A long time ago, I knew a spunky little 5 year old by the name of Anna. One morning, I was helping her get all gussied up for her class picture when we had a little bit of an argument. You see, Anna had long, soft, incredibly curly blonde hair. It was absolutely adorable and, in my humble opinion, well worth the extra effort in morning upkeep.

Anna disagreed and as I carefully combed through her brilliantly bouncy locks, she pouted. “I wish I had straight hair like you!”

Shocked, I insisted, “But Anna! Your hair is gorgeous! I would die for hair like yours!”

With a perplexed sigh, she told me, “V! Don’t you know all the straights want to be curlys and all the curlys want to be straights?”

I laughed and hugged her and complemented her obvious wisdom.

Now, almost 10 years later, I found myself having a similar argument with an employee at a lingerie store.

I just recently lost 10lbs, which while not a big deal for man, is damn near PANDEMONIUM for a woman in regards to her wardrobe. Specifically, her bra size. Ten measly pounds was all it took before I suddenly found myself in need of brand new underwear.

So, I went to a couple of boutiques and some girls attempted to measure and fit me. Apparently though, I have FREAK BOOBS and neither store carried my oh so rare size. Finally, I made my way to lingerie store #3 where yet another girl slid a measuring tape around my rib cage in a vain attempt to find me the perfect bra.

As we stood in the dressing room dicking around with bra after bra, I became increasingly annoyed with my figure.

“This is bullshit,” I whined, “Maybe I don’t need a bra. Maybe I need a fucking plastic surgeon.”

“Are you kidding?” the girl asked, “I would kill for boobs like yours!”

Admittedly, my boobs are a little on the larger size. This may seem like a blessing considering all the attention they attract from men, but I’m here to tell you that they’re not all they’re fucking cracked up to be. When you have a large chest, you can pull off 3 very distinct looks: Bimbo, slightly less bimbo, and fat. It is absolutely impossible to wear one of those cute little tops and look classy. Hell, I know I could manage to look like a slut in a garbage bag.

I tried to explain this to the girl who was fitting my bra, but she just kept shaking her head. She happened to have those itty bitty just-little-more-than-a-mouthful boobs that I have coveted since high school. There is no doubt in my mind that she could wear any top she wanted and still look cute and classy. And if I’m going to be totally honest here, her figure was such that it kind of made me want to screw her in the dressing room amidst all the piles of forgotten lingerie. To me, small boobs are crazy sexy.

Anyway, we argued back and forth for a while until I remembered Anna and her curly hair. Then, with a defeated sigh I said, “Well, I guess the straights always want to be curlys and all the curlys always want to be straights.”

The girl at the boutique smiled politely, but she understandably had no idea what I was talking about. I thought about explaining it to her, but sometimes it takes 5 year old to understand what a cruel trick fate really is.

It’s been roughly a week since I started my Birthday Charity Challenge and here are the results so far. As you can see, we have raised about $3,577. It’s also clear that paypal royally sucks. (You have to click on the picture below to enlarge it)

Apparently, we are 36% of the way to my $10,000 goal. Not bad for one week. However, donations have been slowing down, so be sure to plug the contest wherever you can. Myspace, forums, email chain letters…I really don’t care as long as you get the word out.

I’ll keep you all posted on the progress, as promised.

My last article came about after an argument with a friend. His assertion was those who read my website worshiped me and would listen to anything I said. I told him not to be fooled. My audience is a fickle bunch who would turn their collective backs on me the very second I wrote something disagreeable.

I haven’t been doing this whole web thing for very long, but I have managed to learn a few things. My first lesson was that as long as I attacked the right target, my audience would describe me as utterly brilliant, fascinating and logical, and a person of such high character that I would attain best friend status if not for the damnable Internet keeping us apart. However, should I take a stance contrary to their own, I’d have them shrieking like mommybloggers. Hell, even Atheists, who generally pride themselves on being calm and logical, went all ‘Ryan Holiday’ on me in the face of some very minor teasing.

Dear Bloggers, there’s no such thing as fans on the Internet. You’re only popular as long as you display yourself as a mirror image of those you’re writing for. I think I’ve proven my point pretty well in that regard. Love, V.

The most hilarious part of the last update (If you understood the mentality behind it) was that no one really noticed exactly who I was mocking. An avid WoW player? The type of person to be antagonistic just for the sake of pissing people off? A snob? Oh, come on now! Who does that sound like to you? HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN READING THIS CRAP? If yesterday’s update was your first, I suppose you do have some excuse. If not, you’re an idiot. Seriously.

Oh, perhaps I’m too hard on you guys. On top of that, I probably haven’t delved into my particular level of snobbishness as much as I could have. But let me assure you all right here and now that I highly doubt there is any person alive on this planet that is a bigger snob than me. If anyone even came close, I’d be surprised.

If you own what I’ve dubbed a ‘white trash status symbol,’ such as an above ground swimming pool or a backyard trampoline, I look down you. If I meet your children and they don’t immediately shake my hand and tell me they’re pleased to meet me, I look down on you. If you spend your money frivolously, I look down on you. If you answer your cell phone in the midst of polite company, I look down on you. If, when asked what kind of vodka you prefer in your drink, you respond with the words ‘whatever is cheapest!,’ not only will I look down on you, but I will refuse to dine with you again. If you just read that last sentence with a confused expression on your face because you have no idea how to order cheap booze without appearing as a classless buffoon, then I don’t even want to be introduced to you. (Hint: House vodka will be fine, sir.)

Keep in mind that my particular brand of snobbishness is not reserved for broke people either. In fact, I’m probably a bit more critical of those with money. So if you have theater seating in your house, I look down on you. If you flash around large, expensive jewelry because you think it makes you look like hot shit, I look down on you. If you name drop, I look down on you. If you discuss how much you made on a business venture or investment in detail, without being asked specifics, I look down on you. I was raised to believe that’s it’s impolite to use your wealth to be obnoxious or make others feel inferior.

In fact, right this very second there is a 50? 60? inch television set in my living room, bought and paid for by my dear husband, and every time I walk past it, I want to spit fucking nails. In normal circumstances, I would look down on the type of people who would buy a ridiculously large television set. But there mine sits. In my living room. Mocking me. Whenever people come over, I have to fight the urge to hide it under a blanket. How humiliating.

Furthermore, I judge the quality of someone’s character by how they treat people in the service industry. So if you look right through the girl jockeying the register at the local 7-11 like she’s not even there or (worse) fail to sincerely thank her for her time and effort, I look down on you. Moreover, irritation or anger is no excuse for forgetting your manners. Which is why, even if the midst of extreme fury, I will say crazy shit to people like, “Will you please shut your mouth before I stick my foot in your ass, sir!” Trust me, I realize it doesn’t make much sense, but I guess that’s what happens when you invent your own particular brand of morality. There’s no fucking consistency.

[Side note: There are people no doubt reading right now thinking, “I’m not going to kiss up to people in the service industry. It’s their job to wait on me. It’s their job to be nice. I’m not going to kiss their ass because they are doing their job. Blah, blah, fucking, blah.” To them I say, yeah, but they chose that job. They could have made it their job to rob your fucking house or sell cocaine to your ugly fucking kid, by they didn’t. Instead, they decided to get up at 5 o’clock in the fucking morning to make your coffee and tell you to have a nice day. If don’t respect that, then fuck off right now, you classless piece of shit.]

Have I made my point yet? I hope so, because sometimes, I seriously lay in bed at night lulling myself to sleep by thinking of new and unusual ways to ‘quietly judge’ people. What can I say? When I told you all I was an evil, small minded little person, I wasn’t lying.

Some have said that part of the reason there was so much friction between my Mother and I was due to my tendency to make my distaste in her lifestyle choices obvious. When my Father was alive, my upbringing was very….just so, if that makes sense? And when he died, I was unable to ‘slum it’ with the same zest and zeal as my Mother. My Mother embraced (which is a nice way to say ‘fucked’) people I wouldn’t have spit on (because it’s impolite to spit) and she often insisted that I thought I was better than her. And she was right. Even when I was 7 years old, I thought I was better than my Mother. Not only that, but I totally lacked the ability to keep the sneer of disdain off of my face.

Looking back, I don’t half blame her for punching it in.

Now that I’m older, I have quit seriously playing the ‘who is better than who’ game…mostly because I always come up short. Deep down I know that those I criticize might do things in pretty poor taste a lot of the time, but they generally have more compassion and kindness in their toenail clippings than I have in my whole body. Not only that, but until I can learn to reel in my own inner asshole, I really have no right to judge anyone else.

But I will anyway. So nyah.

With that said, I still prefer the company of other snobs than that of normal folks. Not because I think they’re better people, mind you, but simply because they’re easier to entertain. In large groups, I’ve always had this need to make sure everyone is relaxed and having a good time. For that to happen, I usually have to put on my ‘dancing monkey’ suit and make everyone laugh.

Now if I’m hanging out with a normal, everyday, laid back group of individuals, this is a difficult task. I’m not the only ‘funny friend’ they have, so the entertainment bar is significantly higher. I’ve really got to be on my game with these people and sometimes the pressure is intense.

On the other hand, with a group of snobs, not only am I the funniest friend they’ve ever had, but I’m literally the only funny person they’ve ever known. So let’s just say I don’t have to tap too far into my ‘wit well’ to turn these guys on.

A perfect example of this would be the Monster Truck Rally I went to a couple of weeks ago. My family and I attended with 3 other small families, and even though we had our own private box with plush comfortable couches, private bathroom, professionally catered food with free top shelf alcohol, we all began the evening by lamenting how awful it was to be at a Monster truck rally in a building full of people who could be potentially chewing tobacco and how, God forbid, we were only doing this for the kids.

We continued to complain over the roar of the big, ridiculous trucks as the children watched avidly. Finally, we noticed the noise had died down and we looked around curiously to see if the show had mercifully ended. It hadn’t. Instead, there was a sort of halftime show going on where a buxom blonde was preparing to shoot herself out of a cannon.

One of the other chicks said something along the lines of, “I can’t believe she has a job getting shot out of a cannon. How gross. I’d rather work at McDonald’s than do something like that.”

Curtly, I replied, “Well, look at her. What else could she possibly do? It was either this or low grade stripper.”

Lame joke, I know, but you would not believe how they stirred their martinis and laughed!

The whole evening was a piece of cake. It was almost too easy! As I age, I notice I’m getting more and more socially lazy.

In the midst of all this pointless conjecture, I’ve noticed that I’ve once again digressed from my initial point…which was, quite simply, to quit taking me so goddamn seriously.

Also, I hope you all remember this 6 weeks from now when I write a post mocking crazy people.

The problem with Atheists is most of them are snobs.

Atheists think they’re being clever with their spaghetti monster analogies and fairy tale rhetoric, but at the end of the day, they come off sound like condescending pricks.

Furthermore, any group of people claiming superior intelligence that willingly engages in the fight of a losing battle automatically loses credibility. However, Atheists are too dumb to realize they’re fighting a losing battle, so they persist with the lecturing and the withering stares. Atheists have singled handedly ruined coffee shops with this crap.

I, myself, have not been able to claim belief in a higher power for many, many years. However, I can still see the value in Religion. Perhaps growing up without a strong parental figure in my life made me recognize the possible value of a loving Father figure up in the sky watching out for me. And hey, I try my best not forget that sometimes we all need something to believe in.

Most Atheists have the tendency to thumb their noses at Jesus, and then log onto World of Warcraft so they can pretend to be an orc for a couple of hours. They sneer at the Bible, but have no problem playing endless hours of vampire role playing games. The message is clear. Fantasies are OK as long as they include gratuitous violence and some sort of porn.

It’s no wonder Religious folks don’t take them too seriously. Even the Quiet Intellectual Atheist comes across as if he’s only denying belief to be aversive. It’s hard not to pity the guy addicted to nonconformity like an addict to a needle.

Personally, I don’t mind Religion. Religious leaders, on the other hand, really get my goat. But in my experience, when you approach someone by saying, “Hey. I don’t mind Catholicism. It’s just the creepy priests fucking altar boys that gross me out,” members of the congregation are more apt to listen.

My only real issue with Religion (and ultimately, it’s a fairly small issue) is that it teaches people to be good for all the wrong reasons. Whether it’s the fear of a vengeful God and eternal life spent in the flames of Hell or the possibility of winning a ticket into Heaven accompanied by a boat load of virgins, people are still behaving well to escape punishment or to win everlasting life.

Ideally, people would be good because it’s the right thing to do. Not because they want good Karma to come back on them and not because they’re hoping for a personal cloud to lounge on in the sky, but because doing the right thing is its own reward. I’d like to live in a world where people aren’t secretly hoping for a payoff for every single good dead they’ve ever done.

But then again, most of society today seems almost completely lacking in any moral compass whatsoever. So if ‘God’ does his part to scare some little bastard out of stealing my fucking car, I guess I can’t complain too much.

Any Atheist who does seriously needs to reevaluate his priorities.

First of all, I know there are crazy typos in that last post. I just can’t edit it without fucking up the video for some reason. Don’t ask me. I’m no youtube God.

Second of all, for those of you who are worried about not getting a tax break for your donation to my Charity Challenge, feel free to make your check or money order or whatever the hell you want to send to me out to West Valley Crisis Center directly. In fact, I’d actually prefer you make the checks out to them so I don’t have to diddle around at the bank cashing them and whatnot. I probably should have told you all that from the very beginning, but I’m retarded and I didn’t think of it. Also, I’ve been busy with other things.

If you’re donating via paypal and you still want a tax break…er…I don’t really know what to tell you. Sucks to be you, I guess.

Also, for the people who are worried that I’m going to cheat the system and pocket all the money rather than turn it over to charity, I have the perfect solution for you. Don’t participate in my Charity Challenge. Instead, visit the West Valley Crisis Center and donate to them directly. It’s no skin off of my nose if you donate to them directly; I just can’t keep track of it that way so it won’t count towards my Charity Challenge. However, the kids get the money either way and that’s all I care about. In fact, it’s actually in my best interest if you don’t participate in my Charity Challenge. After all, if we don’t meet my goal, I don’t have to post my picture. So if you would rather leave me out of your altruistic endeavors altogether, please, be my fucking guest. I could use the favor.

And lastly, I’d like to thank those of you who are really digging deep for these kids. Some of ya’ll are only donating a buck (Or less!) and, to me, that’s indicative of the fact you’re only in it for the picture and not the kids. I’m not going to bitch too much, because you’re still sacrificing the cost of a cheap cup of coffee for these kids (oooooo, go you!), but eh. You’re still kind of lame.

But there are also those of you who are making donations that you could have spent on Ipods or cell phones or expensive sneakers or tons of other meaningless shit that ultimately won’t make you happy. You guys are…fucking awesome.

My only hope is that when we finally turn this money over to West Valley and get word on how it was spent, that you actually do gain some happiness from spending money for a change. Unlike the electric mixer in your cabinet that could theoretically chop up a goddamn brick, I hope that you consider this money well spent.