He's So Hot, He Makes My Teeth Sweat

Here's three things that I (and of course, parents, holla at you Jazzy Jeff) just don't understand:

1) The point of testing lipstick out on your hand. The fact that women can do this and then feel like they've performed an enriching, curiosity-satisfying experiment astounds me. How can a smear of color next to your thumb joint tell you anything? How can it look "good" or "bad" when it's just color on skin? You need the actual face as a frame of reference to see what the color actually works with- ie your eyes, hair color, etc. My ultimate dream is to spend a day working at a makeup counter telling old women, "Oh, I'd defintely go with Mocha Sensation. See how great it looks great right there on your right hand? That's exactly how it will look...on your left near-thumb hand fat area! Will that be cash or credit?" I'd also like to purposely spray gross old lady perfumes in peoples' eyes (here's looking at you, Elizabeth Arden's Pretty, the most un-aptly named perfume in the history of mankind) and then pretend it's an accident.

2) Speaking of dreams, I'd love to know why mine have such a strong effect on me. Last night I had a dream that Scott Baio (mid-80s "Charles in Charge" hottie Scott Baio, not modern-day washed up receding hairline married dad Scott Baio, thanks very much) and I were doing choreographed dances in the halls of my high school, and I woke up this morning ABSOLUTELY in love with mid-80s stud muffin Scott Baio, both miserable at the fact that he cannot be mine and emotionally destroyed that I can't time machine it up to be with him in his glory state. Literally, I couldn't stop thinking about it. I'd be in the middle of SnoozeFest09, reading about cognitive processing in middle schoolers, and suddenly my heart would go aflutter thinking about performing with Scott. Smiling at Scott whilst cha chaing through the corridor between Lower East and the Quad. Oh Scott, does that flirtacious smile mean what I think it does? Then I'd giggle out loud, swoon a little bit, hate the damn stupid cognitively functioning middle schoolers for ruining my reverie and curse my mother's damn stupid cognitively functioning (?) uterus for popping me out 20 years too late to be Mrs. mid-80s Scott Baio.

3) When a stripper/overzealous girlfriend trying to get her boyfriend not to break up with her pops out of a cake, what happens to the cake? I mean, obviously it isn't a reaaal cake with yellow butter cake filling and rich chocolate frosting (mmm cakegasm), but it always looks too real to just be a hollow box on wheels. Is it like, an actual cake on the outside with a sealed-off inner core for the lady? Because let me tell you, I don't care who the hell it was popping out of a cake for me, even sex-me-up mid-80s Scott Baio, if after the lame pop-out surprise real cake was not immediately served to me, expect a bloodfest.