WWRWD? (What Would Robin Williams Do?)

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Unless you live under a rock, or are involved in a much more catastrophic, international crisis (like the one going on over in Iraq; yeah – hello – did people forget about that one?)…then, you are aware of a few certain tragedies that occurred over the last few days; most discussed being the deaths of Robin Williams by suicide, and that of Lauren Bacall of stroke.

Let’s be clear about something: the loss of any human life is, in and of itself, tragic. The loss, for any reason. Any. Reason.

But as the outpouring of sympathies, grief, and broader discussion about depression, mental illness, and suicidal tendencies overtook the world of social media as a result of Williams’ death, the conversation necessarily took a certain tone. A tone that was less about the loss and the future, and more about the moral.

Everyone, mental illness is real – get help.

Everyone, Robin Williams is smiling down on all of us.

Everyone, let’s imagine that a man who committed suicide is now laughing in heaven, because that’s totally what religious doctrine that suggests such a place exists says will happen to people who take their own lives.

I’m no atheist, and I’m also no Bible thumper. But if I know one thing, it’s that some, if not all, religions say people who commit suicide go to hell, or at the very least purgatory. So if you believe in heaven, you should be believing that Robin Williams is actually toasting on the devil’s pitchfork right about now.

Even Williams’ What Dreams May Come has the suicide victim stuck in the middle of hell.

These droves of pithy suicide and depression morals then turned into the haves and the have nots, the haves being those that felt their positivity and opinions on suicide were absolute truth; and the have nots being anyone who said anything the haves did not like.

It started with people talking about whether or not suicide is a choice, which it – by definition – is. (Arguably, it is the most personal choice, as the truest consequence is to no one but the decision-maker.) Calling it a choice pissed a lot of people off.

It continued with people railing on about whether or not suicide is ever justifiable. This is when the “suicide is so selfish” posters came on the scene; and when the know-it-alls of the world came out in droves to claim that suicide is an idiotic, narcissistic thing to do. (For the record: it is neither idiotic, nor selfish. Some of the most intelligent and selfless people I have ever known, or known of, have taken their own lives; Robin Williams is included in that group.)

Then Matt Walsh entered the room, and everyone lost their fucking minds.

For those of you unfamiliar with Matt Walsh, he is probably the most hated blogger on the Internet; so much so that his sometimes-controversial positions have garnered him the infamous title of “douche dick.”

People (mostly bloggers) hate this guy so hard for almost anything that comes out of his mouth, no matter how innocuous it may be. They post long diatribes about hating him on their Facebook and Twitter pages. Often. Then they get very dramatic at the end with “I just don’t want this guy to get more page links, I’m not going to link him…nope, not going to do it, I would feel terrible if he got page hits by my hand!!!!”

Because (1) none of us know how to use Google (apparently), and aren’t now intrigued enough by your psychobabble to go look his newest offense up; and, (2) we should all just blindly believe everything you say.

Absolutely everything, no questions asked.

Well, today I believed it, at least for a while. I believed that Matt Walsh probably made some callous remarks about Williams’ death, and it would just annoy me. I’ll admit to having read things he said that made me mad in the past; not all things he’s said, but definitely some. Still, I agree with more of what he says than probably anyone else on the Internet. I’d never get so crazy about my disagreements so as to talk publicly about him being a douche dick, or whatever the cliques are calling him these days. But we’ll leave it at: I’ve always had mixed feelings about him, so I figured there was at least some probability he’d said something out there.

So I ignored it and moved on with my day. I was busy, so you know…

But suicide is different. It’s very personal to me. It’s very visceral. It’s happened to two people very close to me, within the last two years; so the wounds from their deaths are still open and bleeding. Going about my day, therefore, still kept the question about what Matt Walsh said in the back of mind, just as the discussion of suicide and it’s consequences had been there since I heard of Williams’ death yesterday afternoon. Has pretty much always been there for the last two years.

Then I saw someone share a site called “What Matt Walsh Is Wrong About Today.” That was when I decided to actually read Walsh’s original post about Williams’ death. And as I toggled between the two – one calling Matt Walsh “a dick,” “callous,” “careless” and “ignorant;” the other a (seemingly) careful analysis of suicide and the discussion that needs to be had, I realized that there is a lot about suicide that people don’t seem to understand.

Even more they don’t understand about what Matt Walsh said.

(EVEN MORE about acting like adults. That a group of people have gotten together and made a website to single out someone they disagree with, or don’t like, says a lot about why bullying is so rampant in our culture.)

Without going into all the details of the Walsh controversy, it started with a tweet from Walsh, stating that “When we talk about depression we shouldn’t pawn the whole thing off on ‘chemical imbalances.’ It’s not just clinical. It’s spiritual.”

The responses to that tweet, both on the What Matt Walsh Is Wrong About Today site, as well as Twitter, are insane. As I read through some of them, I realized that people are so ignorant, uneducated, and closed-minded, it’s baffling. Baffling. Suddenly they all seem to completely deny that there is such a thing as non-clinical depression. Clinically, there is – it’s called situational depression (my 10 year old daughter suffers from this). There’s also a depression called “existential depression” which is related to existential (versus acute, situation, or clinical) anxiety (I suffer from this). This is the kind of fantastical ideas that the Existentialists and Shakespeare’s Hamlet talked about.

And it’s even more complicated, and there are even more classifications, than that.

Do you people see yet how complex depression and suicide can be?

There was nothing callous, incorrect, or horrible about Walsh’s tweet. In fact, it’s a discussion that needs to be had, because clearly people aren’t getting it. Because Robin Williams is one of millions that have taken their own lives, and will continue to, until people wake up and stop romanticizing these terrible and tragic emotional situations.

No one seemed to like Walsh’s elaboration on the point (in his lengthier blog post), because people responded in kind by calling him negative, insensitive, one-sided, and – again – a dick. They called his very thoughtful comments ignorant.

If anything, I think Walsh’s post was insightful; and in some ways comforting to know that someone – finally, anyone – understands that the depths and the hells of depression and suicide are so much more complex than just one thing; that it isn’t just about chemicals or illness or disease, but about choices, personal circumstances, and an understanding of the abyss that only the person committing the act of suicide could possibly have.

That these things have to be had in the conversation about suicide and moving forward to prevent them. That you can’t just chalk it up to a disease; that it may not always be simply negativity making the decision to take the pills or slit the wrists, or in the case of Williams, hang from the rafters. That you can’t just say “they’re in heaven now smiling on us, get help if you need it, moving on with my PTA meetings and other mundane bullshit that exists for everyone but those that have succumbed to nothingness.”

Because that’s what suicide really is, that no one wants to admit. It’s succumbing to nothingness. People don’t commit suicide because they want to shine down on us from fucking heaven. They succumb to nothingness because they want the dark, black, nothing of non-existence. They want life to stop, which makes the people referring to suicide’s afterlife sound like the only true idiots in the room.

At the end of Walsh’s post, he talks about joy, and it’s absolute necessity to life. He says

So this, for me, is always the most essential moral at the end of these kinds of sad, terrible stories: we are all meant for joy. We are all meant for love. We are all meant for life. And as long as we can still draw breath, there is joy and love to be found here. I believe that. If I didn’t, I would have left a long time ago.

Joy and love. There might not be much else for us on this Earth, but these are the only two things that matter anyway. These are the forces that brought the whole universe into being, and these are the forces that sustain it, and us, and all life.

I just don’t understand how someone can read that and call the guy a dick. Or a douche dick, or whatever they say about him. And it’s when I read that, and I toggled through even more posts about Matt Walsh and his terrible ways, that I began to wonder what Robin Williams would do. What anyone, really, who has committed suicide, or thought about committing suicide, would do. Would they call this guy names, and personally attack him for talking about these issues holistically and from the point of all sides?

Or would they act with compassion and understanding and the knowledge that only someone who has looked into the abyss could have?

 

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STFU Fridays: “Who Cares” About Kimye

There are two camps of people in this world: those that shout “who cares?” to all-things Kardashian, and those that stand in line for a couple of hours to ask acne-ridden Khloe for her autograph at a Laker game.

I’ve blogged about these people before, and I’m fairly certain that I said a number of times in there that I don’t care. The truth is, as far as my personal life and day-to-day interactions go, the Kardashians don’t even exist in my mind. I don’t wake up in the morning and check up on the buzz over what Scott and Kourtney have been up to. I don’t try to dress like Kim, or do keg stands like Kris. And I certainly do not – never ever EVER – watch their show(s).

Whenever I see articles about the Kardashians, though, I always notice something in the comments. There is always an unprecedented number of people shouting through the Internet – screaming from behind their computers – the same line over and over again: who cares? Who cares about these media whores? Ignore them and they’ll go away, they say. I have more important things to worry about, they argue.

Who cares?

Well today, in spite of the fact that the Kardashians and all of their sordid affairs have no bearing on my life whatsoever; today, in spite of the fact that I too don’t care – I am here to tell all of those people that said “who cares” to the news and the updates of the Kimye wedding to shut the fuck up. You guys have ignored them and “who cares”ed them long enough and it’s not made them go away. In fact, it looks like it’s just made them worse.

Many Things About Kim and Kanye’s Wedding Last Weekend Were – Arguably – Beyond Wasteful. Who Cares? Shut the Fuck Up.

When I read an article this morning with some of the sordid details of the Kimye wedding last weekend, I felt like my brain had been run through a cheese grater repeatedly over some of the stupidity and rampant wastefulness the event represented.

Reportedly, before the ceremony, Kanye didn’t like the most expensive sound system available, which was the sound system they had ordered. He didn’t like the speakers, I guess. He said they were too big. So he demanded that the entire thing be removed and used an iPod until a replacement sound system was brought in.

The money that was wasted on that set up, that Kanye argued went against his “minimalist style,” could have rather been – oh I don’t know – donated to a good cause. As an example, that money could have fed roughly 1500 children currently starving in Sudan, three meals a day, for the next full year.

Now I’m sure that all of the Kardashians and their offshoots, the Kanyes and all the other celebutants of the world give to charity. In some way. But just think about the wastefulness; how much the wastefulness could be that much more.

Honestly, I don’t even know where to go on; in fact, there was so much excess and wasting at the Kimye wedding that I don’t have the word count space to continue. I will say, though, that the golden toilet tower, the disposable marble dining tables with guest names etched into them, and the use of cranes to go to a higher area of the hill the chateau sits upon could have easily fed another couple thousand children – almost anywhere in the world.

And the headless marble statues. Oh, the headless marble statues. Four days before the wedding, Kimye reportedly ordered 30 nude marble statues to be put around the reception area. Somehow, though, only 10 of them made it up the hill, all of whom lost their heads in transit. Headless nude statues to adorn the reception area, and by the way the average cost of that failed endeavor could have clothed between 60 and 70 homeless families of four in the United States, for an entire year.

Spoiled Children and Total Direspect. Shut the Fuck Up.

Reportedly, Andrea Bocelli – arguably the world’s most famous and respected opera singer – sang during Kim’s processional. Afterwards, they had no seat for him to stay.

The Smith family was there too, with none other than little Jaden. I recently saw a meme that suggested a comeback/spin off of Fresh Prince, where Will Smith sends his spoiled kid to Phillie to learn to be less of a douche. I thought ‘little Jaden? Oh come now…”

Little Jaden wore a white Batman costume to Kimye’s wedding. For a couple hours, he even ran around the place knocking over and smashing glasses to the ground, and throwing his cape over people’s heads.

Who cares? If these people don’t have respect, no one will ever be able to change that? Shut the fuck up.

Kim Had a Crotch Dot, Went On A Rampage, and Turned Off the Power Leaving Everyone Inside the Golden Toilet Tower To Poop In the Dark. Who Cares? Shut the Fuck Up.

I guess at the reception a light beam was shining on Kim’s crotch. She went nuts and unplugged all the lights on the dance floor, which the golden toilet tower was positioned to the side of. So it went black inside the golden toilet tower, and rather than tell Kim that she was going a little overboard over a crotch dot, everyone cowered in fear and just peed in the dark.

Sound absurd? It sounds like a massive cluster fuck of diva mixed with narcissism mixed with – who cares!

Well I care, quite frankly because so many people followed the Kimye wedding on Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, and other social media news outlets this past weekend and following week that they broke records. Are you people with me? They broke social media records. THAT means that enough people – in spite of all the who cares, and what does this have to do with mes, that show up in the comments – a lot of people are paying attention.

More than anyone in that Kardashian-loving demographic are: kids. Teenagers. College kids. In other words, by not caring and choosing to be better than paying attention to any of these whorish, diva antics of the family that loves to drink and drama, we are letting the people who care learn from them. Next thing you know you’re daughter is getting married and a light beam shines on her crotch, so she takes the example her fave celebrities did and throws a narcissistic temper tantrum, only rather than cower in fear your guests flip the fuck out. Your boss is there, you get fired from you job. Friends never return your calls. Family disowns you.

That may be a little bit of an over exaggeration, but what I’m trying to say seems pretty clear. By choosing to ignore these antics, and by not speaking up, we are allowing these shitty people to dictate how our kids are going to act. Who cares? Why aren’t people caring enough to stand up and say that these people have a serious problem?  This sounds like the old story of Polly, who got raped and stabbed in a New York alley whilst apartment dwellers looked on and just didn’t want to get involved to speak up and speak out.

Why aren’t people standing up and saying why they don’t care?

I think maybe instead of telling people to shut the fuck up, what I’m really doing is telling them to speak the fuck out. Speak out against this Kardashian bullshit. Between their over the top antics, their wasteful spending, and their negative contribution to the world as narcissistic divas who have brains in their assholes – it’s time for people to stop talking shit and start doing something.

Like try to find out how many children in Sudan the Kardashians fed last year with their gobs of money that they have no problem throwing around and wasting.

Miley Cyrus Mom Wars, RIP Agamemnon, and Please Vote For Me

There is no overlying theme of this blog post, really. Just things I need to blather on about, as I sit here engorging on my salad and informing my family about how yummy the sprouts are in it, which I realize is just more proof I’m becoming a California hippy.

Before I punch myself in the face, here goes with the blathering.

Miley Cyrus Mom Wars

Everyone is yap, yap, yapping about Miley Cyrus at the VMAs last night. First, the teddy bear thing was horrifying. Not only did she walk out of the big bear’s vagina, but then she went on to dry hump the other bears, dance with them, and so on. It was really awful, and quite frankly: I didn’t get it.

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Then the foam finger and her supposed-twerking. To begin: twerking is not just rubbing your ass up against Thicke-the-one-hit-wonder. To continue: the penis foam finger suggestive rubbing thing and pretending it was a penis … just gross. GROSS. GROSS. NASTY GROSS.

Last: the tongue. If I were to write Miley Cyrus a letter, it would go something like this:

Dear Miley –

Your tongue is fucking nasty. No one wants to see that shit.

Sincerely – Horrified Viewer

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It would be inaccurate to call me a viewer, though, because really I don’t give a fuck about that broad.

Here is the last thing I have to say on the subject though before getting onto why I call this the “Miley Cyrus Mom Wars”: I bet dollars to donuts that dumb bitch knows exactly what she is doing. Look at all the attention she’s gotten in the last 24 hours since she dry-humped a foam finger on stage?! This is where media blitzes are at now: in the negative attention.

If you don’t believe me, just ask Linsay Lohan and Amanda Bynes.

Now why this is really a mom war, though – like the breastfeeding and the homebirthing and all the other crap mothers fucking fight about to no end now – is because of all the aftermath. Today on Facebook, I read no less than SEVEN status updates about whether or not good parents allow their children to see Miley Cyrus/Hannah Montana as a “role model.”

Ok, so let’s not beat around Miley’s fake foam dick, here. It is true. In this day and age, people should not rely on celebrities and sports players to be role models for their children. We should be models for our children. True. True. True. BUT, there are a lot of horse’s ass parents out there. For every good parent, there’s like 20 guys owing back child support and moms taking slutty photos to post on Facebook while their kid is drowning in the bathtub. Kids need to look up to someone if their parents are trashy and tawdry, right? Beyond that, as kids grow older they don’t relate to their parents as well, and seeing mom as a role model becomes more of a challenge. People are not BAD PARENTS for recognizing those problems and looking to other positive role models in their community or popular culture. It’s OK for kids to want to look up to celebrities – dare I say it’s natural at a certain point – and there is nothing wrong with us expecting celebrities to act according to the responsibility of such a public life.

RIP Agamemnon

Our guinea pig died yesterday. It was really sad and all of our hearts are broken. We aren’t entirely sure what happened, but it’s pretty clear that either he accidentally ingested something toxic to his little body (unlikely – we keep a pretty close eye on him); or, he had a tumor that went unnoticed.

If there is one lesson Miley Cyrus could learn from Agamemnon, it’s this: keep your dry-humping of inanimate objects to private time only. Agamemnon of course never went after any foam fingers or one hit wonders (and yes, I would classify Robin Thicke as an inanimate object, because that guy clearly has nothing going on in his head), but his girlfriend Helen the stuffed hedgehog was quite used to Aggie’s private hump time, which he reserved for when he thought no one was looking.

We will miss you, Agamemnon!

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Please Vote For Me

This last point doesn’t have anything to do with dry-humping, unless of course you get overly excited by watching the trailers for any of the steamy romance novels my book is going up against.

I entered my book trailer into a video contest on YouGottaRead.com a few months ago, and was finally included in the August contest. The voting is open until tomorrow (August 27th), and I would think it just splendid if you would click on the link and head over to cast your vote. Otherwise Spunk, A Fable (about Amazon Women taking over the world and murdering men after using them for procreation) will beat me.

So the morals of this blog post were: don’t be a whore, avoid dry-humping foam #1 fingers, Robin Thicke is a one-hit wonder, stop judging other parents, hug your guinea pig while you can, and vote for me, not Spunk, a Fable.

Vote Here!!!

Can I Have Your Autograph?

When my husband and I first got married, his bosses gave us a pair of their season tickets to a Lakers game. Sure, I fucking hate the Lakers and anything-Los Angeles, but they were two rows behind court-side, so I figured – what the hell?

What they failed to tell us was that their tickets were seated directly behind those idiotic Kardashian whore-faces. This was when Lamar was still on the team, so the whole time we had to sit there and listen to the mom, Khloe, and one of the pig bitch teenage twins talk on their fucking cellphones about how much they hated basketball. It was horrible, only made worse when Khloe fanned her nappy hair out and spilled dandruff into my goddamned nachos.

So during the halftime, they had a security guard set up right there to stop people from coming down, although once Mother Hubbard and the Pig Bitch left, Khloe allowed her fans to come ask for autographs. The number of desperate and pathetic young women that approached the overweight, acne-ridden, dandruff-fanning cow was astounding.

There are few celebrities that I despise more than her after that whole dandruff incident. And while I would offer to have Derrick Rose’s babies while asking him for a signature, I would never ask these celebutants for anything other than to get out of my way. Here they are, in no particular order:

#1 The Queen Pig Bitch: Kimmie Kardash

This woman’s ass is so fucking horrifying. Sometimes when I see the emphasis placed on it in photos or magazines, I feel like asking her fan club if it’s got it’s own zip code. And now someone has allowed her to breed? Yeah, let’s see how fucked up that kid comes out. It’ll have a big ass, be just as much of a pig bitch as the rest of those Kardashians, and will likely carry itself with the shameless sense of entitlement the entire family has.

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#2 The Walking STD: the Biebs

I don’t mean to imply that Justin Bieber is a slut or anything, but I do sometimes wonder about a 17 year old that let the papparazzi photograph him dry-humping his girlfriend on a beach in Hawaii. Two years later, the Biebs has turned 19 and in celebration, the media has made his news story about said birthday more popular and of importance than the country’s fiscal crisis. Worse, Justin apparently has spat in the face of all fashion sense at this point, because he’s walking around with no shirt on, wearing tight blue pants, with his ass hanging so far out, if you look close enough you can probably see his teeny-weiney hanging down.

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#3 Shit-faced Stewart

Something that really irks me every time I see Kristin Stewart is that she always looks like ever-living shit. And yet still ghads of teenage boys and middle-aged lesbians are wanking off to her nightly. I look like shit all the time and you don’t see people wanking to my illustrious debacle of an appearance! She doesn’t just look like shit, though – Kristen Stewart has got to have the worst attitude on the entire planet. She’s always bored. She’s constantly agitated. And her hair looks like it hasn’t been washed in forever.

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Those are my big three. Do you have any celebrities you can’t stand? Or do you salivate at the sight of any of them? The big thing for me (I think) is that I don’t watch much TV and am particularly unimpressed by stardom. Or maybe it’s because I live near Hollywood – the land of the fruits, nuts, and celebrity weirdos.

Take Me, Ryan Gosling! Take Me Here and Now!!

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I am going to be honest with you faithful blog followers. I really and truly had no idea what the whole hub-bub was about with Ryan Gosling. Sure he’s hot. He has that patch on his abs that makes a woman salivate. But I never got the whole “hey girl…” meme. I never understood what anyone was talking about.

Until last night.

I will be honest. After seeing The Notebook, I abandoned Gosling. As a writer, quite frankly I get offended by tripe and just about any book-made-movie by Nicholas Sparks is just that. The Notebook is crap. Cliche, overblown, under-realistic crap.

Last night, my husband and I were sitting around looking for something to do. We’re pretty boring people when there isn’t kid puke to clean up, or an ass to wipe (other than each others’ that is), so as usual Poor Nick suggested we watch a movie. Of course, I said “OK” and before even asking, he turned on Blue Valentine.

He said that it would be a sexy movie. A sexy movie that would put me in the mood. In spite of that, he had already started it, so I agreed. In the end, the movie depressed the shit out of me and sent me off to bed in sweatpants and with Kleenex in hand. Oh what a fucked up tale of romance beginning in a bad situation and ending in the worst situation possible that was; but let’s not talk about that.

Let’s talk about Ryan Gosling.

#1: Ryan Gosling Makes “Uneducated, Alcoholic Hillbilly” Sexy

In Blue Valentine, Gosling plays the older and younger version of his character; by older we’re talking four or five years difference. The difference in appearance is drastic, though; as I understand for dramatic effect. We’re talking a little bit of a gut. Widow’s peak. Raging alcoholism.

In other words, sexy.

Usually I rail on this blog about hating hillbillies. Alcoholic weirdos that smoke cigarettes, drink beer before noon, and have a constant stream of dirt under their nails are the very antithesis of the class and decorum this foul-mouthed lady considers attractive. Well now there is one exception and it’s name is Ryan Gosling.

It may sound messed up, but when Michelle Williams’ character was giving him a hard time about the fact that he drank beer at 8 o’clock in the morning, I perked up. The dirtier he looked, the hotter he was. Every time he had a cigarette dangling from his mouth, I wondered how amazing it would be to smell his breath. Creepy, huh?

#2 Ryan Gosling Turns Apathy Into a Term of Endearment

For me, the most heartbreaking part of Blue Valentine is that Gosling’s character doesn’t even know if Williams’ baby is his. She says she doesn’t know, and yet he marries her and commits to care for her and the baby as his own. Years later, we see that he has developed this unbelievable relationship with his daughter – one of affection and closeness that every father should aspire to – and he is perfectly content being a husband and father and nothing more.

Many would find that to be a sign of laziness. Apathy. An alcohol-induced lack of motivation, I believe that it really was a beautiful thing. I think Gosling’s character had it right – that work was a means to spend time with his family. That life was defined by those he loved and what made him happy was being with them. It was beautiful.

And it made me officially cross the threshold from hesitant viewer to “if this man was near me, Poor Nick would have to worry.”

#3 Take Me, Ryan Gosling! Take Me Here and Now!!

I’ll never forget when my cousin and I went with my mom to see First Knight in the movie theatre. He and I laughed through the majority of the movie simply because every time some sort of passion-infused moment was on the screen, my mother’s lip began to quiver. She’d grab her Kleenex, breath heavily, and try to get herself under control before the tears came a-streamin’. And then, there was a moment when Richard Geer was sitting in front of a fire with no shirt on. He was just sitting there – no romance or death or anything. Just sitting, warming up.

My mother wailed so loudly, the entire theatre turned to look at us. She cried for the remainder of the movie.

RYAN_GOSLING_1572640aI never understood that. I mean, my Trailer Trash Mom is pretty trashy and pretty nut-so 99.9% of the time, but what in Jesus Tap-dancing Christ’s name could make her wail like that? I never understood.

Then Ryan Gosling came on the screen half-naked in that hillbilly wife beater. The tears began to well almost immediately. The sex in the movie is actually at a minimal, although there is a pretty racy oral sex scene that made me feel a little faint. But just like with my mom, it’s the topless shot – not of Geer, of course. Of Gosling. Topless Gosling. Abs. That spot. I don’t know what it was, but I cried for about an hour and a half after the credits began to roll.

I think in the end we were lucky that we watched Blue Valentine at home. Had it been at the movie theatre, I would have been in front of others when I stood up and shouted “take me, Ryan Gosling…take me here and now!!”

This must seem weird to you faithful blog followers, though. I mean previously I’ve only reported crushes on weird old men and Hulk Hogan for the possibility of being pile driven nude. You know what would be hot? If Ryan Gosling played a wrestler in a movie. He could choke hold. Pile drive. Fist slam. Imagine the possibilities.