The Ugly Baby

A dear friend of mine recently gave birth to a baby. In many cultures this event is a cause for celebration and thanksgiving. Upon looking at the child, I decided that I never want to have children.

New born babies are butt ugly. The squished face of a newborn resembles a warped potatoe. There is nothing cute about pleated folds of flaming red skin and blood curdling screams. We may try to put decorative hats upon our newborns to disguise their unnaturally smeared faces, but the truth of the matter is: It is a miracle that any of us survived this ugly stage of life.

Poop. Babies poop. Cry. Babies cry. Babies cry while pooping. There is a placid yellow paint colored substance that can only be produced by an infant. This is something I never want to experience again. When babies wear diapers we think it is cute. I guarantee all those reading this, that when I begin wearing diapers again you will most definitely not think it is cute.

Therefore, I declare that if I see your baby and it is not cute I will not mask my feelings. The honest truth must be told. I will simply say, "Your child is so ... um ... how about I crotchet him a nice decorative hat?!"

Lost in the Bathroom

John Lackstrom

Height: 5'2

Hair Color: Bald

Age: 102 years old

Hobbies: Resembles a turtle

Welcome to History of Linguistics, the slowest most boring class to take the stage in my collegiate career. Meet John Lackstrom, an enchanting professor who chuckles at his own jokes without moving his lips.

This is the setting for my Monday afternoon. While suffocating through descriptions of phonetics and colloquialisms, my bladder suddenly awoke to a fairly arousing realization that, yes, I had to urinate.

It was an emergency. A flash flood was about to be realized within my trousers. I began my epic marathon to the nearest restroom, the third floor lavatory. Upon skidding into the tiled sanctuary of the weary hearted, I took the short cut and simply unzipped my zipper to fish out the appropriate appendage.

To my horror I could not find him. The convenient flap that protects said member of the body was no where to be found! I could not find an opening in my underwear. The urgency of my overflowing bladder was causing me to dance the familiar Celtic Piddle Dance.

All of this was superseded by the older gentleman waiting not so patiently behind me. His foul smell and encouraging clearing of his throat distracted me long enough to give up trying to find the elusive critter. I simply undid my entire package: belt, button and zipper. The river flowed free and life was good.

The problem that not even John Lackstrom could for see with all his knowledge of language families and Russian eggs was this: I not only had my underwear on inside out... I also had it on backwards!

Hunter's Education Meets Lee Cannon

April 4, 2009, marked a day in history never to be forgotten: Lee Cannon ventured his way into the realm of the hunter.

The massive head of a taxidermy bull moose stared at me as I passed through the doors. His glassy eyes followed my every move. An overwhelming sense of not belonging blanketed my body.

My purpose that day was to become hunter certified, my goal that day was to simply survive.

I was wearing a delicious argyle sweater with pin striped slacks as I entered the classroom to meet my fellow Hunter's Education classmates. Each of the nine fellows matched the man next to him: camouflage, a beard, a hat and the scent of deer urine on their boots. I must have missed the memo.

The written test seemed to be tailored to my extensive knowledge of hunting. Questions were asked such as: What is the most effective weapon to harvest an animal with: a) a butter knife b) a Lego pirate ship c) a rifle d) a bottle of Windex.

The jeers and fairly pointed jests made from my bearded peers in regards to my "prissy city boy" appearance seemed to escalate as we entered the shooting range. "Do you know how to shoot that thing?" questioned Melbourne, a stalky pot-bellied man. I replied by swinging the gun around and asking, "Kind of like this?" The quick movement sent everybody searching for cover.

Our targets hung, guns loaded, and safety goggles on, we began shooting. The constant trash talking around me would have shaken many, but I was focused on proving the Neanderthals wrong. I pulled the trigger 45 times and prayed that my shots would save me from a barrage of ridicule from my ever fashionable shooting buddies.

The pulleys began retracting our targets, my heart stood still. I needed 30 of my 45 shots to be within a certain section of the illustrated rabbit target. To my udder delight, 41 of my 45 shots decorated the bull's eye!

"Damn, I thought you was queer!" roared Roger, the massive gunman, as he tore the paper target out of my finger's grasp. "But you shoot real nice. I am gonna take you huntin' with me and we are puttin' your name in for a mule tag!" I tried to explain that I am much too loud and prone to singing to be taken hunting, but Roger, Melbourne, Ron and Bruce all agreed that I will be their future hunting buddy.

Please forgive me if I begin wearing camouflage or acquire the scent of a large game animal's bodily fluids on my shoes, I am simply trying to fit into my new crowd of friends.

World's Largest

We all love the super sized option at McDonald's. Our culture is fascinated by large things. Throw in a disproportionately large body part, a freakishly tall appendage or any other bizarrely shaped bulge and people will flock to you. Following that same theory here are some really zany, overly huge things.

The world's largest burrito was made by Burrito Real in Mountain View, California. This gigantic gastro-nightmare weighed in at 4,500 pounds and was 3,578 feet long. It was officially dubbed the world's largest burrito by the Guinness Book of World Records in 1997. What a great accomplishment that has changed the future of man kind.

The world's longest earlobes belong to Beaula Wilson Parson from Preston, Idaho. Beaula enjoys jell-o, bingo and polka dancing. Known for her naturally extensive ear lobes, Beaula has taken on a prominent role in the international non-profit organization FLEL.

FLEL, Freakishly Long Ear Lobers, has begun an global campaign to eradicate the attached lobe. "It is a plague of our day. More lobes need to be set free and released from their attached form," said Parson.

A 7-DVD set is provided by FLEL directing viewers on proper technique of lobe stretchage. In 12 short weeks Parson, the main star of the DVD series, promises to pull, stretch, squeeze, twick, tug, and yank even the most embarrassingly small earlobes into the lobes that you have only dreamed of.

For all those teaming readers who wish to know more about FLEL please call 1-800-BIG-LOBE for more information. And everybody else can join me in Mountain View California for a burrito eating contest.

Passed Some Gas: Global Warming

Today Al Gore wrote me a personal email addressing the dramatically important issue of global warming. The email was sent to Lee Cannon and 300 million other Americans each individually addressed by former Vice President Gore, the man who is better with plants than with politics.

Increasing global temperature will cause sea levels to right and will change the amount and pattern of precipitation, likely including an expanse of the subtropical desert regions. This sounded so fascinating that I decided to eat and entire bag of a chemically enriched, enhanced, engaged, embellished Cool Ranch Doritos.

The most frightening piece of information said, "other likely effects include arctic shrinkage". Arctic Shrinkage?! In my vast knowledge of temperature change and its influential impact upon the male genitalia, I make the motion that arctic shrinkage is the true villain within the global warming fiasco.

When asked about my feelings describing the emanate danger of global warming I have one response: Save a tree. Eat a beaver. My larger concern is not global warming, but how in the world did Al Gore get my email address?

St. Patrick's Day: Not Okay

In honor of the 5th century Catholic bishop, Maewyn Succat, more generically known by common folk as St. Patrick, I write this post.

The history of St. Patrick's Day stems back to early Irish myth and legend. The swirls of memory and ancestral here say have created the three major contenders in the 2009 St. Patrick's Day Mascot Show Down Showcase.

1) The Shamrock: A three leafed greenery known for its low height and ability to spread quickly. The Shamrock is an icon of Ireland dating back to 1510 when Lord Byron of Grattan wore it on his lapel to a royal function. The then Queen of England, Elizabeth I, declared it a "fabulous fashion phenomena" and knighted Lord Byron on the spot. The Shamrock is definitely a runner up in the official St. Patrick's Day Mascot Showcase Show Down.

2) The Color Green: A mixture of two primary pigment colors, blue and yellow, green screams nature. Green is classy and ready for any occasion.

The Color Green reminds me of only one thing: That green M&M's make Mr. Reeder, my 7th grade science teacher... horny.

The nomination of the Color Green as a mascot for any international holiday is, however, completely ridiculous. How can a color embody the emotional roots of St. Patrick's Day? Let's simply wear the darn color once a year to stop Auntie Paula from pinching us on March 17th and throw this mascot out.

3) The Leprechaun: A Celtic fairy of unsurpassed creepiness has haunted the dreams of children for decades. With his cocked hat and leather apron, the mini-sized male would pass as a pedophile in 49 of the 50 states within the Union. (There are plenty of odd shaped shorties in Idaho)

The Leprechaun is the perfect mascot for St. Patrick's Day due to his link with the national group Little People of America. Midgets, little people, nubbin's, dwarfs and hobbits are all names given to the genetically enhanced individuals that Ireland has labeled: Leprechaun, the official winner of the 2009 St. Patrick's Day Mascot Showcase Show Down.

Let us forget the forgotten reasons we celebrate St. Patrick's Day and replace them by wearing cocked hats, leather aprons, green thongs and growing our facial hair out. Anybody up for a trip to Boise?

Side Burns

Side Burns.
I wear my side burns down to mid-lobe. A decent length, neatly trimmed and groomed.

Side Burns.

Thick, lush, greased down side burns. A horrendous length, overgrown and unkempt.

The second example is what I was forced to view today. I was an innocent by standard that was disturbed to see these wispy critters growing down the cheek of my peer. Being Lee Cannon, I reached forward to inform this poor soul that the length, girth and hygienic habits of the above mentioned sideburns were inappropriate. In my eagerness to help with this hairy problem I did not notice that the victim of this indecency was: female.




Genetics is playing a horrible trick on a handful of women in this world. It must be terribly embarrassing to have a 5 o'clock shadow by noon when society expects you to be smooth, clean and hairless. I send my emotional sympathy to each woman plagued with this trial in life.

With that said, I am not okay with women who do not keep their facial hair trimmed. It is not okay to let that bush grow wild! A wonderful creation, sent from above, was given to mankind: wax. In just 30 short seconds, one can completely remove unwanted hair. It might be slightly painful, but who doesn't love a good sting?

Women of my life, and men for that matter, please consider the general population of the world and keep your facial hair decent. If your hair is becoming a living ecosystem, then it is time for you to prune your hedge.

The Job of the Century!

As I pondered the meaning of life a few questions arose. Where I am going to be in a month, this summer, next year, next decade? Who will I be? What will I be?

I have all ready passed through one quarter life crisis and am not ready for another emotional roller coaster anytime soon. So what job would be best for me?

Some would shout, "Be a plumber! You have the crack for it!" And others would encourage me to explore the fields of engineering, finance or medicine. But to address that trio of careers I have a well constructed sentence: If I built a building the foundation would crumble shortly before my financing would go bankrupt due to my illegal doses of prescription medicine.

No, the professional world is not for me. I found my home at a place only few have ever had the opportunity to work. I spent three months of my life working at the Deseret Industries.

During that adventurous quarter of a year I met some of the most bizarrely delightful people in my life! I acquired an adoptive mother, an older lover, a gaggle of fans and a rather odd obsession with washing my hands.

I feared every day that I would contract some type of communicable disease. The things I saw come through that thrift store were both amazing and disturbing. Some of my favorite donations that came to that center of antique trash include: a bag of poop, a home enema kit (used), a golden size 68 Double E bra, a pair of doggy diapers labeled "For Bitches in Heat", and two pairs of breast implants. It was never a dull moment at the Brigham City D.I.!

As Libby Mae Brown said in the epic monologue from Waiting For Guffman, "I will always have have a home at the D.Q." I will always have a home at the D.I. I will always have a place to go if I can't become that engineer doctor money man thingy...

Body Acceptance Fair

Utah State University held the annual Body Acceptance Fair today. Located on the lush foothills of the Rocky Mountains, USU Health and Wellness Center chose to focus on fad diets, eating disorders, fashion tips and stress management. These four areas, when focused on correctly, will force you to accept your body for what it is. Because of the USU Body Acceptance Fair, I, Lee Patrick Cannon, have accepted my body today for what it is: a pear.

The coveted V-shaped male body is overrated. What woman wants a man with hips smaller than hers? She would not have anything to grab onto! No, I say, give me a little junk in the trunk. I love my extra wide load. When I back up the semi-truck warning comes on, "beep" "beep". Just a little cushion for the pushin'!

Second of all, the stereotype that women must look like Barbie. Folks, she is not real. If somehow Barbie and her creepy-eyed love interest, Ken, were to be human sized she would be roughly 6'7 and weigh 94 lbs. The legs on that critter would be over 4 feet long! We must not let society tell us that our legs should be 4 feet long nor the circumference of our waist be 5 inches. Not only would she be a freak of nature in real life form, but she would look something like a bad combination of a pre-pubescent girl and a giraffe.

Let us stand tall, but not as tall as Barbie, for whatever shape our bodies are! Pear, pumpkin, squash or banana, we are beautiful! Accept that!

The Thing That Should Have Ended With Puberty

Puberty is the most awkward stage of any organism's life. The body is growing at an extremely rapid rate and the raging hormones make us do outrageously stupid things. Taking this combination of lanky limbs and unbalanced chemical levels into consideration, it is a miracle that we have a growing global population.

Webster says puberty is a time when boys’ and girls’ bodies begin to develop and change. Well, Webster, when is this change going to end?!

Most aspects of my puberty have ended:

1) I have lost my desire to be part of a boy band, preferably N'SNYC.

2) I have pulled out of a fairly mild voice change without major social scaring.

3) My lithe lanky limbs have finally acquired enough muscle to pass for a man instead of a spider monkey.

Puberty vs. Post-Puberty

However, I still have one perplexing issue. Today, I woke to find Mount Tittycocka erupting from my left cheek. Definitely a zit of monumental size and girth, Mount Tittycocka cast a shadow on half of my face. I was told by Webster that puberty is a time for change and development, I am ready for the developing volcano upon my face to be done! Why is this pimple pest the perpetuating problem in the puberty process?!

As I walked through life on this sunny day with my swollen growth, women cringed, children screamed and small woodland critters ran away from my monstrous moist bulge. I pondered puberty and its proven problems, all the while thinking to myself, "Wow, I would give up this zit any day to be in a boy band ... I wonder if N'SYNC is looking for a back up singer."

Tribute to the Woman of My Life

Memories are the only reality to the past. Great nations of old were built upon the memories of their people, the dreams of their rulers. Memories mold the lives of individuals and form the culture of the populace. The power of recollection sheds light on the enigma of memory and the post requisite necessity of reflection.

One woman has given me more memories than the sands of the sea.

Native American legends have been passed down from generation to generation through the memories of the seasoned elders of the tribe. The culture of a tribe hangs on the hinge of memory. Each personal identity is formed through experiences that are continually being connected to throughout life. All people are different, but similar chords can be struck between them that have eternal resounding echoes.

I am who I am today because of one woman who plucked the chords of my heart. They say that you can tell a lot about a man by the kind of car he drives. I drive a 1989 Buick Park Avenue with maroon velvet seats. What does that say about me? Luxury.

The Dutchess is luxury, she is my woman.

She made me the man I am today.

I would never trade my Dutchess for any flashy sports car or mini van.

She is the Woman of My Life.

Lee in his Dutchess lovin' her strong.

The Most Influential Pigeon In My Life

Pigeons. Webster's Dictionary has the following definition for the pigeon: (n) flying international pest of the most evil type, known for rapid fire pooping. On an ecclesiastical adventure to Hungary, I came into contact with many of these predators. The following memory comes to us from my journal.

Sept. 17: It all began on Monday when the person next to me was pooped on by a pigeon. A little chunk splashed from off her hair and hit my shoulder. I had a terrible feeling that I was next.

I looked up just in time to see a rather plump pigeon deliver a deposit over the ledge directly above my head. I did what any sensible person would do: I calmly screamed bloody murder and ran away. Luckily, many years of practicing similar reactions saved my white shirt from spoilage.

My sudden vocal eruption and physical spazing caused many of the passerbyers to become onlookers. This was their fatal mistake! The pigeons took aim and acting as one deadly body fired at five old men who were laughing at me. Their joyful teasing was replaced by hoots of disgust as their bodies were pelted by pigeon poop.

On Wednesday, I stepped out onto my balcony to clip my fingernails in the mist of the morning. I looked over the enchanting inner court yard of my apartment and began the clipping process. I then noticed a large flock of pigeons gazing at me from the roof of the building across the way. To my utter horror and dismay they took flight and headed in my direction. I still had a whole hand of unclipped nails left, I clipped faster!

The pigeons saw the panic in my eyes and increased the speed of their attack. My fingers flew over the uncut nails as the sound of their winged devilry hit my ears. I did not think that I could escape their wrath, my time had come. The tiled balcony was completely smothered one second later as the pigeons reached their target. Of course I slipped inside and defied the raunchy birds once again from defecating on me.

I felt that the sudden attraction that pigeons possessed for me was wearing off after a two day cease fire. Oh how I was wrong! I was waiting in line for an ice cream cone when, without even the warning of fluttering wings, a 6-inch streak of white, black and green bird blah cascaded down the back of my hair.

Identifying the pigeon as a common grey foul, I followed him with my eyes for the next five minutes abandoning my desire for ice cream. When the criminal finally landed on the ground I stealthily approached from behind.

In a moment of brilliance, I made a swift appointment with the bird and my foot. In an equally quick manner I found out that pigeons are "protected wildlife" in Hungary. The police have a special unit of officers, whom it was my pleasure to meet, that patrol the streets to ensure the pigeons' safety.

After paying a several thousand Forint fine for not respecting the most influential pigeon in my life, I contemplated the story of the Three Little Pigs. I felt much like the Big Bad Wolf in the book he wrote about what really happened with those little porkers. But fear not, that pigeon will always remember that the score is tied...
Pigeon: 1 Lee:1

Fat Pants

It is my social duty as a public servant to write this posting. The FDA (Federal Drug Administration) would have me write this as a warning on the label of all pants: jeans, slacks, running pants, sweats, etc. "Do not wear fat pants."

Fat Pants. Call it a fashion fiasco. Call it a social suicide. I call it a disease. The indecency of fat pants includes inflicting pain upon the eyes of society by wedging overly large bodies into pants that would only fit on 6 inch tall Barbie figurines.

In fact, many leading doctors in the United States and Sweden have diagnosed individuals with what is called TPS. TPS, Tight Pants Syndrome, is a leading cause of poor circulation, low sperm counts, allergic reactions to leather and an increase in public vomiting. Dr. Patrick Agyu, a noted Hungarian obstetrician and gynecologist, was recently quoted stating, "When pants are worn too tightly and the lower back is pushed upward in an uncomfortably awkward position, fat pants is my diagnosis."

There you have it, a professional's medical opinion. When you feel your butt creeping up your back, it is time to change your pants. Please check all of your current articles of clothing to ensure that you do not have the FDA recalled, fatal labelled pants known as: FAT PANTS.

Hannah My Asian

My dearest friend Hannah is currently living in England. She wrote a poem that was dedicated to me. I wish all to partake.

http://nannersh2.blogspot.com/2009/02/life-is-full-of-unexpected-twists-and.html

Jeremiah 4:19

Religion has brought about great things. Faith, hope, charity and the Crusades: The mainstays of religion. Today religion proved once again to motivate my emotions and change my life.


As I sat upon a padded chair pondering the great questions of life, I noticed a young couple sitting in front of me. Obviously infatuated with each other, the two giggled, cuddled and caressed the entire meeting.


The physical attention grew increasingly distracting and the young lady leaned forward in her seat. At that particular moment, straining her body in a forward motion, a rather large release of pressure occurred. The release was located near the south end of her body. It was not a petite fluff, nor was it a manly exhaust, but a clearly audible trumpeting toot.


A second eruption then pillaged the back row of the chapel, my uncontrollable laughter. Though silent, the rhythmic pulsing of my laughter caused me to bounce in a hyperventilating state for several minutes.


Having turned the color of a raspberry, I noticed the young couple had begun writing notes to each other. I quickly glanced over Spenc... I mean the young man's shoulder to read the note. It read as follows:


Man: This will go down in history as the most awkward Sacrament meeting ever.

Woman: Why? Because you think my farts are cute?


This set off my second volley of diaphramatic pain. A scripture quickly came to my head. I felt the need to share this Old Testament passage with the young lady who had fouled the air with her unexpected contribution of pollution. Writing upon a scrap of parchment from the ever lovely program, I shared with her Jeremiah 4:19, the scripture that changed my life:


"My bowels, my bowels! I am pained at my very heart; my heart maketh a noise in me; I cannot hold my peace, because thou hast heard, O my soul, the sound of the trumpet, the alarm of war."


This woman maketh a noise, the sound of the trumpet, the alarm of war. After depositing the note into the purse located to the left of the young man, I gained composure. My good deed for the day had been done. I was at peace once more, until I saw her rummage through a second purse on her right. The message of comfort had been planted in the wrong bag!


With the reaction speed of an awkward deacon, I quickly made an identical note. Waiting until the final prayer, I leaded forward to slip the newly forged note into the correct hand bag. As my hand entered the bag I glanced up to confirm the closure of her eye lids. I found a pair of very not closed, very open eyes. Uninhibited, I stowed the note and joined the prayer with a giggle.


Experiences such as this change lives. Religion changes lives. Jeremiah 4:19 has changed my life. I hope that both notes that were strategically placed today change lives. Anybody up for a crusade?

The Uncircumsized

Folded.

Folded pleats of silken clothe,

Folded flap, away from moth.

The Uncircumsized

Tucked.

Tucked rows of wrinkled leather,

Tucked cap, away from weather.

The Uncircumsized

Fold upon fold, tuck upon tuck.

The fleshy fabric cascades down

to cover one's duck.

Crease upon crease, prune upon prune.

A comfort for its owner to clean

and to swoon.

Creased.

Creased crevices of gentle form

Creased, Creased, Folded, Tucked.

The innocence of an uncircumsized shawl collar
sweater.

My Anthem Problem

Everyday has an anthem. Today my anthem was Neil Diamond's immortal Forever in Blue Jeans. The sweet tune and medicinal lyrics of the song acted as a guide to my weary heart. Anthems enter our lives at very random moments much like Madonna songs or childhood memories of Sesame Street.

I feel that the popular Irish mega star rock band U2 created a few perfect anthem songs. Hold Me, Thrill Me, Touch Me, Kill Me is the anthem of choice after any and every relationship break up. The ever popular With or Without You will go down in history as the classic stalker's anthem. Written in D major, "Every move you make, every breath you take, very step you make, every vow you break... I'll be watching you!" should creep out any female ranging in age from 11 to 67. And who could forget the other 1987 Joshua Tree rock n' roll staple I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For, wherein Bono teaches us all seek out the perfect mate and to never afraid to be picky. Perhaps pickier than President Barack Hussein Obama II was in picking Tom Daschle and his $134,000 in non-paid taxes to be our Secretary of Health and Human Services.

Another anthem that needs addressing in our Nation's anthem. The Star Spangled Banner is a brilliantly difficult piece of music. Despite the extreme skill level required to successfully sing our nation's memoir, individuals across this country feel it is their right to slaughter the song of our heritage. The runs, trills, hiccups, spastic pop screams and slides that have become the "norm" are nothing more than sloppy belches.

The following clip is a masterpiece dedicated to all of you who think you are the American Idol of your own world. After watching this clip you will lose all desires to ever perform in public. If that doesn't work maybe Bono could write you a song, an anthem of your own.

Super Bowl vs. Contraceptives

Millions of men, women and children ... well men, will be taking part in a historically testosterone driven event today: 2009 Super Bowl Sunday. This highlight of manhood and grunting symbolizes the power professional sports has upon the culture of mankind. "Who doesn't love to watch 300 lb men smash each other to bits," commented 44th President of the United States, Barack Hussein Obama II. Perhaps in this brilliant piece of legislation called the "stimulus package", an appendage should be added to refund all Super Bowl parties as charitable donations to the middle class. That would make perfect sense and be a brilliant companion to the proposed $128 million dollar allocation to producing contraceptives. It is a proven fact that America needs more contraceptives and more Super Bowl parties to stimulate our economy.

Super Bowl parties and contraceptives have a few things in common.

1) They both prevent the human population from expanding for a short period of time.
2) A fair amount of alcohol can be associated with both items.
3) More individuals viewing the Super Bowl should use contraceptives to stimulate our economy.

Super Bowl parties are occassions that would destroy the regular digestive track of a full grown male African elephant. And yet, every year the little smokeys, peanuts, festive sausage balls, chips, salsa, guacamole, and cheese curds are chased down with a couple liters of Coke. One might argue that the Super Bowl is a contraceptive. The elation created by a winning team sends a man into a spinning spiral of uncontrolable bliss as if he had actually played in the game himself. This sudden explosion of excitement creates a hormonal influction that renders all males sterile for 24 hours. Cardnials, please, keep this in mind today.


As an avid advocate of Orbit Sweet Mint chewing gum, I feel it is my further duty to admonish the Senate Democrats and Republicans to join together in a historical bipartisan adventure to reconstruct the stimulus package. The current draft only allows spending for traditional contraceptives and should have a face lift to add SBPBR's (Super Bowl Party Budget Refund) as a source of renewable energy research program awarding each party host with a $5,500 tax refund. Who needs conraceptives when you have the Super Bowl. Bratwurst anyone?

12 Hours

12 Hours. It has been 12 hours now since I was exposed. 12 hours since I was left speechless and uncomfortable. 12 hours since my body literally had no strength to function. 12 Hours since I was forced to ask myself: Who I was? Where was I? How I got there? What was happening?

Trapped. I could not force myself to pull out. Cornered. The suffocating feelings of anxiety enclosed upon my innocent heart. Vulnerable. The much too familiar feeling of QBH washed over my body. For the unaware or naive person, QBH stands for Quivering Butt Hole. QBH is the puckering sensation that occurs when something very awkward, frightening or surprising happens to you. It is a common reaction and everyone has experienced it. If you think you are QBH free, then you are simply denying the truth of physiological reality. Think about your physical reaction to experiences, whether conscious or unconscious, QBH is a part of your life.

The causation of my emotional and mental paralysis was a song. It is fair to say that it was more than a song, more than a melody, more than words: it was a collage of ugly. I was unprepared for the power this song would have upon me. I feel that the world deserves to experience this moment of my life.

12 hours ago Abi chose to express herself. 12 hours ago she chose to render me helpless. 12 hours ago the QBH was constant. 12 hours ago my life changed.

7 Layer Dip - 7 Layer Outfit

Fashion is my passion. What you wear defines so many aspects of who you are. Each social occassion is accompanied by an equally appropriate outfit.

Food is my passion. What you eat defines so many aspects of who you are. Each social occassion is accompanied by an equally appropriate dish.


Weight gains and losses are a part of life. I gained 45 lbs after my high school graduation. I ate my way through stress, through relationships, through exams. I could eat my way through a full grown beef and still have enough stress to eat an entire Nancy's Famous Cherry-Berry pie! My passion for fashion has changed my relationship with food.


I did not have a prayer to fit into my wardrobe after the 45 lb disaster. This caused me to jump into action. Fad diet after fad diet I simply could not get out of my rut. I had what I call an "old milk" body- white and chunky. The time had come to throw away the curdled Lee.


I began doing 30 minutes of cardiovascular 3 times a week. I felt like I had been raped by a buffalo after the first time going-I was so extremely sore. But each time got easier. I cut my calorie intake in half and slowly worked my way up to daily cardiovascular. I have now lost 36 lbs and feel amazing. I know that anybody can do the simple things I have done to lose weight and feel great.


Now that I have slimmed down I can fit into my fairly extensive collection of clothing again. This is a blessing because as you know fashion is my passion. Whether it is a 7 layer dip for a party or a 7 layer outfit for a night on the town, 7 layers of personality define who we are. Passion is power. Power is truth. Truth is life. And Life is all about wearing seven layers of beautiful clothing while eating seven layers of divine dip.