Category Archives: Popular Culture

10 Reasons I’m Happy I’m 50 Because OH MY GOD

[Hi. Yes, this blog still exists. If you’re wondering why it’s in your inbox, it means you subscribed sometime prior to 2015. It’s been so long that I truly have no idea where to find my subscriber list. If you want to unsubscribe, it won’t hurt my feelings!]

I don’t spend much time thinking about the differences between lived experiences of adjacent generations of women. Sure, the differences between women who grew up in the 50s versus the 90s are easy to compare. But the differences between groups of women separated by only 20 or 25 years are a little harder to see.

When the Aziz Ansari story broke earlier this week, it was as if women 45 and older were reading a completely different story than younger women were. No one seems to dispute what happened. I think everyone believes “Grace”. But whether you were in the Bad Date camp or the Assault camp seemed to be largely determined by age.

This post isn’t about that. It’s not about Aziz Ansari or #MeToo or #TimesUp. But it got me thinking about how different it is to be a middle-aged woman in 2018 versus being a younger one.

I’m not bashing millennials. Not even a little bit. Nor am I yelling at them to get off my lawn. They’re welcome on my lawn anytime!

I’m just glad I’m not one. Here’s why:

1. I never had to plan a gender reveal party. 

Y’all, what even is this?

Why? Why are folks doing this?

When I had my first daughter, who’s now 21, WE — her parents! — didn’t even know her gender until the moment she was born. What? I figured if I’m gonna do all this work, I’d like to have a surprise at the end. So gender reveal parties are just one of those things I totally don’t get. Frankly, it seems like a thinly-veiled excuse for presents and Instagram flossing.

 

2. I never had to talk to little kids about pussy-grabbing or shithole countries.

I just . . . I don’t . . . I can’t . . . I mean, I really have no idea what to say about this. I can’t imagine what it’s like raising younger children in 2018.

I suppose it would have been tough to explain “I did not have sexual relations with that woman” if my daughter asked questions about it. But you can save all that “What about Bill Clinton?!” bullshit. The chasm between that and ALL OF THIS is difficult to even fathom.

I’m sorry, y’all. That’s got to be really tough.

 

3. The men I’ve been with did not grow up on free Internet porn.

This could be an entire post on its own. I’m not saying guys had no exposure to porn. I’m just saying that it wasn’t available 24 hours a day in the comfort of one’s home. Even guys 10 or 12 years younger than me* had to go buy a magazine or a DVD. And the variety was pretty limited by today’s standards.

In general, I think the expanding definition of what’s “normal” when it comes to sex is a really good thing. But I’m not sure the proliferation of porn is enhancing real life sex for women. The things I hear from young women are jaw-dropping. The things they’re expected to do. And to be “cool with”. If they’re into it, great. But it seems many are not and yet they’re subverting their own desires to satisfy someone who expects them to behave like a porn star.

It’s gross and it makes me sad.

(*This is my way of letting you know I can pull younger dudes. IN CASE YOU MISSED THAT.)

4. We didn’t know smoking was bad for you. 

LOL. Just kidding! Of course we knew it was terrible. But we could do it without other people looking at us like we were stomping kittens. It was fun.

 

5. I don’t have to make my life Insta-worthy.

The loudest voice in my head is the one that unfavorably compares everything about me to someone who’s doing everything better while having more and looking gorgeous. And that’s always been true. It’s not healthy. I’m still working on it.

But when I was young, I compared myself only to people I actually knew or to people who were famous enough to be in magazines. I didn’t have access to Insta-perfect lives; to people who are neither famous nor personally known to me but who somehow have a worldwide audience that enthusiastically covets the look of their curated lives.

Blerg. Nope. Do not want.

Also, R.I.P. Big Ang.

 

6. There is no record of my public or private shenans.

The other day, I saw a video on Twitter of a guy getting a blow job on a parking lot shuttle. You could clearly see his face. I felt extreme, painful, cringey secondhand embarrassment for everyone involved.

Should these people have been engaging in public mouth love? Absolutely not. But, damn! They also don’t deserve to have their (probably drunken) antics broadcast all over the world because someone whipped out their phone! Just think about things you’ve done in a public or semi-private place. If you feel no embarrassment or shame, you’re probably not the kind of person who would find this blog interesting and why are you even reading it?

I’m eternally grateful that there is no record of my, um, more impulsive years.

 

7. The music of my youth was actually GOOD.

I KID! Every single generation says their music was better. And it’s never true!

What is true is that it’s important for younger people to make music that does not appeal to the Olds. That’s how it works! Oh, Migos is trash? You don’t “get” Cardi B? Guess what? It’s not about you! Have at it, kids. This is your time.

(Fun fact: if you open your mind, there is good music everywhere, all the time.)

 

8. Fucks-to-give supply levels are dangerously low.  

Like, dropping a little every day.

 

9. When I got married, the wedding industrial complex was just a glimmer in capitalism’s eye.

Sooo, y’all know there’s an entire billion-dollar industry devoted to convincing you that you have exactly ONE day in your life when you get to be a pretty, pretty princess, right? A whole bunch of businesses make their money solely by coaxing you into believing that $35,000 is a reasonable amount to spend on a party.

I had the first manicure of my life on my wedding day. I got my dress at a store in Underground Atlanta. The rings were silver, $35 each, and we bought them at some store in Toco Hills Plaza. Our cake was homemade. The ceremony was in a family friend’s front yard and the reception was out back. (Business in the front, party in the back — aaayyye!)

And it was amazing. It was so beautiful and so special and so fun and my marriage lasted a long, long time.

Y’all. Don’t let this industry take all your money!

 

10. I’m more open to possibility than ever before. 

And here’s where it gets a little serious.

A little over four years ago, I fell completely and totally in love. It happened in the loveliest, most unexpected way.

(Note: After typing that, I spent several minutes staring into space thinking about how incredible it was.)

Ok, I’m back.

It was magic. The man, the way it happened, how it made me feel — it still takes my breath away.

For a few complicated reasons, it ultimately didn’t work out. The pain of that is still a little raw. But the fact that it happened at all, that it happened at 46 years old, when I wasn’t looking and I never saw it coming? It still kind of blows my mind. And one of the things that made it so special was that this man saw me, saw as true a version of me as any person could, and I was loved and adored anyway.

When we met, I felt like I’d sort of done it all and the rest would be, honestly, kind of downhill. I’m embarrassed to say that but it’s true. I’d been married, my kids were growing up and away, I’d had a couple careers. But he believed and he made me believe that there was so much more life to coming to me. It changed the way I see the world. I know now that magical things can happen to anyone, anytime, anywhere.

 

I don’t love everything about being fifty years old. I wish I’d worn more bikinis. I wish I’d saved more and bought less. But there’s a lot to be grateful for. All the time.

And who knows what’s to come?

Jessica Biel’s Restaurant or “Bye Felicia”: Which One’s Worse?

Let’s play a little game.

I’m going to tell you about two things, and you’re going to tell me which one is worse. Ready? Okay, here we go.

1. Jessica Biel is planning to open an “exclusive, organic restaurant for kids”

If your first thought was “who?”, welcome to my blog. I like you.

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Jessica Biel seems like the kind of person you’d accidentally sit next to at a party. You would spend the next five minutes nodding your head and pretending to listen. And wondering why she’s here. In fact, Jessica Biel’s entire celebrity persona can be summed up with “Why is she here?” She’s married to my husband – Justin Timberlake – and I just DO NOT GET IT.

There is just something relentlessly C-list about Jessica Biel-Timberlake. As a heavy consumer of celebrity-related “news”, I put her in the same category as people like Garcelle Beauvais or Lisa Rinna or Jessica Alba and all the people on all the shows on the USA network. Which makes it even funnier that she is the person opening an “exclusive organic restaurant for kids.” Um, what? Is this a thing we need now? Is this a thing the One-Percenters are clamoring for?

This can probably be traced back somehow to Gwyneth. I bet Gwyneth was chillin with Jess one day (Beyonce was busy) and said, “Wouldn’t it be cool if we could take our kids somewhere exclusive to eat? You know, somewhere where we could get away from the, like, riff raff? Somewhere organic. Exclusive and organic.”

Yep. I just figured it out. Jessica Biel saw an opportunity to – literally – sit with the cool kids and she hatched the idea for a place that’s being called a “Soho House for kids.” Blech.

WORST PART: The place is called – no lie – AU FUDGE!

 

cant-even

 

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BREAKING: Chris Martin Consciously Coupling With Costco-Sized Bags of Cheetos

My #FreeChrisMartin movement never really caught on the way it should have but it doesn’t matter now, does it? As you’ve no doubt heard, Chris and Gwyneth are “consciously uncoupling”.

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What’s that? You say “consciously uncoupling” sounds like “divorce”? Wrong! Divorce is for Normals. Divorce is for lazy failures who probably feed their kids breakfast cereal from a box instead of artisanal, locally grown spelt in Malabar chestnut milk, hand-milled by indigenous women. Divorce is for people with office jobs and minivans who drink non-premium beers. Divorce is for people who cook their pizzas indoors. Basically: farmers. (The type Jack Donaghy refers to; not the “young hippies who sell arugula at the market” type.)

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All joking aside, divorce – sorry, “uncoupling” – pretty much sucks. There are bad feelings and painful conversations and months spent wondering how you got from “I do” to “Get the f*** out”. It’s no fun, no matter how well both parties try to behave. There are silver linings, though. One of them is that divorce is sort of The Great Equalizer. No matter how perfectly you try to live your life, when your marriage fails, you’re in the same boat as everybody else.

And that’s exactly where Gwyneth Paltrow heard opportunity knock and told her maid to tell it she wasn’t home. Because announcing the end of a long (by Hollywood standards) marriage was her shot a relatability, something she desperately lacks. It was her shot at erasing statements like “Some days I feel like everyone in the world has plugged themselves into my kidneys. I’m so tired” from public memory.

beyonce and gwyneth

Still mad at Bey for this.

But nooope. Gwyneth had the chance to come across like the normal working mom she constantly claims to be and what did she do? She turned the smugness up to 11 by using her lifestyle blog to announce not run-of-the-mill divorce, but organic, expensive, better-than-you “conscious uncoupling”. That’s the reason the Internet exploded in Schadenfreude yesterday. She just makes it impossible to feel for her. She tried to build an empire on telling other people how to live like she does. Gwyneth Paltrow attempted to “curate” a perfect life and found out – like we all do – that life is messy as hell.

So back to Chris. I’m sure he played an equal role in whatever happened between them (no I’m not). But he’s not getting the hate she is. A friend of mine suggested that the marriage ended because she’s an awful person and he’s gay. Nah, I don’t think Chris is gay. I do think Chris Martin is the type of guy who isn’t all that into sex and probably prefers stuff like giving you back rubs and looking meaningfully into your eyes while he strums his guitar for you. He seems like a mellow dude and frankly, it’s very easy to see how a person like that would get completely fed up with the quest for perfection that is Gwyneth Paltrow’s entire existence.

So, Chris? Get INTO it, man. Smoke a blunt, buy gallons of that cheap, foamy ice cream that comes in huge plastic containers. Grab enormous bags of Cheetos! Better yet, buy generic Cheez Puffs. Get some bottom shelf liquor and lose a weekend watching Here Comes Honey Boo Boo. You deserve it. You’re free.

 

Seven Great Things About Justin Bieber’s Move to Atlanta (Seriously!)

It’s happening, ATLiens. Don’t fool yourselves into thinking they’re just rumors. Word on the street is that Justin Bieber is on his way to the A – and not as a visitor. He’s been seen all over town partying with various full-grown adults who oughta be ashamed of themselves

Sshhh. Be still. Sit with your feelings for a minute. It’s normal to feel this way. The first step is acceptance. Let me help you make peace with the inevitable. Here are seven things that should make you feel better about it.

1. Nene will have a word with him.

In many ways, Atlanta is still a small town. It’s especially small for famous – and “famous” –  Atlanta residents. It’s why you see Alton Brown hanging out with T.I. (I made that up, but it seems believable, right?) If Justin moves here, there is no doubt he will eventually make the acquaintance of Ms. Lennethia Leakes, whom you may know as the larger-than-life Nene from The Real Housewives of Atlanta.

Say what you want about Nene, but she does not tolerate foolishness and f**kery. A few minutes with Nene and Justin will be “yes, ma’am”-ing and “no, ma’am”-ing around this city, and getting the home training he obviously lacks.

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Get into it, Nene. Dismiss him when you’re done.

2. Strippers will make a killing.

Our strip clubs are legendary. So many deals are made among the hip hop elite Justin is striving to become a part of that Magic City is like a second office for these guys. Wee Justin will be working overtime to impress and that can only be good news for Atlanta’s single moms.

3. Buckhead Betties are not residential drag race enthusiasts.

Even though JB is working on thugging out his image, with the tattoos and sippin’ lean shirtless in da club (barf), I’m pretttty sure he won’t be moving to Bankhead or Peoplestown, where the real thugs are. Curbed Atlanta has a round up of some of the properties Bieber’s people are looking at and early reports indicate Buckhead will be the lucky winner.

Hollywood tolerates all sorts of hijinks from famous people. Atlanta does NOT. (Remember what happened to Reese?) Most of Atlanta’s new rich live in the far southern and northern suburbs of the city. But people with old money – people who prefer to be described as “wealthy” rather than “rich” – still live in Buckhead and they are not known for their tolerance of bratty pop star shenanigans.  I’d love to see Justin try something like egging the Swan Coach House. SCANDAL. Continue reading

Consider This A Verbal Selfie

Five Things I’m Thinking About Today:

1. Ever since we got back from the beach last week, I’ve put Sublime in heavy rotation. That one album – Sublime, the one that came out right after Brad Nowell died – so perfectly captures the laid back feeling of summer days. Love.

2. Even though I binge-watched the entire series two weeks ago, I can’t stop thinking about Orange is the New Black! I keep Googling stuff about the show, checking the cast’s Facebook pages and stalking them on Instagram. My favorite of the OITNB Instagrammers is Danielle Brooks, who plays Taystee on the show. SHE IS SO ADORABLE I NEED HER TO STOP! (click the pic for a darling video)

3. I am an occasional smoker. There, I said it. Especially when I have a lot on my mind. (Or have had more than a couple cocktails.) I like the feeling of pausing and just watching the smoke for a few minutes while I take a minute to think. I have also heard – and I think maybe it’s true – that smoking is not considered a healthful activity! So I recently decided to switch to e-cigarettes for at least the majority of my smoking occasions.

My review: not as great as actual cigarettes but considerably less likely to kill me, so, ya know, sticking with it ’til I decide it’s just too weird and that smoking actually sucks and I stop all together.

It’s weird how there’s no set end time with an e-cig. With a real coffin nail, there’s a period of time when you’re smoking and then you’re done because you’ve burned it down. Not so with the e-variety.  An I never thought it mattered to me, but the awkward size of the e-cig is, well, awkward. Instead of feeling like this:

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E-cigs feel more like this:

allisonstopalready(Fans of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills will recognize this as the awesomely horrible Allison Dubois at Camille’s Dinner Party from Hell. I could watch that episode over and over and over.)

4. I <3 cover songs. I have devoted ridiculous amounts of time to creating playlists made of nothing but covers of great songs – the more unlikely the cover artist/song combo, the better. (Katy Perry’s cover of MGMT’s “Electric Feel”? Perfection.) So I really enjoyed this list of 21 Cover Songs That Make You Realize How Amazing the Originals Were. 

5. Being tan feels so good, you guys. Like smoking, it’s not great for longevity or the long term appearance of one’s skin. But I love having a real true SUN tan so much! I’ve tried spray tanning and it’s a decent substitute for the sun that first April day you decide to rock a skirt without tights. But honestly: nothing beats the freckly golden glow you get from spending a few hours relaxing in the sunshine.

Preferably with an icy Michelada and Sublime bumpin’ on your system.

 

My Eyes Are Just A Little Sweaty Today: Remembering Amy Winehouse

It’s been two years since Amy Winehouse’s shocking (not shocking) death at age 27. I still listen to her music ALL THE TIME and imagine what it would have been like if she had lived a longer life. I mean, damn: even hanging on til 45 gives you a hell of a lot more material to work with.

So I’m reposting the piece I wrote on Intown Confidential right after she died. Even if you don’t read it, take a minute and watch her sing one of my favorites. When she breaks at around 1:20 – well, just watch . . .

July 23, 2011
So, Winehouse didn’t make it. Couldn’t keep up the fight any longer. Since she was such a tabloid dream, we all saw the dangerous signs of a life in total chaos, but somehow her early death still shocks and saddens. Her music was so meaningful to me and I want to remember her here.
I first heard her sing when “Rehab” was offered as a free iTunes download. I knew nothing about her, and I don’t make a habit of using iTunes to discover new singers but she intrigued me. I admit at first it was her look more than anything else that made me pay attention. That insane beehive, those crazy tats, the pencil skirts? I liked this girl’s style so I gave it a listen. It seems ill-timed to describe my feeling upon hearing her sing as something like addiction but it really was like what people say that first hit of meth is like: “I want more! Now! Again!” I couldn’t get enough of her and I felt something I hadn’t felt since I fell in love with Joni Mitchell in junior high.
Mark Ronson was the perfect producer for her; their relationship reminded me of other explosive artist-producer pairings that brought out the best in both. Her sultry voice with his 60s soul style production – mixed with improbably modern lyrics about her lover making her miss the Slick Rick gig – were intoxicating to me.
I remember throwing around her word (“fuckery”) all through the fall of ’07. Despite what were seemingly enormous differences between us – an about to be 40 mom of two and a superstar trainwreck – I felt like we knew each other in some way. Despite outward appearances, I heard her and knew I had some Amy in me. The way she sang about love and life felt so true and courageous. I admired her recklessness and tattered beauty. Like everyone else, I was sort of fascinated at the paparazzi photos of her in her grimy ballet slippers and running makeup. I wasn’t clutching my pearls, though. In a weird way, I loved her refusal to be anything other than her messy, raw self. In a world in which stars don’t even wear crazy get-ups to the Oscars anymore (I miss you, Cher!) there was something exhilarating about her unwillingness to hide her pain. Continue reading

“Tan Mom” Made a Music Video Because The World Can Always Get Weirder

imagesRemember the “Tan Mom”? Of course you do. She was accused of putting her 5-year-old daughter in (on?) a New Jersey tanning bed. She was a meme for a hot second, both defending herself and wildly screaming at reporters and photographers that they were “all fat losers!”

If you thought she just went back to transforming herself into a human strip of Turkey Jerky, you are incorrect. She’s back and she’s”the cool one.”

Warning: you will require some sort of eye-wash station following the viewing of this video, so start getting that ready now. Or better yet, some Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind type thing that erases your memory. Because what you are about to watch cannot be unseen.

A short list of things you’ll see in this “music” video:

  • doughy young gay men writhing around with and on Tan Mom
  • the inexplicable presence of a young woman with a blonde wig who “dances” with the soft gay men
  • production values that make the average 3rd grader’s PowerPoint on rocks and minerals look like Scorcese
  • Tan Mom in a Party City wig declaring she is “hotter than the Octomom” while having her boobs groped
  • choreography that took under 6 minutes to learn
  • what a $35 wardrobe budget looks like
  • rhyming of “drop my top” with “Mazel TOFF” (yes: toff)
  • at 2:01, a complete “I quit this bitch” to even pretending to lipsync
  • a podium featuring the presidential seal of the United States
  • a woman in the late stages of severe alcohol and possibly drug abuse who, in a better world, would use the profits from this video to pay for a stay in rehab. (Oh. Wait. There won’t be profits.) 🙁 *sad face forever*

 

Sometimes the world seems like a terrifying hellscape.

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mugshot: The Smoking Gun
gif: tumblr

Best of the Blog: An MC to a Degree You Can’t Get In College

Adam Yauch died last year. This is what I wrote about him on May 10, 2012. 

It’s been a few days since Heaven got a little more Adam Yauch.
I’m surprised how much his death is still on my mind. I keep imagining what his parents are feeling, what Mike and Adam are feeling, and what his wife and daughter feel. The loss of someone we love, especially when it’s so new, is too hard for the heart to accept. You wake up thinking for a minute that person is still here somewhere before realizing he’s gone. Forever.
I came across this picture on Twitter:

I can’t stop looking at it.

I look at him and I see all of us. In his eyes, I see that feeling that we have when we’re young: I am immortal, untouchable, never ending. We think our ideas are the freshest and that the world better be ready for us.

But not many of us leave behind the legacy that Adam Yauch did. Between the work with the Beasties, the Milarepa Foundation, and his film company*, his ideas really were the freshest.

I feel lucky to have grown up with him and I’m just sad to see him gone so soon.

(*Weird. Just saw that his company produced the excellent Maurice Sendak documentary “Tell Them Anything You Want.” RIP Maurice.)

Ryan Lochte Is My Favorite Person on TV Right Now

People complain all the time about how negative reality shows are. If they’re not portraying some ethnic or socioeconomic group poorly, they’re glamorizing the shallow values of the nouveau riche. Not to mention all the fighting! Oh, the nasty, nasty fighting.

I agree that there is a whole crop of Kardashian-adjacent television shows that are little more than what my pal Dean calls “hater tv.” But what about when something entirely positive comes along on reality TV? Don’t believe it’s possible?

Well, E! network is broadcasting an uplifting reality show featuring a healthy, well-adjusted young man with developmental disabilities and a supportive group of friends with similar disabilities, as they try to make sense of an increasingly complex world.

Oh. Wait. That’s actually the plot summary of the 2001 Sean Penn film I Am Sam. Sorry, my bad.

What Would Ryan Lochte Do? actually focuses on the day-to-day life of an Olympic superstar as he navigates through a series of highly-orchestrated situations and spreads his dumbass charm around like fingerpaint.

I’m not proud to say that I didn’t watch any of last summer’s Olympic games. Not one event. But I was aware of this Lochte character because obviously the media loved him. I was turned off by his seemingly douchey ways – the sneakers, the annoying catchphrase (“jeah!”), and of course, this:

complexWhen I saw him play a version of himself as a “sex idiot” on 30 Rock, I thought he was cute but I definitely didn’t see him jumping out of the pool and rocketing to Hollywood domination. ryan-lochte-sex-idiotSo, yeah, I started watching WWRLD as hater tv. (Also, I was sort of curious how the producers would show Gainesville, Florida – a town I love for lots of reasons, but mostly because my dad lived there while I was growing up.)

You guys. I didn’t mean to fall in love with this incredibly hot doofus. It just happened!

Here’s the thing about the show: just like “Here Comes Honey Boo Boo”, no matter how much the producers throw in sound effects to cue viewers when they’re supposed to laugh and feel superior, a delightfully genuine affection between Ryan and his family and friends comes through loud and clear. Ryan Lochte loves his life! It’s refreshing to watch someone so famous seem to love every minute of the life he’s made for himself. Yes, he has God-given talent as a swimmer, but he also pushes himself hard enough and digs down deep enough to become the fastest human being in the water. And that kind of determination and focus is no joke. Continue reading

Legally Stupid: Reese Witherspoon Vs. APD

I love how her eyes are like, "I quit this bitch."

I love how her eyes are like, “I quit this bitch.”

Before we look through the Georgia Department of Public Safety Report together – and oh, we are so gonna do that – let’s take a minute to be thankful that no one was hurt when one of Hollywood’s most bankable stars and her dumbass husband drove drunk through the A late Thursday night.

Because since no one was hurt, we can safely LAUGH and LAUGH and LAUGH about this mess!

If you’d like a look at the actual document, you can download it here, or you can just let me give you the good stuff.

First of all, dang. Reese is really tiny. According to the report, Laura Jean Reese Witherspoon is 5’02” and 105 lbs. Now, it’s possible that Reese shaved a couple pounds off when she filled out the DMV form (something I obviously do not condone) but it’s more likely she’s really that small. Which makes some of the stuff she did that night seem even funnier.

So. Reese and her husband were riding down Peachtree at 12:40 am on Friday, April 19. They were over by Peachtree Battle. [Any guesses where they were hanging out before they hit the road? I don’t know; I actually really want your guesses.] An APD officer noticed a Ford Fusion – wait, stop. Quick laugh break for ballin’ in a FORD FUSION!

Oh well. I guess a Fusion is better than a giant Hummer? Still funny. Anyway. Moving on.

So, Officer No Bullsh*t (you’ll see in a minute) notices that the Ford Fusion – one more time: HAHAHA! – failed to maintain its lane and traveled more than once over the double yellow line. Officer No Bullsh*t initiated a traffic stop and the car pulled over into the Walgreen’s parking lot.

Again, I have to stop the story for a second. In general, I tend to be anti-cop. Sorry, I just am. I know it’s not rational but it’s almost like how some people just have a preference for mayonnaise over Miracle Whip. I just generally prefer to not deal with cops whenever possible.* However! I do love it when they serve up some “sit your ass down” justice to people acting like a**holes. Which is exactly what happened that night in the Walgreen’s parking lot.

Smelling alcohol on the driver’s breath – and also noting “disheveled clothing” – the officer asked the driver how much he’d had to drink. He replied “a drink” (yeah, right) and then looked to his passenger, one R. Witherspoon, to answer when he was asked where the drinks were consumed. She replied that the drink was consumed at a restaurant two hours prior. Girl, stop. Just stop.

I love this kind of crap! Listen, we have ALL left “a restaurant” after having “a drink” “two hours earlier”. We just have. And we probably did not smell like alcohol and fail to maintain a lane in our disheveled clothes! God, could one of these people not ever just say, “Dude, I am WASTED right now. I don’t know what the hell I was even thinking after that sixth shot. Here, cuff me.”

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