaks to our unfortunate top one percent in this country. (AliceRage)  And Ana drifts off into ANOTHER flashback, and yes, looks like I’m going to have to come up with points off for the flashbacks.  At least there hasn’t been an email yet.  Thank all that is holy for small favors.  This one’s all about them arguing over whether Christian should make Ana sign a prenup agreement and Christian gets all madface and why the fuck should we care about this? (BoredNow)  I do love it when Ana points out to Christian that “you know I might do something exceptionally stupid”.  I have to give her that one.

Yup. That’s Ana.

Ana comes back to reality (She should probably get this drifting off business looked at.  Maybe she’s having mini seizures from some brain injury.  That would explain a lot.) and Christian orders Ana not to pee.(WTF)  Not . . . pee?  Oh, sweet Jesus, I DO NOT want to read any more of this.  I thought this was a hard limit, James!  If Ana pees on Christian, that’s it, I’m . . . actually that would be incredibly amusing, except that he’d probably enjoy it and just, crap, can this book get worse?  Don’t answer that.

Just hold it, Ana, ‘kay?

Ana reflects that she is one lucky girl as Christian gets out the metal handcuffs and the blindfold, that he, you know, just happened to bring with them on their honeymoon. (Red Flag).  He tells her the cuffs can be painful, but he really, really wants to use them on her, so that makes it all okay! (Red Flag)  He trusses her up, I shit you not, like a stuck pig.  Left hand attached to left ankle, right hand attached to right ankle. (RED FLAG) Wow.  Just, that’s so damn romantic.  Anyway, she has to think up a safe word, so she goes with “popsickle” (Facepalm) and off we go! (Sexy Times)

First ice cream, now popsickles. Quit ruining food for me, E.L.!

Christian takes off her bikini and threatens to staple it to her the next day (Red Flag).  I would take him at his word, Ana.  He tells Ana she was disobedient (did she shit on the rug?) and says “I’m going to fuck you until you scream.” (Red flag, red flag, fucking red flag!)  Sorry . . . I lost myself for a minute there.  Must have been that orgasm I just had.  This scene is just so erotic and not at all scary as shit. (AliceRage)

So he slams into her with his massive peen over and over and this sounds pretty damn painful to me, especially considering the way she’s positioned (Red Flag), but Ana is totally into it, of course (Ana Fail).  I hate her.  Christian asks why she defies him (Red Flag) and then commands her to orgasm again, which she does.  I hate him too.  Ana has a death defying orgasm that is probably heard all the way back in America, and it’s finally freaking over.  Ana thinks that this punishment fuck was way cool and that she should totally disobey more often (Ana Fail, FacePalm).  Yeah, it’s so cool, Ana.  Maybe next time while he’s punishing you, he’ll freaking kill you, and then we won’t have to hear your idiot thoughts ever, ever again. (AliceRage) That’s a nice thought.

I thought I’d give you a visual, so you can get the full impact of being trussed up. Sexy, huh?

Ana falls asleep, then wakes up in the morning to go pee (cause he wouldn’t let her before, remember, and like, we need to know whenever she needs to urinate).  But when she looks in the bathroom mirror, she’s like, what did he do to me?  End chapter.

Final Score: 100-58 =42 or . . .

Is there a grade lower than this? Like, say, a G?

Question Three: What’s going to happen in Chapter Three?

A. Ana discovers that she is covered in hickies and bruises and temporarily grows a spine before being sexed into submission by that silly old Christian.

B. Christian has a flashback about crackwhore mom braiding his hair.

C. Taylor, Phillipe, and Gaston handcuff Christian and Ana together, and toss them overboard.  Christian tries desperately to stick his peen in her one last time as they sink to the bottom.

Good luck!  I can’t wait for Chapter Three, because I just know you can’t get any worse than Chapter Two.

50 Shades Contest Results: So far

You might have wondered if I was actually keeping up with your responses or if I was just going to say screw it and just give you a random grade (I don’t know any teachers that do this).  I’m not as talented as some people who have way too many clown noses lying around (wait, those were clown noses, right?) who can magically place them in every post despite there being like 5,000 posts.  I have slightly less than this and still didn’t do it.  But don’t despair!  I have test results.  Some of you may be held back.  On the plus side, you get to keep your same desk.

So far:

Questions for Chapter One and Two:

I had 10 bloggers comment on chapter 1 and 8 on chapter 2.  You all get complimentary happy faces for that one, I just decided, cause I love comments.  Some of you guessed right.  Some of you guessed wrong.  Some of you guessed the most violent answers out of pure spite, which I admire.  And of course some of you have, I’m so sorry, actually read these books and have pointed out your unfair – oh so unfair – advantage as far as knowing what happened in the the book.  Then again, I’m not sure if I could correctly answer anything from the first two books and I know I read those.  So who knows.

So  1 happy face for everybody.  Along with the added happy or frowny for each question depending on if you got it right or wrong.   (I would say I’m going to check, but yeah right, so whatever you do doooon’t cheat because . . . what am I saying, cheat all you want.)  Either way you can wear these faces with pride, because even if an answer’s wrong, there’s still a chance it could have happened in the book because these books suck so bad I wouldn’t be surprised if the Titanic suddenly surfaces in one.  Also, I think there should be multiple Alicebling prizes for various inane things, like most violent response, responses that made Alice laughhh, etc as I think of them.  Everyone can be winner!  Unlike that damn monopoly game at McDonalds because that freaking clown cheats.  Here are our current contestants.


Carrie Rubin






Madame Weebles

Angel Fractured



Ruby Tuesday

It is not too late to enter, you guyz!  Some of you may have and I forgot to stick you on this list because Alice is hard of thinking – just let her know.  This is a really cool contest.  There are prizes, I swear, as soon as I figure out what they are. Also you ALL win a place on my blog roll just for showing up (most of you are probably already there unless I haven’t remembered to add you, which is also possible.)  This is impressive because I am a very hot commodity and like millions of people see my blog everyday and I would never lie to you guyz, my friends.

I have decided to go to one 50 Shades recap a week because it is the most my brain can stand.  Speaker 7 had her reasons for making her recaps come slower and slower.  She was trying to maintain brain cells.  I think they do regenerate, but it takes time people, and also reading actual real literature and watching a lot of PBS.  Tough therapy there.  So good luck to you all, and may the odds be evah in your favor, and all that crap.


Awards for Alice That Are Like Way Better Than Pressed

Yay, more bling for Alice!  The first award is from Sunny with a Chance of Armaggedon, which is one of the best blog names ever.   She gave it to me a while ago, and I admired it but kept forgetting to put it up and do the proper thank you and frack how many other thank yous have I forgotten?  I bet some of the people at my last baby shower (8 years ago) are pretty pissed.  Where was I?  Oh, yes. 


That is one big flower.

There are always questions.  Must I talk about me again?  Oh, very well, le sigh dramatically.


1) What is your favorite color?  Pink.  Pale pink, not hot pink or bubblegum.  Real pink.  Like you use in baby rooms.  Normal baby rooms.  Not baby rooms done up in a montage of Ronald Reagan photos.  Unless you like that sort of thing (your baby is weirded out enough to register Democrat, though.)

2) What is your favorite animal?  Penguins.  Hilariously goofy little birds. There are, like, 19 kinds of penguins.  I blame Thing Two.

“And then I realized how freaking CUTE we are!”

3) What is your favorite non-alcoholic drink? I have a love affair with Coca-Cola.  We go way back.  Dr. Pepper is my second choice, like when your other crush is busy and you need a date.  Wouldn’t you like to be a pepper, too?

4)  Facebook or Twitter?  Facebook because I actually understand it and how the heck am I supposed to fit my posts into that few words cause I can go on for . . .

6) Do you prefer getting or giving presents?  Presents, presents, presents.  BLING! I like!  Although I do love to give to those I love, especially if I know what they really like.  I do not like giving to those I don’t know or like much.  It’s awkward.  Not that, uh, there’s anyone that fits that category.

I has it.

7)  Favorite number?  Eleventy-billion!

8) Favorite day of the week? Saturday.  No work.  Sleep in.  All good.  What other day is there?  I would love to see the one who says “Monday” then gets totally clobbered.

9) Favorite flower?  White rose, although I also like carnations because they don’t freaking die so fast.

10) What is your passion? Blogging, music, writing, reading, teaching my kids to snark, politics (certified Yellow Dog Democrat.  Republicans: Please don’t shoot.  :D)

Blog awards are like the Academy Awards, except sometimes these blogs are seen by real people.

Everybody!  Except Le Clown.  Sara must take one (even if she has it already) and rub it in his face.


The second award is from reflectionsonlifethusfar.  This is the first time I’ve heard of this award, and it sounds pretty cool.  You nominate bloggers and stuff, but drat it all now I have to talk about ME ME ME some more and I’m just such a shy violet.  What.  What???

I have always refused to live in the real world. For instance, I like to think there are still lots of people who actually read.


The Top 5 Books I’ve Read:

(You’ll notice that 3 of these are not only series, but YA series.  Whatevs. 

  1. The Prydain series by Lloyd Alexander
  2. Percy Jackson and the Olympians series by Rick Riordan
  3. The Hunger Games series by Suzanne Collins
  4. All humor books by Dave Barry (my hero)
  5. Marriage Confidential by Pamela Haag

I know there are other books out there I’ve read (some might even be for adults) that are really great, but I have brain dumbs and can’t think of them now.  Please tell me yours!  I like hearing about what disturbing interesting things people enjoy reading.

Books I’m Currently Reading:

  1. 50 Shades Freed (not a real book) by E.L. Freakin’ James
  2. The Seneca Scourge (a real book!) by Carrie Rubin

This is the most exciting sticker! I feel all red carpety.

Once again, I can’t choose, and not just because I’m lazy.  There are too many!  And this is unreal because I’m saying there are too many bloggers I know that can read!  Sadly, this means once again I have to leave out Le Clown. But Le Eric can feel free to take one.  See?  I am the nicest.

Thank you all!


Rants with Alice

You know how I said I was going to return to the horoscopes on Friday?  Yeah, I lied.  See, my physic abilities have taken a hiatus, and I’m not sure when they’ll be back.  What I do have in abundance, though, is lots of AliceRage.  So I thought we could do a nice Friday special about this.  I call it “Rants with Alice”.

I was going for the Bob Ross look.

Today’s rant is about: Doctor’s Offices.

Now I spoke of adventures in the doctor’s office before in another post, but this one is different because this is like the 18th doctor’s visit I’ve had since contracting Lung Crapola (the saga continues!), so by now I’m just pissed before I even walk in the door.  This is my second follow-up appointment, since it was determined at the last appointment that I was still sick and I got another week off. 

My rage begins when I first get to the counter and meet the receptionists.  What’s fun is the way they pretend they don’t see you.  Their motto is “don’t make eye contact”.  They will look off absolutely anywhere but straight in front of them.  It’s like two-year-olds when they close their eyes and think they’ve disappeared.  I want to say “I can still fucking see you.” 

So I get through the receptaraptors, and now I get to wait on the doctor.  And wait.  And wait.  I have no idea why they even schedule appointments, since the doctors are never on time.  But the waiting is not so bad, because besides the T.V. (Fox News!  Yes!) there’s always good reading material available, covered in lots of patient germs.  Stuff like fishing magazines and Highlights for Children from 1985.  Don’t you just love that Goofus and Gallant?  If I were Goofus, I would have offed Gallant a long time ago.  You know he wants to do it.  No one is that freaking annoying and perfect and gets to live long. 

I’m hoping Goofus runs into Gallant with the scissors up.

Finally I get in and go through the motions, and then I usually see the doctor, but this time I am so lucky and get a blond doctor student.  I have nothing against blonds, it’s just that I never bothered to read her name tag, so I’m just calling her blond student which beats what I want to call her, which is really not printable. 

Blond student is way too fucking chipper to be in a doctor’s office.  I ask for meds to help me sleep temporarily.  She is so amused that I sleep so much during the day (because I’m exhausted from no sleep at night).  “There’s your problem!” she says.  “You just need to stay awake during the day!”  Brilliant. I never fucking thought of that. 

She examines me by listening to my lungs and checking my oxygen levels.  “You sound great!” she happily exclaims.  I inform her that I sounded “great!” when I my entire right lung was coated with fucking pneumonia.  She gives me this “I’m going to humor this hypochondriac” look I just adore.  She asks me how I’m feeling (fabulous, bitch) essentially asking for what I just told the nurse a while ago.  I am forced to defend being sick, despite there being oh you know FREAKING XRAYS showing I was sick.  Nope, nope, clearly I have Munchausen’s.  If so, then put me in the damn loony bin and write me a note for work.  At least I’ll get some rest there, and I hear the Jello is excellent.

I go wait for an Xray, because it has been an entire week since I’ve last been exposed to radiation.  When I’m done, I get to wait some more!  Blond student comes back.  Shit.  She yammers at me some more, but I just watch her stupid lips move and her head tilt back and forth and I realize she reminds me of that Janis puppet from the Muppets.  I repeat everything I repeated already, again, and real doctor shows up!  She grins and informs him that I sleep like four hours a day!  Isn’t that fucking funny?  Look, bitch, I’m still sitting right here in front of you.  By the way, I hate you.


Fur Suuuure, Blond Student!

Real doctor tells me that hey, I can take Tylenol PM, when stupid blond student said I couldn’t take anything.  Bite me, blond student.  For the 80th time I tell someone, this time the doctor, about how I have tons of fucking paperwork to fill out in order to qualify for sick leave that will not kick in until a week after my regular leave runs out, which means there will be at least a week of me not being paid (hooray!) provided they fill out the forms right and then payroll does what they’re supposed to do and I really think that’s way too much to expect.  I’m so not getting paid this month.

I am allowed the rest of the week off, which has so far allowed me to A) take care of sick child B) run around in circles trying to get this damn paperwork completed and C) have several mini mental breakdowns.  So it’s going super well.  Next week I go back to work half days, and this should be interesting since it’s been so long since I’ve been there I’ve almost forgotten what the hell I do.  I can hardly wait.  End Rant.