My Little Pony: I Can’t Believe I Liked It

Okay, so after almost two years of hearing about this show on 4chan, Minecraft and every other bloody forum I frequent, I finally got around to watching My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic.

Damn it, that show is awesome.

If you’re like me and have been putting it off, stop it and watch. I’m a 28-year-old man with a job and a wonderful lady, not some basement-dwelling mouth-breather, so take it from me: this cartoon rocks.

For the uninitiated, forget every single thing you know about My Little Pony. This isn’t about toys or fluff. The first thing I noticed was that it was developed for television by Lauren Faust. I knew right away it was going to be good. Even if you don’t know the name, you’ll know her work. Remember the Powerpuff Girls and Foster’s Home for Imaginary Friends? How about Dexter’s Laboratory? She brings that gender-neutral humor to the table along with character-driven storylines that are sweet, fun and enjoyable.

I found myself laughing with the ponies, rooting for them in times of conflict and enjoying every minute of it. Even my love, who tends to take the “Disney or die” attitude with cartoons, was enjoying it. What got me most, though, was that I was emotionally affected by some of what I saw. Over the last three days, I’ve watched the first eight episodes and already I care about the characters. That’s the kind of show they’ve put together.

If you approach it with an open mind, you’ll have a good time. Or you’ll hate it. I think it’s one of those kinds of things. Whatever the case, I’ll be watching.

GG, Lauren Faust. GG, indeed.

If you’ve had a My Little Pony experience or just want to state your opinion on the show, I’d love to hear from you. Feel free to leave a comment.



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The Finer Things in Life

Just a quick one for today. I won’t say I’m a high-class sort, really. I’ve been pretty lucky, though. I’ve enjoyed some hundred-dollar steak dinners at beautiful places, had some of the finest liquor in the world and enjoyed some very expensive cigars with some amazing people. These things brought me great joy and made memories that I’ll keep with me forever.

With all of this in mind, why the hell do I still love spicy ramen noodle soup, Mountain Dew and Kools?


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Letters to Things: How to Break Up With Office Supplies

Dear Stapler,

You’re a wonderful asset. You hold things together for me in a way that those little paperclips never could. Your sleek, round design makes it a pleasure to hold you and the way you let me push more and more into you is more satisfying than any other stapler I’ve ever had.

Overall, our relationship over the years has been excellent. Lately, though, you’ve developed this habit of only doing the job halfway. You might tell me that it’s better than nothing, but I refuse to settle for that. Maybe I sound demanding, Stapler, but when I need you, you have to really dig in and finish it off. If I wanted to do it myself, I wouldn’t have bothered with you in the first place.

I’m not trying to make you jealous, but there’s a newer model that I’ve had my eye on for a while. Please, let’s work this out before you force me to do something you’ll regret.

With love,

Dear Calculator,

For a few years now, we’ve had our on and off relationship. Some might call it wrong, but you’re always there for me on command. You let me subtract what I like, you’re always willing to divide for me. But when we multiply, well, let’s just say you’ve ruined other calculators for me. It’s like I’m pushing all the right buttons and that equals a good time.

Your physical features are just the start of it, though. You have an amazing memory and such quick recall that I feel inferior before you. And no matter what, you’re able to tell me how much to tip or what the sales tax is going to be.

It seems that you’re a bit burdened by it all, though. You’ve been less and less willing to let me add anything and it’s frustrating. If it’s okay with you, I want to give you a break and maybe start over with a new calculator for a while.

You’re not out of the picture by any measure, of course, I’m happy to have you sitting on the corner of my desk like always. I just feel like we’d both be better served by trying something different.

Don’t forget me,

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Rules for the Lady Friends

Men and women are different creatures, no matter how much we hear otherwise. I show women the same respect I show men without issue. Women are not objects to me, I value their opinions and contributions. That being said, ladies, there are rules you need to follow to help smooth our friendship. I hope my female friends will read this and have a laugh, having finally learned why I act so strangely sometimes.

1. Flirting is okay; it’s a light, fun form of interaction. If you touch me while we’re flirting, you’re sending mixed signals to a man in a serious relationship.

2. Friendly cuddles are a great, non-sexual form of bonding that I truly adore. That being said, I will do anything within my power to avoid touching your breasts. When you grab my arm and pull it across your chest for your comfort, you’re making it worse. It’s not because your breasts are bad, it’s because my mind is.

3. At no point in our friendship should I ever know anything about your reproductive cycle. Your wacky system of tubes and things is largely a mystery to me and I’m happier for it. I have been known to make a midnight tampon run before, but avoid getting too specific. You’re getting the variety pack.

4. When you give me a choice between two things and reply, “I don’t care,” unlike a woman, I really don’t.

5. If, at any point during our friendship, I missed an opportunity to sleep with you, keep it to yourself. (16 and counting)

6. If you’re not prepared for an honest answer, don’t ask the question. Remember, you’re not my girlfriend and I don’t have to keep the peace with you. “Does this make me look fat?” and, “Does that make me a slut?” are two excellent ways to end our friendship.

7. Exclaiming, “I’m naked, don’t look!” is counterproductive.

8. Please don’t make me do anything that involves “women’s health.”

9. If you’re in a bad relationship, don’t be surprised or angry when I suggest that you dump the loser.

10. Did I mention your period and/or ovulation cycles? Yeah, it never becomes necessary for me to know about them.

Avoid these things and we’ll get along fine. To my friends, I can picture your nodding heads and dawning comprehension even as I write this. Women are awesome people and I’m happy for those in my life.

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A Few Words About the Weed

I wish pot was legal. It needs to be legal. I would smoke it if it was legal. Alcohol is a poor substitute. I want to get baked and actually enjoy television again. I want to get stoned and listen to Megadeth with my best friend and bitch about modern music. I want to get high and fall asleep sitting on my ex-girlfriend’s porch swing only to find out that it’s not my ex-girlfriend’s porch swing when the police wake me up in the morning.

This is normal, right?

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The War Against Good Service: Ten Annoying Customers

I’m at work. This is a short list of really annoying people that I see on a daily basis. I’m writing it because I’m too tired to write anything truly coherent right now. And because I might be feeling just a little like an unreasonably grumpy bastard.

1. To all you lovely folks that can’t think without leaving your mouths hanging open, I hope fire ants start a colony in your esophagus. No, really.

2. Open-mouth gum chewers everywhere: you look like cows with cud. Stop it.

3. Women in low-cut tops who give me dirty looks for sneaking a quick peek need to dress more conservatively.

4. Tight clothes do not make fat women look good. Please, if you know a big girl that thinks she looks great in hip-hugger jeans and belly shirts, tell her “no.”

5. You know those people that say “fuck” way too much? They can do it to themselves.

6. Customer that fakes an English accent because she “went on holiday” for one week in Europe and “just picked it up:” everyone around you knows it’s fake and thinks you’re a pretentious bitch.

7. People who take my stark and awkward silence and expression of pure disdain to mean I’m interested in their kids/job/divorce/other personal matter really need to learn to read body language and facial expressions.

8. Ignorance is not always bliss, guy who doesn’t read signs.

9. I’m sorry you’re having a bad day. I’m not sorry I laughed in your face when you tried to take it out on me.

10. Yes, I have tattoos. Obviously that means I want to see every last one of yours and hear the story behind each one. I’d much rather talk to you than eat my lunch while it’s still hot.

Have a *sparkling* day.

Maybe some of you can’t relate to this because you have “real” jobs. Maybe some of you can’t relate to this because you’re guilty of one or several of the things I mentioned. But if you can relate, feel free to share your horror stories in the comments. Freelancers count, too. But I’ll save that for a different post.


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Hypersleep and I’m Not Talking Sci-Fi

Normally, I wouldn’t post two in a day, but I’m feeling good. The sun is shining, people are in good spirits and it’s almost time to go home. Anyway, a while ago, a fellow blogger and all-around funny lady, Rebecca (her site is Lady or Not… Here I Come; if you haven’t read her stuff, why the hell are you still reading my nonsense?), posted about her troubles going to sleep. I suppose this post is just my way of relating to that. Here’s a little story I wrote, it probably explains a lot.

It’s three in the morning, my eyes are burning, my throat is dry and I’m terrified to close my eyes. If I get out of bed, the dogs will go mad and think it’s breakfast time and, as a result, wake up the peacefully slumbering lovely next to me. I shoot her a hateful glance, eyes full of envy and spite. If I lie here much longer, I might snap and kill them all. How did I get stuck in this horrible situation? I’m glad you asked.

It was about midnight when we went to bed. The dogs were let outside and brought back in, the doors were locked, the computers were powered off and all was quiet. I kissed her for the last time for the day and we snuggled up under the blankets. I was the big spoon. She was warm and comforting and my eyelids were no longer obeying me. I felt a little movement at the foot of the bed, but it was no big deal. It was probably just one of the dogs setting against the bed frame.

Suddenly, something warm and wet slides straight up the arch of my foot. Moxie had worked her head up under the blanket and licked me. I smacked her snout with my foot and started to settle down again when she took a playful nip at my toes.

Attemping to sound authoritative in a hushed tone, I said, “Moxie, lay down, damn it!” I felt the covers move briefly and everything was still again.

With a quiet grumble, I settled in again, pulling closer to my lady and getting comfortable. God, I thought, she is really warm. And she was. It was getting uncomfortable, so I rolled over and turned the bedside fan up a notch. That’s better. I found a comfortable position on my right side, arm under the pillow and hanging off the edge of the bed. Drifting off slowly, I was finally going to get some sleep.

The funny thing about dislocating your shoulder is that it’s never quite the same after. It’s much more likely to come out of joint subsequently. I felt a twinge of pain, then something slipped. I bit my lip, fully awake at this point from the growing pain, rolled onto my back and slowly twisted my arm until the bones fell back into place. I heaved a sigh and shook my head at the futility of it and decided just to stay on my back.

When I lie on my back, I snore. Not just a little, either. I make the drapes move and scare pets. To hell with it, she’ll just have to deal. I thought about getting up for a cigarette, but it wasn’t worth the effort. I considered bothering my sweet for a bit of a romp, but she gets grumpy sometimes. Might be worth the chance, she’s only been asleep for an hour. I decided against it, anyway. The hassle of a negative reaction wasn’t worth it. Of course, now I was thinking about it. I’d never get to sleep like that. So I closed my eyes and pictured a fat, naked old lady. That did the trick.

I opened my eyes again and noticed my nose in the green glow of the alarm clock. It was something of a surreal experience. I had never noticed my nose before, but there it was, pale and green. I laughed a bit and that eased my tension enough that I started to fall into the sweet, silent embrace of sleep. Naked old lady got her revenge just then, over the hood of a Rolls-Royce, no less. It was only a flash (har), but it was burned into my retinas. I was at a loss. I just listened to her quiet breathing and tried to follow the rhythm.

Wow, what a mistake. As I tried to sync our breaths, it slowly dawned on me that I could no longer breathe without thinking about it. Literally, if I didn’t tell my lungs to take air, they wouldn’t do it. Wonderful.

That brings us to the aforementioned killing-spree-waiting-to-happen that is me. If I get up, the dogs will go ballistic and race to the front of the house for breakfast. I don’t even want to close my eyes at this point because pin-up granny might show up for another mental photo-shoot. It’s amazing what a few hours can do to a man; big spoon to time-bomb in record time.

As always, thanks for reading.

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