Dear God, She's Pregnant.

Unless you have been living under a rock for the past few days, you must have heard the news.

Snooki is pregnant.

Take a moment to digest that information. In the meantime, enjoy this picture:

Yep, the 4'9 "guidette" (what does that even mean?) is cooking a little bun in her oven. This is a woman who either spends her time getting drunk in New Jersey or trying to get drunk in Italy.

But you know, ok. It's none of my business if Snooki is going to have a baby. Despite her less then steller track record, if she is going to improve her health and lifestyle for the sake of the baby, good for her. It's her right, after all.

That was pretty much how I felt about the Snookie situation (if I felt anything at all), until I saw this on the Huffington Post:

In Virginia, under the new approved bill, private adoption agencies can prevent an adoption because of the parents' religious beliefs or sexual orientation.

What. The. Hell.

Children are being denied loving parents because of their sexual orientation or religious beliefs, but Snooki is allowed to have a kid.

Dear God, help us all.

Put This Between Your Knees, Rush Limbaugh.

When I first started this blog, I told myself I wasn't going to talk about anything "controversial." It would not be some sort of political blog talking about all the terrible things that go on in politics. It would just be a fun little place for me to talk about all the awesome things that happen in college.


Well, you can thank Rush Limbaugh for the change.


I am a proud Liberal woman. Lately, I have been quietly fuming about all the assaults that have been happening on women's reproductive health care, but I haven't done anything but vent about it to other people.


Then I heard about the comments Rush Limbaugh has been making against Georgetown law student Sandra Fluke.


If you have no idea what I'm talking about/have been living under a rock for the past few weeks, I'll explain the situation.


House Oversight Committee Chairman Rep. Darrell Issa (R-CA) held a hearing about the Obama administration’s new regulation requiring employers and insurers to provide contraception coverage to their employees, but they prevented women from testifying on the issue.


During the all male panel on whether religious institutions should have to provide free contraception to their female employees (lets just take a moment to reflect on the fact that men were the only one's allowed to talk on a panel about female contraception) Sandra Fluke was denied the chance to speak.


Later, at a Democratic hearing, Fluke told the sad story about how a friend of her at Georgetown, a lesbian, has polycystic ovarian syndrome and has to take prescription birth control to stop cysts from growing on her ovaries. However, since Georgetown University is a Catholic university, her friend's student health insurance would not cover the cost. 


After paying several hundred dollars out of pocket, the girl was forced to stop taking to contraception since she could no longer afford it. The cysts on her ovary got so big that the girl now had to have surgery to remove her ovary. She is now in early menopause and no longer able to have children.


Fluke's story is one that many woman go through. 98% of women in America have used contraception, and not just for preventing pregnancies.


However, when Limbaugh got wind of the story, the always classy Rush began to talk about Fluke on his radio program, calling her a "prostitute" and a "slut." He also said that the reason Fluke couldn't afford contraception was because she and the other girls at Georgetown were having "so much sex." 


I've grown use to people like Limbaugh slut shaming girls for having the gall to use contraception and even (gasp!) enjoy sex. Plus, his stupidity clearly shows when he Fluke was actually talking about (contraception for medical reasons) when completely over his head.


But on his next radio show, he crossed a line that even I thought he couldn't cross. Here is what he said to Miss Fluke and the rest of the "Feminazis":

LIMBAUGH: So Miss Fluke, and the rest of you Feminazis, here’s the deal. If we are going to pay for your contraceptives, and thus pay for you to have sex. We want something for it. We want you post the videos online so we can all watch.

Yes girls, if you have the nerve to want affordable contraception coverage, you shouldn't have any trouble posting a sex tape, because you are obviously a whore who has so much sex that you can barely afford the pill. 


Reacting to the (understandable) outrage over his remarks, dear old Rush only had this to say:

LIMBAUGH: I will buy all of the women at Georgetown University as much aspirin to put between their knees as they want.

 Rush is, of course, referring to Conservative Santorum Super PAC donor Foster Friess, who said that back in his day, that gosh darn pill wasn't that expensive because "gals" just put "aspirin between their knees." I hope you all realize that aspirin is not a contraceptive, and what Friess really meant was that girls should just keep their legs closed if they don't want to get pregnant. Boys, however, are free to carry on as they wish.


Guess what Rush? I must be one of those Feminazi sluts, because when I was fourteen, I started taking the pill for (gasp!) medical reasons. I no longer take the pill because I have no need for it anymore, but someday, and I know this might be hard for you to handle, I'll start taking it again. 


And guess what Rush? I'm also a Christian. Let that soak into your brain for a minute.


So for you lovely eyes Rush, here is my sex tape:

This slut shaming is nothing but a horrible way to silence women, and to bring us back to the "good old days" when just talking about contraception could get you arrested, and women who needed an abortion went to back alley doctors.

So keep talking, Sandra Fluke. All women who want affordable contraception, keep talking.

Just keep talking.

Happy Valentines Day

If you are single, try not to think about the fact that right now Newt Gingrich is having more sex then you this Valentines Day. If you are with someone, try to still not think about that.

And now, a love poem:

Roses are red.

Violets are blue.

Fuck you, whore.

                                                            ---(500) Days of Summer

Goodbye, Fairy Godmother

As you probably know, Whitney Houston tragically passed away yesterday. You might know her as a famous singer from the 80's with a beautiful voice and a serious drug problem. Me, I knew her as one of the stars of one of my favorite childhood movies.

Though Babe holds the place in my heart as my favorite childhood movie, Cinderella is a close second. While at home I would often go around singing "In My Own Little Corner" badly and off key. I wanted my own Asian Prince with the genetically impossible Black and White mom and dad. Most of all, I wanted Whitney Houston as my Fairy Godmother.

Now, in the months before her death, I developed a new love for her. My friends would often jump around while singing "I Wanna Dance With Somebody." While mourning our single status, we would often break out into "I Will Love You." We would also laugh hysterically at this cover of the song: (Warning: Take out your headphones if you are wearing any)

So goodbye Fairy Godmother. Go dance with somebody in heaven.

Ukulele's and Stuff

I have a ukulele. His name is Fredrick.

Fredrick is slightly shy, so he only wanted a partial shot of himself in the picture.

I'm not crazy. At least, I think I'm not.

I got Fredrick this past Christmas, after meeting a barrage of people with their own ukulele's over the summer and becoming obsessed with learning how to play.

My sister had a small toy ukulele at home, but the poor thing would go out of tune within five minutes of playing it. So I begged and pleaded with my parents to buy me a real one, and to allow this one small bit of musical joy in my life.

I could tell they had reservations. I don't blame them. My younger sister has been blessed with all the musical talent in the family. I, on the other hand, was thought to be tone death for several years before they realized I was just a terrible singer. I tried taking guitar lessons in elementary school, but the teacher stopped showing up after a while.

I mean, I don't think I was that bad.

But i persisted. I plucked away on the untuned ukulele for months. I taught myself how to play "Somewhere Over the Rainbow," "I'm Yours" and "Hey Soul Sister," determined to show my parents I was serious about this.

By Christmas, they relented. In a staged version of when Ralphie gets his Red Rider BB Gun after all the presents have been opened, my parents pulled out my lovely little ukulele from behind the sofa after all the presents were unwrapped.

It would have been cute, if they hadn't pulled the exact same stunt last year when they got my sister and I "Beatles Rock Band."

I was sworn to protect this precious instrument, and to practice every day. And I love it.

And so, the point of this post? Why, to show you how much I love Julia Nunes:

After I started looking up ukulele videos on YouTube, I discovered her awesomeness. I mean, how many of you can do this:

She may have beaten out Kristen Chenoweth as my girl crush. I obviously have a thing for blonds. 

February

When I was little, I thought that February was the greatest month out of all the months of the year.

It may have had something to do with the fact that my birthday is in February. Also, how many other months don't have a set number of days? So what January, you think you're so special because you have 31 days? Pfft. Well not only does February have 28 days, but every four years it has 29 days. So suck on that.

However, as I have aged, February has become less of a great month. First of all, it's the one month out of the year were we allow a freaking groundhog to determine the weather forecast. No matter how many times a Punxsutawney native will explain the holiday to you, it will never not sound stupid.

The main reason for the February not-greatness? Valentines Day. Sure, many happy couples take this Hallmark Card holiday to show the world how much they love each other, but for people like me, it's the one day a year when I am acutely aware of my pathetic non-existent romantic life.

No longer is Valentines Day when you got a fun little party in school and get to pass around Sweet Hearts and little cards that say "I choo-choo's you to be my Valentine!" Now it's just become a day when I realize that my relationship status on Facebook has never changed from "Single."

Sigh...

A Question of the Universe Answered.

Many of you are probably wondering why my blog is named the way it is.

Just kidding. I'm sure that the thirteen people (and I love you all!) who read this blog have much more important things on their mind, such as who will be the Republican presidential candidate, or why bacon tastes so good yet is so bad for you.

However, I'm going to tell you the story anyway, because I'm on break, it's one in the morning, The Golden Girls has way to many commercials about Viagra and I'm bored out of my mind.

One of my friends, Colleen, has many frequent catchphrases. Some have faded through time, but one has stuck: "It's casual." "It's casual" has basically become the modern day equivalent of "c'est la vie." It's said whenever we realize that there is nothing we can do in a situation, no matter how much we would like to punch somebody in the face. It's also commonly applied in a ridiculous situation were we have no idea what happened or what to do.

Now on to the second part. About a month into the school year, my friends and I were chilling in our dorms common room, watching TV. On the stairs leading to the girls hallway, a boy, Zaire, was talking to a few girls in the hallway. As he continued to chat the up the girls, Zaire leaned on the railing as he started to walk down the stairs.

Not only did Zaire manage to miss the railing entirely, he proceeded to lose his footing and started an almost slow-motion tumble down the stairs. His body flopped like a Raggedy Ann doll as he hilariously continued to fall.

Finally, when his fall ended, he managed to land on the floor like this:

After completing his Iron Man impression (and we rushed over to see if he was ok), Zaire got up and walked boldly away (actually, he sort of limped). He was fine, and though people teased him about it for several weeks, now nobody really talks about it.

So that is the meaning of the name of this blog. Even something as traumatic as falling down stairs is pretty casual in the long run. 

Now excuse me, I have to go erase all memories of Viagra out of my head.