Now that the election is over I have one very important question

Does Bristol still have to get married?

A Friendly Reminder to the Fucktard Parents at After School Pickup

There is limited parking in front of the school. Please refrain from stopping your car three feet from the person in front of you instead of pulling up far enough to let another car in the line.

You are not special.

I'm looking at you BMW Bitch.

If you are driving a gaggle of children home from school--presumably other people's children in addition to your own--have enough seat belts and/or car seats for all of them.

Seeing a seven year with a toddler on her lap in the back seat makes me want to see how you'd like being thrown through a windshield face first.

Smoking on school property while waiting for your kid to come out is trashy.

...as is swearing into your cell phone in front of little kids.

That sign that says "Buses and Daycare Vans Only"? It applies to everyone--even you, Mr. Jesusfish Minivan.

Generally, and I'm just guessing here, it's not recommended to blast your stereo at full spleen-shattering volume with kids in the car.

That is all.

But I don't have any freckles

I have red hair. I was born with it. It's been changed to just about every color of the rainbow at one time or another, but it is naturally red.

As a kid, everywhere I went, some old guy would invariably call me "Red" or "Carrot Top" which pissed me off. Even at 8 years old, I had no tolerance for elderly smartasses.

"'Bet she has a real temper, that one", some smarmy retiree would quip at my Mom while waiting in line at the grocery store.

Well, wouldn't you if you couldn't go anywhere without someone pointing out the painfully obvious?

People were fascinated by it. They would ask which side of the family it came from, then share some story about how their Great-Great Aunt on their Mother's side had red hair. I couldn't help but roll my eyes and pull on my Mom's arm to get the fuck out of there.

As I got older I grew to hate my natural born locks. I felt like some kind of freak. No one I knew had red hair, and we all know that when you've been saddled with a genetic rarity such as this, kids can and will be cruel.

It didn't help any that I was a really ugly kid. Oh, good times....

We also happened to live in southern California at the time, and in addition to having the pelo roja I was as pasty as the driven snow.

I remember idolizing Cyndi Lauper and Annie Lennox back in the day. Not because of their talent, but because they had red hair. I wasn't quite clued into the fact that theirs wasn't natural. I begged my Mother to shave a checkerboard in the side of my 'do like Ms. Lauper or crop it ultra-short like Annie. She gave me a horrified "no", and I was stuck with the long in the back/feathered sides and top (pretty much a longer version of a mullet). Hey, it was the early 80's! I know--still not a good excuse.

Later in my early teens, I was asked if the "curtains matched the drapes". It took me a few times of laughing uncomfortably with a puzzled look on my face before I was filled in on what that meant. Nothing like asking a 13 year old what color her pubic hair is. Classy.

A few years later I was introduced to the phrase "redheaded stepchild". I didn't know what it meant (honestly, I still don't) but I sensed it wasn't good.

After moving away from home, I experimented with an array of shades. I was every color from the whitest blond to the blackest black. Throw in a few shades of purple, blue and an unfortunate kelly green stint and my hair had seen it all.

And that was before I went to beauty school.

And then it happened. I made peace with my cranial hue.

One summer day, I was walking around campus minding my own damn business when a car full of frat boys zoomed by. One hung out the window and as they passed me yelled, "FIRE BUSH!".

It stopped me in my tracks.

Fire Bush? Really?

At first I was embarrassed, mortified and not just a little bit angry--stupid monkey boys with nothing better to do than sexually harass a lone woman taking a stroll.

Then, I was fascinated by the fact that walking down the street with red hair could elicit such a response from total (albeit undeniably cunty) strangers.

Maybe this red hair thing wasn't the detriment I'd always seen it as. Perhaps it held some kind of magical power. I liked that.

I haven't messed with the color of my hair for years now. I used to wear it in a really short pixie (think Mia Farrow in Rosemary's Baby). Now it's slowly making its way down the middle of my back. I'm not just wearing it--I'm wearing it.




And yes, the carpet matches the drapes.

Grant Miller Asks the Tough Questions

I had the honor of being grilled by none other than Grant Miller of Grant Miller Media. I feel special, and not in a grocery-store-bagger-at-Kroger kind of way either.

I met Grant back in 1991 at an arts camp for high school kids (ironically enough in the very town I live in now), so if you want some juicy dirt on him from his youth...actually I don't have any, but I'd be happy to make something up.

Enjoy!


You and I actually know each other from the real world, but we haven't seen each other since 1993? 1994? Describe why you stopped returning my phone calls.

Well if you'll recall, it wasn't phone calls but letters I stopped returning. I wish they weren't packed in the storage unit. They are still hilarious to read 13 (or is it 14?) years later. Nothing blackmail worthy, but I could be convinced to share them in the future (royalties to be discussed at a later date).
I think I stopped returning them because I was busy doing important college stuff like getting drunk, hopped up on drugs, and having lots and lots of casual sex. That took up most of my time.


2. You worked in a hair salon in Bloomington, Illinois. What's the best way to style a mullet.

Funny you should ask. Just today I saw a man jogging down the street dressed in a 1985-era Bears jersey, matching shorts and knee high sports socks (with stripes). He had a white terry cloth headband holding down a glorious mullet/porn star moustache combo. I teared up a little.

He had the right idea. It's not just about 'business in the front/party in the back', but the look as a whole. One must commit to the mullet, for the mullet is not merely a hairstyle, but a way of life.

3. Keep the sideburns or shave them off?

You could shave them level with the top of your ears and start religiously watching NASCAR. Don't forget to pull back out that free tshirt you got from sending in your Marlboro carton UPCs.

4. You're trying to sell your house. What lies have told prospective buyers or their realtors?

If I get a little hint as to who's doing the looking, I "stage" the house. One time, I knew a professor from the private college in town was looking, so I put out a few pretentious books on the end table. If I know they have kids, I make sure the art table in the dining room has a couple of the kids' drawings set out on it.

One time I almost left something really embarrassing out that would have only appealed to a vampire.


5. Why should people read your blog?

I like to use the word "cunt" in many different forms. Also, I am friends with you which makes me awesome by proxy.