Ever see a pelican swallow a pigeon whole? Now you have. I think you’re better for it.
Credit for this clip goes to intrepid reader Nick P., who asks, “Why aren’t there 10,000 pelicans like that in Central Park?” Why, indeed. They can put a bunch of French commie-inspired orange gates up in that place, but no pigeon-swallowing pelicans? Way to have your priorities straight, Mayor Bloomberg. Prick.
One thing the movie “Free Willy” never taught us is that Willy was an absolute fucking bloodthirsty killer. I’m really tired of the attempted domestication of the killer whale, nee orca. God fashioned this mammal to be a seal-eatin’, flesh-chompin’ catalyst of violent death. Then you head to Sea World and some dick marine biologist named Lance is making it beg for mackerel. Shit, kids are even allowed to pet them. That is a fucking disgrace, and I won’t stand for it. LET THE ANIMALS KILL. It’s what they’re here for.
That’s why I admire predatory animals so much. There’s no hesitation. There’s no inner struggle. No existential angst. They aren’t worried, “Oooh, I don’t know if I can live with myself if I tear this seal to shreds!” That shit is McSweeney’s gay. Just remorseless maiming for these creatures, thank you very much. The only thing these guys worry about is their next meal. And there’s a purity to that I really aspire to in between shots of raw ethanol.
I was thinking the other day that all hunting should be legal year round as long as you use only your bare hands. In other words, if you’re hungry for cat, you should be able to choke a cat to death and eat its innards while fresh and raw. That’s how animals like the killer whale roll, and I fully support it.
Thanks to reader yesiamahooker (Bosox Siobhan’s brother!) for the clip.
These panty-waist toddler touchers here at…whuss’ the name? Kicking Sally Tolbert? want me to break down this here new slate of footbaw’ games for their readers. What’s wrong, fellas? Eyes gone strained from eye-fucking the guys who change your oil in your Prius?
Call yerselves the Gay Mafia, does ya? Mafia’s for the Eyeties, boys. Back up the sissy sailboat to Pier Get a Clue. You’re too white to be that dumb.
Okay. Here we go. The best of each week of the coming season of the NFL, or as I like to call it, the Nappy Faggot Lapdance.
Week 1
Obvious choice here is the Saints and Colts. Peyton seems like an upstanding fella, if a little light in the loufah. The one that really runs my gun is that Reggie Bush. Did you see that coon shake he gave to the Bears in the playoffs last year? Disgraceful, if you ask me. He reminds me of one of those bushmen.
Week 2
Nigh Jets at Baltimore. Kinda personal obligation here. That sanctimonious child-touching priest Cal Ripken Jr. blew off my show but I ticked off a few thin-skinned, ahem, UPSTANDING AFRICAN AMERICANS in New Jersey, so I’m throwing ‘em a bone. But I’ve heard all I need to know about that Ray Lewis. Just like the blacks to commit all the crimes.
And while I’m on it, who the fuck has aged worse than Cal Ripken Jr.? He’s been out of the game for about six years and he looks like Marlon Brando right before he died.
Week 3
Tampa Bay at St. Louis. Only because by this time Chris Simms and Jeff Garcia will be well acquainted and we can watch them scissor each other on the sidelines. It’s in a dome, so they won’t get their underroos soiled with anything other than santorum.
Week 4
Pittsburgh at Arizona. Something about a team meeting its old coach or some hooey I could give three-eighths of a fuck about. I’m just upset that Gov. Bill Richardson turned down his appearance on me show. I know he represents New Mexico but that’s close enough. I’m pulling for the Steelers here. That’ll show that greasy fucking Julio.
Week 5
Detroit at Washington. Two black towns here, so expect the government have to come in and bail one, if not both of these teams out. It’s not my fault they can’t have decent schools and…
Aww, horseshit.
Ok, sorry boys. That’s Sharpton on the phone again. He’s got some hair up his ass ’bout something. Lord only knows. I’ll have to let you guys swish your way through the rest of this mess. You should probably get all them womenfolk do it, after they pasted your narrow asses in that wager. I mean, so long as none of ‘em is of the dusky persuasion.
“I’ll give you the biggest extension you want,Leading up to the draft, we’ll be giving you exclusive inside access to the war rooms of various teams across the league. Today: the Washington Redskins.
Cast of Characters
Vinnie Cerrato: Mr. Snyder I’ve got our chair set up right over here at the head of the table.
Daniel Snyder: That’s good Vinnie, that’s very good, but where are you sitting?
Vinnie: I’ll be on your lap, sir.
Snyder: Excellent
Eric Schaffer: Mr. Snyder, I need to speak with you.
Vinnie: YAP! YAP! YAP!
Eric: Sir, could we speak in private, Vinnie seems to be biting me.
Snyder: Yeah, it cost me 2 mil but I finally got him trained (maniacal laughter). OK Vinnie, down boy. Who’s my good boy? Who’s my cuddly little boy?
Eric: Look Mr. Snyder, I’ve been going over the numbers and if we acquire Asante Samuel, Lance Briggs, and LaDanian Tomlinson we’ll never be able to sign JaMarcus Russell and Calvin Johnson.
Snyder: Hey Gimp, is he right about that?
Eric: Mr. Snyder, Coach Gibbs can’t respond until you take that ballgag out of his mouth.
Snyder: hehehe. Why’d I do that? I swear I can’t remember?
Eric: I believe he violated your “No Jesus-talk in the War Room” rule.
Snyder: That’s good, that’s very good. But I want those players dammit! Once I have Russell and Johnson I’ll be unstoppable!
Gregggg Williams enters, stops to kick Coach Gibbs in the ribs on the way
Snyder: Oh shit, here comes the asshole.
Gregggg Williams: God dammit Mr. Teeny, what’s all this shit I’m hearing about Russell and Johnson?!?! I told you ten motherfucking times that I was trading the draft picks for proven commodities like Junior Seau and Ted Johnson.
Snyder: Don’t blame me Gregg, I’m with you. It’s Coach Gimp and the mathelete. I think your guys have plenty left in the tank.
Gregggg: So what’s it gonna be nerdlinger?
Eric: I’m sorry Gregggg but I don’t think it would be fiscally responsible to bring those guys in at this advanced point in their respective careers. Junior’s retiring and Ted Johnson is concussed beyond the point of no return.
Gregggg calmly rips Eric’s heart out of his chest cavity
Gregggg: Just get it done and I’ll make it do what it do.
Gregggg Williams exits
Snyder: And they say I’m the difficult one around here!
Louis Riddick: Sir, the secretaries have just finished the shrine you commissioned them to build in your honor. It’s ready for your inspection whenever you’re ready.
Snyder: Sorry Louis but that’s going to have to wait. I’ve just received a very interesting email on my IPhone. Did you know I had an IPhone? It’s not even out yet but they sent me one anyway because I’m big time.
Scott Campbell: Sir, does that fax have anything to do with a potential draft pick?
Snyder: Who the fuck are you?
Scott: I’m your director of college scouting.
Snyder: I didn’t even know I had one of those; how much am I paying you?
Scott: Well you only pay me $20,000 a year but somehow I carry a $3,000,000 cap number.
Snyder: We’ll have to have our cap guy look into that.
Scott: He’s still dead sir. I don’t mean to push you but thanks to your shrewd trades we now have the first two picks of the draft.
Snyder: Not anymore. That fax was a trade offer and I just gave up the second pick for our new franchise wide receiver.
Scott: If you wanted a wide receiver we could have just drafted Calvin Johnson!
Snyder: Never heard of him but I like my guy better. He’s established and he’ll sell that merchandise.
Scott: Sir, who did you trade for?
Snyder: Who else?
photo via the indispensable Extreme Skins
Coach Gibbs lets out mumbled screams of protest/terror
Snyder: Tighten that gag! Now let’s hurry up and get JaMarcus’ name up to the podium. They’re gassing up Redskins One as we speak!
Louis: That won’t be necessary Mr. Snyder, he’s waiting in the Green Room.
Snyder: Fuck it, let’s roll down to Louisianna and pick up his momma!
Louis: She’s already at the draft with JaMarcus, there’s no need to take the plane.
Snyder: God damn I can’t catch a fuckin’ break. What about a dog? Does he have a loving dog back home?
Scott: I believe he has two pet goldfish back in Baton Rouge.
Snyder: Wheels up in ten minutes. Oh and before I forget, we need to stop by the cemetary on the way back so I can take a shit on Jack Kent Cooke’s grave.
Hello? Hello? Hello! Can anyone hear me? I’m trapped in a dark place. I’m not sure how I got here or where this is, and I’m very frightened. Is anyone there? Hello?
I’ve never been anywhere so dark. There is literally no light in here. I once spent a year in the heart of the Amazon as part of the Peace Corps. One night I had to travel to the next village to give medicine to an ailing child; the path was through triple canopy jungle and the night was rainy, yet I look back on that as a sunny day compared to this blackness into which I’ve plunged. God save me.
Hello? Anyone?
Hmmm… that’s a good metaphor – the jungle, that is. I’m surrounded on all sides by some kind of slick vine. It reeks of Brylcreem and petroleum in here, maybe a hint of lacquer. Good Lord, the scent is nauseating. To my dismay, the darkness has amplified my olfactory glands. Maybe I should sit down.
Hellllloooooooo!!!!!!!!!!! Somebody help me!!!
[vomiting, choking sounds]
Ugh, I shouldn’t have taken so much of this putrid air into my lungs. That was like the first pinch of Copenhagen I ever tried. I’ve got to take shallow breaths. Conserve energy. Hope for rescue.
No! I can get out of here! These vines must lead somewhere. I just need to climb one, get a better vantage point where my cries for help can be heard.
Dammit! That’s like a greased stripper pole! Slippery like a southern politician investigated for fraud. I’d have better luck in an illegal gambling hall run by pirates.
Heh. Pirates.
Shit! Focus, asshole. I have to climb this. There’s no way out of here but up. Christ, now I know how players on a Schottenheimer team feel in the playoffs. Okay. here I go.
[grunting]
Whoa, this vine is arcing back. Almost parallel to the ground. Other vines crowding in on me… Sweet mother Mary! The ceiling! I’ve found the ceiling! Hey! Hello! Can anyone—
Oh. Oh no. It’s harder than sheet rock. And yet sticky, kind of like… ugh. Feel faint… slipping…
[loud thud]
[labored breathing, then gurgling]
[silence]
Greetings from the lovely shores of Cancun, Mexico! Or should I say, hola?! As you can see, I’m currently enjoying my spring break. Many American college students have a spring break that lasts one or two weeks. Mine, on the other hand, lasts from March 21 to June 21. It’s not really a spring break. It’s just spring. And lemme tell ya, spring is a good time for fuckin’. Isn’t that right, Manny?
Manny: Si, Senor Rexy. Otra Tecate?
You’re goddamn right I’ll have another. Aaaaahhh!!! I am so fucking relaxed. Manny here is the best bartender Fat Tuesdays has ever employed. And I should know. I’ve met all of them! Now I know some of you Bears fans are concerned about what happened in the Super Bowl. But let me just say, that hasn’t bothered me in the slightest, so I see no reason why it should bother you! There’s still plenty of gun powder left in the ol’ Cannon, if you catch my drift. And if you don’t, I’m referring to the amount of semen in my cockbag. Ain’t that right, Manny?
Manny: Es muy grande, amigo.
Fuckin’ A. God, I love it down here! You should have seen the girl I took home last night. She had a big round ass, with a crack so deep, you just wanted to fill it with taco meat.
Manny: Bien comida, senor.
Muy bien, compadre. Some of you might be wondering what I’ve been doing to improve my game during my three-month stay down here. Let me tell you something, Rex Grossman doesn’t do minicamps. Okay? There’s nothing mini about what I do. I only do things that are large, throbbing, and have the potential to kill lesser men. But, to put you at ease, I assure you I’ve been thoroughly working the two most important muscles in my body: the Dragon, and ol’ Chief Riding Bull down below.
Every morning, I wake up at 11:59AM, fuck, and then head to the beach. Then, I play volleyball using ONLY MY RIGHT ARM for a solid fifteen minutes. After that, the ladies usually come flocking. It’s like the Axe Effect, only I don’t need the Axe. Fuck Axe. And fuck Tag. I get the ladies to come calling with my OWN musk, bitch. After that…
Manny: (laughs)
Yeah, you KNOW what happens next, don’t you, Manny?
Manny: CANNON FIRE, senor!
Hell, yeah! Slap me cinco, motherfucker! I told you my English would rub off on you! You know, I haven’t read the paper much lately. What’s goin’ on in the world, Manny?
Manny: Senor Imus es un cabron.
Don Imus? Pfft. He’s about as sexy as a pregnancy test. I heard they released our schedule. You got that?
Manny: Si. Si. El preseason, senor?
No, skip the preseason. That’s maricon shit.
Manny: Los Chargers?
With Norv Turner coaching? That’s a win.
Manny: Los Chiefs?
Versus Chief Riding Bull? That’s a win.
Manny: Los vaqueros?
Cowboys? That’s a win. I like reverse cowgirl fucking.
Manny: Los Lions?
Pfft. Win.
Manny: Los Packers?
Against Oldey McShitmypants? Win. I am that asshole’s Bennie Blanco: younger, better, SEXIER. Remember Bennie Blanco, Manny?
Manny: Si. Era un badass. Los Vikings?
Win.
Manny: Los Eagles?
Win. Okay, okay, I’ve heard enough. They’re all fucking wins, Manny. I’mma plow through the league, then plow through the rest of Latin America. Sound good, amigo?
Manny: Viva el Cumslinger!
Long live me, indeed. See you in September, everybody!
Photoshop job courtesy of the incomparable twoeightnine
UPDATE: Want a “Viva el Cumslinger!” t-shirt? Of course you do.
A while back we brought you the greatest altered comic strips in the 120 year history of the internet.
“It’s always there, in the lower right hand corner, just waiting to suck.”
Yeah, that was fun. That’s why we’ve brought it back for this extraordinary day here at KSK, we hope you enjoy.
I was torn on which of the final two cartoons I wanted to post so I just tossed them both up for you to decide.
Yep, that sure took up a lot of space. ¡Adios pendejas! Now how ’bout them sandwiches?
As always, thanks to Dysfunctional Family Circus
Welcome to Bukkake Thursday! I figured I’d kick things off with the news that Drew Bledsoe retired an animated .gif file of NFL cheerleaders that our friend twoeightnine lovingly created for us.
I see this slideshow of cheerleader T&A, and I can’t help but think of it as the flashing “LIVE NUDE GIRLS” sign that offers respite to the weary traveler.
So stick around, you bored and bone-tired Internet truckers. Kissing Suzy Kolber’s bukkake has healing effects.
Or so we’re told.
Officially and for the record, I want to thank the Ladies for being gracious winners. They’ve always been very kind to me, and I’m thankful that The Starter Wife used a G.I. Joe doll to represent me. It’s also likely that they put a lot of effort into the posts they wrote for today’s material, which is more than what KSK would have done for them. Kudos. You girls are some classy broads, and we are lazy assholes.
Now, with that necessary caveat out of the way:
Let’s be honest, folks. Today was fucking terrible. I mean, absolutely the worst day this site has ever seen — and I’m including the early days before Unsilent Majority had any comic timing. On a scale of one to ten, with one being the day that the Gawker guy ran Deadspin, and ten being any post by Big Daddy Drew, the Ladies — who no longer get an ellipsis in their name; that’s always really bothered me — were a solid negative three. I’ve watched Merchant-Ivory films that held my attention better.
As recompense, tomorrow — Thursday — will be one of our rare but glorious bukkake days. Our only previous bukkake days were for the start of the 2006 season and the day that T.O. overdosed, so we obviously save them for momentous occasions.
In this case, the momentous occasion is pushing the Ladies’ posts off of our front page. I had proposed deleting them altogether — keeping them in the archives wasn’t part of the deal, ha ha! — but, like I said, the Titsticks were real classy-like about beating us, so those posts will live on with a mere editor’s note warning people not to read them unless they’re having trouble getting to sleep.
In addition, this week’s mock draft — the REAL mock draft — will be written by an astonishingly talented and popular guest blogger who will become only the second person (after J.E. Skeets) to write a guest post for Kissing Suzy Kolber at our respectful invitation instead of, say, masculinity-baiting bets that force us into lose-lose situations.
Anyway, to cleanse the palate from today’s foo-foofery, here’s some eye candy:
Thanks for sticking with us through these rough waters. Check back frequently tomorrow, where we’ll be posting like voting in Chicago.
Oh, and I almost forgot: this whole thing would be for naught if you didn’t give a boost in traffic to the best female sports bloggers on the Internet.
The following post is one of two written by the Ladies… blog as the result of an ill-considered wager on our part. For actual KSK content that does not attract bears, feel free to click elsewhere on the site.
In which each of the Ladies… are given free reign for a column yard or so to freewheel on whatever pops into our pretty little heads!
To lead off we have this gem of a short film constructed especially for the occasion by cyberspace’s own TheStarterWife:
First, let’s make sure that you’ve found the right supplies under your girlfriend’s sink:
If it’s small, cottony, and looks like it has a fuse, it’s a tampon.
If it’s pillowy and looks like something the National Guard stacks beside riverbanks, it’s a maxi pad.
If it’s pink, fluffy and adorned with a picture of the Pink Panther, it’s a roll of insulation and you should probably grab your toothbrush and get the hell out.
Now that you’ve found the maxi pads, let’s get started. You’ll need four of them to make a pair of slippers unless you’re dating Heather Mills and two will be sufficient.
Take two pads and lay them side by side. This is where she’ll put her feet. Next, take two more pads and wrap one around each of the footbeds, close to the end. Secure them with the glue gun. And you’re almost finished! Let’s jazz them up and decorate them with pom poms, rhinestones, or cigarette butts. There. Doesn’t it feel good to makes something with your own two hands? Something elegant in its simplicity, that looks classy whether she’s out with friends, at the office, or wondering when you learned how to Bedazzle.
Coming next month: Tampon Ceiling Fan Pulls, The Lake House, and why don’t you ever say I’m pretty anymore?
Selecting the Perfect Nail Polish to Wear to the Ballpark: A Texas Gal Guide
You’ve got your pink [insert your favorite team] logo ballcap, your snazzy rhinestone tee, your dangly baseball earrings and your cute little matching flip flops all ready to go. You’re going to be the cutest girl in the whole ballpark! But what nail polish should you wear? This is a crucial decision, one that must be made with the utmost of care. Choose wisely: your whole painstakingly constructed ensemble hinges on this.
April – Pale Pink
You’re so fresh and spring-y in that pale pink- just like the [insert your favorite team]. They’re gonna win it all this year, you know. Pale pink says, “I’m a good girl. I won’t go to second base with you just because you bought me a beer… but I’ll consider it.” Make the boys work for it, girls!
May - Hot Pink
It’s hot outside, and so are you. Get summer started a little early with some snazzy hot pink on your nails. Even though it might clash with the [insert your favorite team] colors, it doesn’t matter- you’re wearing your pink [David Wright/Chase Utley/Grady Sizemore/other local hot guy] shirt, anyway. Isn’t he just the dreamiest!
June - Coral
We’re all the way into summer now, and it’s time to show off that tan you’ve perfected after hours of meticulous oiling and flipping at just the right time. Orange may be fine for dirty, gross boys – but a lady wears coral. Why not go crazy and paint a little white daisy on one nail? That’s SO very. Don’t forget your sunscreen: ballpark tans are for nerds.
July - Neutral
Ugh. It is too hot outside. Who wants to go sit out in the hot sun and watch sports? Not you! Brush on a neutral shade- that’s all you’ll need. Just find your seats sometime during the second inning (don’t worry- all those people on your row don’t mind moving while the ball’s in play), hang out for 10 minutes, and then head back up to the shade and grab one of those neat-o frozen daiquiris. That’ll beat the heat!
August - Berry
Is baseball STILL on? Make the best of it with a great berry color that’s a great mix of summer and fall. And now’s the time to use those nails to give a sexy “come-hither” motion to one of those boys that’s been eyeing you at the ballpark all summer. Give him a quick kiss when you go to buy peanuts, and road-test him before taking him home. Tee-hee!
September - Red
What the fuck. How can it be goddamn September already? Shit, that means the team only has a few weeks left to claw themselves out of that fucking hole they’ve dug for themselves. Maybe they can borrow some of my red nail polish for the job- red like the blood of [insert your hated rival]. Thanks for nothing, shitty bullpen. And the same goes for all you non-productive assholes at the plate. Can we get just a little bit of offense please? Who the hell cares, they’re gonna dry up in the stretch, anyway.
October - Mauve
Where was I? Oh, yes- autumn has arrived and thank goodness [insert your favorite team] scheduled their last game of the regular season to fall in October… it gives you the perfect chance to show off that gorgeous mauve color. The mood in the ballpark might be down, but tell those grumpy gus-es to lighten up: there’s always next year!
Ok, maybe not Mountain Dew, but damn close. Who doesn’t love a company that brings joy to four-year-olds and 40-year-olds alike? And gives you the chance to get their own credit card? How do you not like the fact that you can get televisions and sandwich makers with that Hello Kitty face on it? Have you ever tried the Sanrio bubble gum? To do my own Dan Shanoff impression: Greatest. Gum. EVER.
And in tribute to that great company so many love, I’m giving you the five greatest Sanrio characters ever produced by the company. Ok, let me restate that-my five favorite Sanrio characters ever produced. And when you get to know these characters and see their cute little faces, there is no WAY you’ll be able to resist getting a stuffed character of your own.
Hello Kitty
How can I not start with the Queen of the Sanrio empire? Hello Kitty was born in 1974 in London with the name Kitty White to parents George and Mary. She has a twin sister named Mimmy and a boyfriend Dear Daniel. Her best friends are Tracy, Cathy, and Fifi. Her favorite subjects in school are English and Music, among others, and she loves traveling. Oh, and her image is on everything from food, video games, and jewelry, to crop circles and Ferraris. And she is responsible for half of Sanrio’s $1 billion revenue sales.
Badtz-Maru
Also called Bad Badtz-Maru, B-M was born in Hawaii on April Fool’s Day in 1993. His family include (in various colors): Mama, Papa, Bad Twins (younger brothers), and Bad Tsunko (younger sister). He lives in Gorgeoustown and goes to Gorgeous Academy. His friends are Pandaba and Hana Maru and he also has a pet alligator. Badtz (Batsu) in Japanese means wrong and is represented with an X; Maru mean correct and is shown with an O. With that, you’ll usually see the character with the markings XO around him. Badtz-Maru is marketed towards both males and females, one of the few Sanrio characters that are. He was the official mascot of the 2006 FIBA Basketball World Championships.
Pochacco
He’s known as “the hip pup” and that’s really all you need to know. But because I know you want to know more about him, Pochacco was born in Uguisu Yokocho (Nightingale Lane) on February 29, 1989. The only problem with that is 1989 was a leap year so there was no February 29. Which means that more likely he was born in 1988. But we don’t let silly facts like leap years deter us from loving this cute canine. He has lots of friends (too many to name), and loves sports. He’s an avid soccer and basketball player. He lives in many places (it really determines which market Sanrio is selling him to) including Brazil and New York City. And he’s a vegetarian.
Keroppi
Also known as Kero-kero-keroppi, Keroppi was born in 1987. His family’s name is Hasunoue, which means “on the lily pad.” His mother Keroma owns a restaurant while his father Keroppa is a doctor that can cure anyone. He is part of a triplet with his sister Pikki who helps their mother at the restaurant and Koroppi, whom everyone mixes up with Keroppi. He is called Curtis in North America. Like Hello Kitty, Keroppi has a significant other, a girlfriend named Keroleen whose a natural peacemaker. His best friend is Ganta, who can transform himself into a rock. Also like Hello Kitty, Keroppi has several video games out.
Pekkle
Damn you Sanrio for discontinuing Pekkle. Nevertheless, he is still one of my favorites. He was born on July 27, 1989 and hails from Australia. He excels in singing and dancing and can be found doing both those activities frequently. He loves to surf and is very loyal, particularly to his girlfriend Ruby. He would like to be a lifeguard, but has some trouble swimming. Although he appears to be lazy, he’s just very laid-back.
So there you go: my five favorite Sanrio characters. Which means they are the five greatest Sanrio characters ever. Now go forth and get started on your own collection of Sanrio characters.
If this is how reverently women treat an orchid corsage from a pimply teenage boy who probably snuck gin into her punch and tried to put his hand up her dress on the dance floor, imagine how important a woman’s wedding flowers are.
That’s where I come in.
Your author, doing finishing work on a bouquet of pink cymbidium orchids.
For as long as I’ve been able to push a broom, I’ve worked in a flower shop in suburban Philadelphia. My aunt, the owner of the shop, has been in business for 28 years, and I’ve been answering phones, scrubbing flower buckets, taking orders, making $10 bunches, getting coffee, stuffing envelopes and the previously mentioned broom pushing — basically everything except design — ever since I was old enough to make myself useful (i.e., for the past six months.)
The order-taking has been the most consistently interesting part of my job. I’ve taken orders for people commemorating every stage of life: from new babies to ballet recitals to high school and college graduations, from first jobs to new jobs to retirements. I’ve taken family orders for funerals, which never get any easier, no matter how many you do.
But the orders I like most of all — and that I never get to take — are the wedding orders. They’re fun because they get special appointments on Saturday afternoons, they have special order sheets, and we have special sample books we keep stashed away just for the brides. Wedding appointments are always a cheerful, exciting event — everyone is in such an enthusiastic mood when a bride comes in for her appointment. I even enjoy when the brides I hate come in, because it gives me an opportunity to make fun of her bad taste or rotten attitude.
Ew!
So how do you become a florist’s favorite bride and not one of the ones I might have called a c-u-next-Tuesday as soon as she’s out of the shop? Here are a few guidelines:
Bring…stuff. We like having lots of material at our fingertips when you order the wedding flowers. Photos and samples of your dress, your girls’ dresses, the venue, the church or synagogue, the invitations — to say nothing of clips from those phone book-size wedding magazines — all provide a jumping-off point for us to design your flowers. A color, a piece of lace, even the architecture of your reception hall help guide us toward the best flowers for your event.
Think seasonally. As in food, flowers that are in season are more beautiful than ones that aren’t. There are some exceptions to this rule (you can generally get nice-looking roses, orchids or carnations year-round) but if you want calla lilies in August, for example, you’re going to pay through the nose for them, and they’re going to look like shit.
This bridesmaid’s bouquet for a September wedding is made of local mini mango callas, red hypericum berry, green pittosporum, and silver seeded eucalyptus. The handle is wrapped with rust satin-edge organza ribbon. Very chic.
Be flexible. Nobody wants your flowers to look nice more than your florist does. After all, she has a boatload of potential customers at your wedding. So if she suggests a different style bouquet or flower for your or your girls’ bouquets, don’t take it personally. How many times have you gotten married? And really, be reasonable. You, your dress, and your flowers all need to be in proportion to one another. If, for example, you’re chubby and you insist on wearing a big fluffy meringue of a gown, a single rose with a bow is not going to look right against all…that. (N.B., I can say this because I am a) in the biz and b) chubby.)
Don’t cheap out. Wedding work is extremely labor-intensive. You’re not just paying for the flowers, you’re paying for lots of little fiddly work, too. We will not be offended if you tell us up front that you’re getting estimates for your flowers. Three estimates are best. A good rule of thumb is to plan on spending $250 for the bride, and then another $150 per bridesmaid. If we do give you a quote, though, please have the courtesy to tell us if you’ve decided to go with another florist.
Recently, the children of some of my aunt’s first weddings have been coming in to order their wedding flowers. It’s always fun to reminisce with them — some of their mothers and fathers have known my aunt since they were in grade school together — and my aunt has incredible recall for detail about her customers’ lives.
And they give those of us who work in the back of the shop lots of material for discussion.
It’s game night. What’s that mean? It means it’s time for the wimmen folks to get busy in the kitchen! Today, I’ll show you what a real women does for GAME TIME.You guys didn’t think I actually knew how to cook, did you?! Let’s say that my skillz in other areas excuse the fact that I don’t know how to cook… at least that’s what I’ve been told.
The real magic of the 2006 post-season for me was the 7th game of the NLCS. I was in NYC that week visiting a friend and I dragged her out every night to watch the games. The day of game 7, I read on Deadspin that some Cardinals fans were gathering at Dewey’s Flat Iron at 26th and 5th. I didn’t know any of them but I thought it would be fun to watch the game with some fellow fans. I headed down there alone about 45 minutes before the game started (my friend Diana was held up at work) and sat down, taking off my coat to reveal my blue retro Cardinals jersey. I ordered a beer and some food and then a guy from the bar, who I had noticed noticing my shirt earlier, came over and asked me if I was there from Deadspin. He had funny-looking bangs and was wearing a leather jacket. I don’t recall his name.
As the start time grew closer, more fans filtered in until we had about 25 people. Introductions were made but hell if I can remember anyone’s name. We barely exchanged information; nobody cared what anybody did for a living or where we were from or how we become Cardinals fans. All that mattered was that we all
were Cardinals fans. The Mets drew first blood, but the Cardinals responded right back and the game stayed knotted at 1-1 for 7 innings. In the 6th inning it looked like St. Louis was about to take a 2-run lead with a Rolen homer, but Chavez’s unbelievable catch over the wall took all the air out of the place. We all thought that was our chance and the body language of everyone grew increasingly somber.In the ninth inning, Rolen got things started with a hit and the most unlikely of heroes stepped to the plate. Catcher Yadier Molina drilled a 2-run homer to give the Cardinals a 3-1 lead. I don’t remember much except the feeling of complete elation. All my hope was restored. The monster hug I received from Leather Jacket Guy propelled me back into the brick wall, slice opened my arm and I bled all over my jersey. The blood is still there and I have a scar on my elbow, but it was totally worth it.
In the bottom of the 9th, things got pretty intense. The first two batters reached and all of the Cards fans were standing and pacing. Wainwright managed to get a strike out and a fly-out, but then loaded the bases for one of the most dangerous post-season hitters. I remember holding hands, a girl whose name I can’t recall on one hand and Leather Jacket on the other. When Wainwright got the called 3rd strike, it became pandemonium. I was picked up, hugged, kissed, twirled about, sprayed with champagne. The debauchery continued late into the night. An interesting sidenote is that the two non-Cardinals fans who got dragged along hit it off that night and have been dating ever since. For me, that night was amazing. The group of us came together for one night to be a family of Cardinals fans. This was hands down the best sporting night of my life.
Sprint – Death of a Salesman
An ordinary man, out of step with the times and out of place in the modern world, wages an ultimately hopeless struggle to sell a terrible phone. Unlike the film in that it’s hilarious.
Gatorade – Alien
This one’s a no-brainer. Would you let Peyton Manning burst fully formed from your chest if it meant a trip to the AFC Championship game? Course you would. Game over, man. Game over.
MasterCard – Chariots of Fire
Half-naked guys and a beach.
MasterCard – Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead
In which the smallest and unlikeliest of characters move the course of greater events (events containing one Peyton Manning), for good or ill.
SportsCenter – The Glass Menagerie
An overbearing, meddling mother father struggles to find a place in the world for daughter Laura son Eli suitable for his station in life, while older, wisecracking son Jim Peyton longs to break free to a life not quite so bereft of hope a football career not quite so bereft of unremarkability.
NFL Shop – Fantasia
Because there’s no way Eli Manning gets to make any decision in that household, ever.
Reebok – Rashomon
Rashomon effect, n.: The effect of the subjectivity of perception on recollection, by which observers of an event are able to produce substantially different but equally plausible accounts of it.
United Way – Citizen Kane
Strong case for the greatest cinematic opus of all time. Thoughtful, melancholy, meditative on the nature of family and the futility of the human condition.
That’ll be all from us today. We’d like to extend our thanks and hugs of inappropriate duration to our hosts, the KSK Mafia. Good game, boys…same time next year?
XOXO,
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