Boobs Trump I.Q.

Need I explain the title?

I guess the answer to that is probably "yes."

Let me disclaim first.

This does not mean that you can get away with being stupid if you have large breasts, though many women, I'm sure, have been excused their intellectual magnitude for a magnitude of bosom, but this type of boobage trumping I.Q. is not actually what this blog is about.

No, this blog is about the fact that very smart men, sometimes even bona fide geniuses can still have their I.Q. and intelligence fully trumped by partially or fully exposed breasts. Come to think of it, a tight sweater alone sometimes does it.

What I mean by fully trumped is, I've witnessed men completely and totally loose their train of thought just by flashing a boob or two.

Now this is not something I do in public, at least nothing I've done in public yet, but more based on my private observations with a few very intelligent men I've known biblically.

This happened recently and it made me laugh. Marcus was on some rant about quantum or particle physics and the fabric of the universe or something along those lines, while I was honestly ready to wind down and be done with his grandiose proclamations for the night. Anyway, not sure I did this intentionally, but I happened to be disrobing at this moment, and he immediately lost his train of thought and gently lunged toward my now exposed breasts muttering "booo-biees" to himself like Gollum mutters "my precioussss..." in Lord of the Rings.

Now the side note is: Marcus's I.Q. was tested at 175 when he was a child, and while he's undoubtedly lost a few if not many I.Q. points since he was tested, he still is probably higher than the average bear, average being 85-115.

But on the particular night in question, it really cracked me up and made me realize, yet again, that while both sexes are currently relevant and necessary for survival of the species, women are still kind of the stronger sex. Sure, we may be more prone to mood swings than men, though I've met some moody men, and we bleed out of a primary orifice on a monthly basis, and we might get irrationally pissed off when the garbage hasn't been taken out or the dishes haven't been done, but still, it seems we have more ability to compartmentalize and still carry on a conversation even when a penis is flashed.

The counter equivalent to men getting wholly distracted by the flash of breasts would be women getting completely distracted by the sight of a penis. I admit, it would surprise me a bit if I were giving a talk on filmmaking, music, hypnosis or even physics (one of my favorite subjects in school), but ultimately I could still carry on a conversation quite easily were a bare penis present during my physics talk. 

Some may argue it's because penises, as Seinfeld so aptly pointed out, belong to a male body which is largely a utilitarian sculpture. But when you think of it, breasts are utilitarian too - they are nature's perfect milk dispensary, deli or trough for babies.

So what's the thesis?

Maybe it's just this:

Ladies, if you want your guy to shut up, flash a boob or two.

Just know, you might get fondled at least, and ravished at most.

"Booo-biees"

Boobies & Kittens...especially for overcast days

 

I had sort of an off day yesterday. An overcast day, both literally (played volleyball in the gross, misty rain in the morning and usually I love rain!), and emotionally. I was just irritable all day long. The night ended a little better thanks to hypnotherapy, but geesh, it was not fun. I'll be writing more on the day and my theories on why it was happening in a future blog, but...

I can't believe I forgot about the youtube instant-laugh-maker, pick-me-upper called Boobies and Kittens.

Now some of you may not love boobies as much as the next football-loving dude (guys that love football seem to be boob guys...why is that?). Anyway, I appreciate this video for a few simple reasons... and one highly inferred reason. This list has sort of become my check list for my video-viewing-pleasures.

MUST MAKE ME LAUGH, ALOUD.
It makes me laugh. It's silly and kind of stupid, but it makes me laugh. CHECK!

MUST HAVE GOOD AND/OR FUNNY MUSIC.
Did everyone notice the "boobies" and "kittens" version of Offenbach's Can Can (aka Galop Infernal). Hilarious! CHECK!

ORIGINALITY AND/OR INSPIRED
Some may argue with this, and this is my highly inferred reason, but basically I think a couple of dudes were hanging out talking about what they like and what brings them up when they're down. I imagine the light-bulb moment when one or both of them realized Boobies and Kittens do the job every time. It just goes to show you, do what you love/do what entertains you/do what makes you happy and not only will your life be better, the world will respond. So far Boobies and Kittens has 1,149,226 views and I'm sure it'll get another 100k once I post this blog! I applaud these guys for this video. Just wish they would've used only real boobs, but that's another blog. Originality, CHECK!

Let me know if you love or hate it, and if it makes you laugh/smile/a little happier, remember to watch it on those overcast (literally or emotionally) days.

 

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• Food should be As God Intended or Why isn't everything we eat organic?
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• My Favorite Things...Arrabiata Recipe - Fresh, Organic, Vegan or Primal
• My Favorite Shows on Television...or how David Duchovney & Jesus are likely Good in Bed
• The Hawaiian Islands and Washington D.C.’s sand-paper circle-jerk about Health Care
• My Buddha has Termites...A Lesson in Infinite Joy
• The One-Date-Wonders!
• I had to learn SIGN LANGUAGE when I moved to Los Angeles
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• Bravo, Stephen Colbert & Co! and your Olympic Vancouverage
• Songwriting is like SEX
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• Ricky Gervais should be the new Simon on American Idol
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Play with the Girls

For about a month now I've been enrolled in a beach volleyball class through a local community college. Now anybody who knows me and my body type might think I'm built for volleyball, and maybe the creator who designed my body, with some help from my genetic brethren the Vikings and Slavs - both notoriously hearty and physical people, had something like volleyball in mind when I was designed. Though my body type was probably originally used for fighting, invading and wielding a sword against the Romans since the average Roman back in 200 BC, was 5'2", and the average Viking was about 6'2" (Viking females averaged around 5'8" back then - my height).

But anyway. I'm sort of built for this type of thing. No sword required.

But I'm rusty. The last time I played volleyball in any sort of organized fashion was court volleyball in junior high, back in 1991. To give a little perspective, in 1991 we were heavy into Desert Storm (thanks Bush, Sr.), the average home price was 120k, and this new thing called the internet was made commercially available and 1 million computers went on line. (Apparently no one knows for sure how many are currently on line, but estimates are in the 4 billion+ range.) So, we've come full circle. Both me and my volleyball playing, our country and the desert-wars (where's all the oil again?), and, of course, the internet going commercial and me entering the blogosphere.

But thanks to my heritage, my early 90s playing experience, and my father, who coached virtually every sport but most notably football, and also taught physical fitness for 36 years in public schools,  I started the semester with a little skill. There were other people with more experience, but I was a solid intermediate player.

But on the very first day of class, our volleyball teacher, aka "coach," separated us into groups to practice a hitting drill involving hitting the ball over the net, retrieving balls and tossing to have the ball set-up to us. Basically, it was a rotation to get us all in the rhythm of playing volleyball. Well. He put me with "The Girls."

The. Girls.

Now, I love women. I love my girlfriends, and as I've grown older have realized the value of good, quality girlfriends. But I also was a coach's daughter. And I've also been "one of the guys" quite a bit in my life.

I have to admit, it bugged me that the coach put me with the girls.

Mostly, it wasn't that I was so much better than the girls, it was that the coach assumed all the girls should be together. It was also that I took to the drill a little faster than some of the other girls.

But I left class that day bugged and, honestly, laughing at myself for being bugged.

Fast forward to 6 weeks later. Today.

I like playing with the girls. In fact, I prefer it.

The inexperienced girls have improved a lot. The experienced girls have improved to the point where they can hold their own with some of the much more experienced guys. Also, the girls are more fun. They don't take the game as seriously as some of the more experienced guys. It's also worth noting that some of the guys are worse than the girl players. It's also worth noting that of the guys enrolled in class, at least half of them have beach volleyball playing experience. Where that's true of maybe 20% of the girls. So all things being equal, I'm having fun playing with the girls.

Side-note. There was a time in my life where I was "one of the guys" for an entire summer. Virtually every day I hung out with these 3-4 guys and we would go to the beach where I was life-guarding, or get food, or play taboo at one of our houses into the wee hours of the morning. For some reason, we just liked playing taboo. Though they came to regard me as a little sister and I never dated any of these guys, they did grow fond of referring to my breasts as "the girls." Don't ask me why. I suppose since I was the only one with boobs, they wanted to name them something special. So every time I write, "play with the girls," I can't help thinking of that summer (I believe it was '96) and how much fun we had doing what essentially amounted to nothing but hanging out. We really should've been playing beach volleyball...

But back to current day volleyball class.

This letting go of my stigma against playing with the girls has yielded some unforeseen side-effects. Firstly, I've mostly let go of being competitive. And I have to say, I like it. I don't care who wins. I don't care if my teammates screw up. I'm just there to learn, get better, and have fun. I've also made some friends. My favorite friend from class is a girl who squeals whenever the ball comes to her when she's not ready. It's great. (Imagine an ascending tone that goes "Whoo-ooo-whoo!") It's like we have our own alarm signal telling us: Pay attention. It's time to play. and Balls will be coming at you now. (Innuendo intended.)


She's getting quite good, actually. We might practice together and I suspect we might go pick up games once class is over.

By the way, I told my dad about this "playing with the girls" thing and he thought it was hilarious. He told me I didn't need to be so competitive. I told him, now you tell me. He was not only extremely competitive, he loved competition. As a kid I used to play one-on-one basketball with him, and this is when I was a full foot shorter than him, he'd hold my head with one hand, then dribble and shoot with the other, just to mess with me.

So I've come a long way.

Play with the girls.

And squeal if the ball comes to you when you're not expecting it. Trust me, it makes the game more fun.



 

More Interesting Katie Strand World Posts

• If I were a Ninja, I'd wear these shoes
• How my friend Sally became the new First Lady
• My Boyfriend has Autism...Maybe
• Raw Primal Papaya Custard - The Nectar of the Gods
  
• And All the Cows Said Moo!
• If you were John Mayer, you would too
• Tiredness - Varieties of and unforeseen side-effects
• Foreplay is overrated
• Food should be As God Intended or Why isn't everything we eat organic?
  
• Yelling - One of the Highest Forms of Compassion
  
• The Cove - Louie Psihoyos' Oscar speech & a guide on how to create change...
• My Favorite Things...Arrabiata Recipe - Fresh, Organic, Vegan or Primal
  
• My Favorite Shows on Television...or how David Duchovney & Jesus are likely Good in Bed
  
• The Hawaiian Islands and Washington D.C.’s sand-paper circle-jerk about Health Care
  
• My Buddha has Termites...A Lesson in Infinite Joy
• The One-Date-Wonders!
• I had to learn SIGN LANGUAGE when I moved to Los Angeles
• Guys can make a game out of anything
• Hello? The power of CONNECTING and how technology has changed things
  
• Popping the question is better than porn!
• Bravo, Stephen Colbert & Co! and your Olympic Vancouverage
• Songwriting is like SEX
• Born To Run by Christopher McDougall - Inspiring a inspiring all of us to be more in the FLOW
• A moment of silence for all the plastic surgery ca...
• Ricky Gervais should be the new Simon on American Idol
• Muscle SURPRISE! The key to physical, mental & emotional fitness
• I think my boyfriend's a snake...
• Release... Sweat & Power
• MY FAVORITE THINGS! - Vibram's Five Fingers
• Dick Morris... How do you sleep at night?
• Rusty DePass, Gorillas, and Obama, oh my!
• Michael Jackson - Troubled Genius

New Music
&
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at
Katie Strand Music

• Please Don't Leave Me
• Going To California
  
• Come Back
• Home

I had to learn SIGN LANGUAGE when I moved to Los Angeles!!

It's true. I had to learn sign language when I moved to Los Angeles.

No, I'm not referring to the most common communication of the hearing impaired. I'm also not referring to some sort of gang signs. What I'm talking about is much more...pedestrian, or should I say, motorist?

Case and point:





















Seriously. These are real street signs in Los Angeles.

I feel like I need a law degree and years of training at MIT and Quantico as a decryption specialist just to park my car without getting a ticket. Furthermore, the ticket rates are astounding. A citation for parking on a Santa Monica street during "street sweeping" is $61.00. No kidding. Sixty-one, U.S. Dollars. I think that will send a child in Somalia to school for a year. Seriously. Los Angeles, you should be ashamed of yourself! That's highway robbery! Oh, wait. No, it's not. It's side-street robbery.

But we skimmed over the absurdity of the signs too quickly, I think. Let's just sum up. I'll separate them to help illustrate that each list is for ONE parking spot on ONE street in the greater Los Angeles area. Also, for authenticity, I'll recreate them in the colors they occur on the original signage. (Thank the heavens we don't have snow in Los Angeles. I can't even imagine the cluster f&$k that would take place if there were parking issues around snow & snow plows. I think Hollywood would move (along with Ford & many other U.S. corporations) to Mexico if L.A. had snow.

Buckle your safety belts, readers. Here we go!

Post 1 - somewhere in Downtown Los Angeles

• TOW-AWAY NO STOPPING 3 to 6PM EXCEPT SAT & SUN
  
• 1 HOUR PARKING 8AM-3PM EXCEPT SUNDAY
  
• TOW-AWAY TEMPORARY NO PARKING 6PM-6AM THURSDAY & FRIDAY COMMERCIAL VEHICLES WITH USE PERMIT EXEMPT
  
• TOW-AWAY TEMPORARY NO PARKING ANYTIME FRIDAY ONLY COMMERCIAL VEHICLES WITH USE PERMIT EXEMPT
• TOW-AWAY TEMPORARY NO PARKING 6PM-6AM FRIDAY & SATURDAY COMMERCIAL VEHICLES WITH USE PERMIT EXEMPT

Post 2 - somewhere in West Hollywood/Hollywood Hills

• NO PARKING NIGHTTIME 7PM-7AM and ANY TIME SUNDAYS
• 3R Permits Exempt
• 2hr PARKING DAYTIME 7AM-7PM MON-SAT 3R 3C Permits Exempt
• NO PARKING 10AM TO 12NOON WEDNESDAYS
• VIOLATORS WILL BE CITED TURN WHEELS TO CURB AS INDICATED
  

Post 2 - somewhere in Los Angeles...no idea where this is

• NO PARKING 9AM TO 12NOON MONDAY
  
• 2 HOUR PARKING 8AM-6PM MON THRU FRI
  
• NO PARKING ALL OTHER TIMES VEHICLES WITH DISTRICT NO 34 PERMITS EXEMPTED
  
• DO NOT BLOCK DRIVEWAY

Ok. Does anyone else's brain hurt? I graduated with honors and some sh1t, didn't I? I need a water break between signs. What I want to know is, how does the meter-maid even know when to ticket people? Ridiculous.

This last one is hilarious because I'm fairly certain "DO NOT BLOCK DRIVEWAY" was posted by some driveway/home-owner who was sick and tired of having their driveway blocked by fed-up motorists looking for parking.

It seems a miracle to me that we Los Angelenos actually go 24 hours without getting parking tickets. The last place I lived, and I mean really lived, not visited or stayed for an extended period of time (I spent an entire month in China and over the last ten years have spent more than 2 cumulative months in New York), was Minnesota in 1997. If memory serves, during my last spring in balmly Minnesota, I got a parking ticket. My citation was for an expired meter. The fee: a whopping $8.00. Muahahahaha. I'll wipe my a$$ with eight dollars for Christmas sake.

But back to Los Angeles. Like most of these blogs, it got me to thinking...people like to rag on Los Angeles. I was one of them before I moved here and there are many, many things for which to diss Los Angeles about. Smog, traffic, phoniness, fake-boobs, fake-blondes, fake-friends, and the fact that you can't spit in West Hollywood without hitting an actor, are all reasons people talk sh1t about L.A. But if we all survive here, with the crazy waiter/actors and the silicone-plumped blondes, and the PARKING SIGNS, and we're not killing each other or ourselves on a regular basis, we've seriously accomplished something. Maybe we're not doomed to replicate Idiocracy (a must-see Mike Judge film - a hilarious & horrifying 500-year future projection about the inevitable dumbing-down of our society).

You see, if we can manage to drive and park our cars in Los Angeles, navigating around and through the smog, the fake boobs, the fake people, and, especially, the PARKING SIGNS, maybe we're not as doomed as many of us pseudo-intellectuals think. Maybe we should give more credit to the parking impaired citizens of greater Los Angeles.

Because, for most of us, navigating around Los Angeles' streets and parking signage is only slightly more complicated than navigating life. So, I guess stopping to read the signs, as confusing as they may be, is worth the time and effort...sort of.

More Interesting Katie Strand World Posts

• I had to learn SIGN LANGUAGE when I moved to Los Angeles
• Guys can make a game out of anything
• Hello? The power of CONNECTING and how technology has changed
• Popping the question is better than porn!
• Bravo, Stephen Colbert & Co! and your Olympic Vancouverage
• Songwriting is like SEX
• Born To Run by Christopher McDougall - Inspiring a inspiring all of us to be more in the FLOW
• A moment of silence for all the plastic surgery ca...
• Ricky Gervais should be the new Simon on American Idol
• Muscle SURPRISE! The key to physical, mental & emotional fitness
• I think my boyfriend's a snake...
• Release... Sweat & Power
• MY FAVORITE THINGS! - Vibram's Five Fingers
• Dick Morris... How do you sleep at night?
• Rusty DePass, Gorillas, and Obama, oh my!
• Michael Jackson - Troubled Genius

More Amazing Music and Posts at Katie Strand Music

• Come Back
• Home

A moment of silence for all the plastic surgery casualties

Please...

A moment of silence for all the plastic surgery casualties...

No, I'm not talking about the tragedies of women (and men, though statistically more women get plastic surgery) who die due to complications during surgery or anesthesia, I'm talking about all of the big or lumpy noses, and cute little boobies (even the sagging ones) that are on the proverbial cutting room floors of plastic surgeons throughout Beverly Hills and Miami, and wherever else plastic surgery hails supreme as the maker of beauty-queen dreams.

Let's please all take a moment of silence.

Truth is, I miss Jennifer Grey and her big nose. I suspect most women of my generation loved Dirty Dancing and we didn't care that her nose was more prominent on her face than her lips. In fact, I think it probably made her more believable and more likable.

I also miss seeing real breasts. Christina Aguilera's boobs were perfectly adorable pre-enhancement. Now they're bulbous and obvious.

Look at Pamela Anderson. She was seriously adorable and small-chested. And now...looks like someone follows her around with a bicycle pump inflating those puppies.

What happened to God-given beauty? That on the cutting-room floor too?

My heart sinks every time I see a scene with an actress where her boobs are featured partially or fully exposed and I realize they're fake. I'm not really even a lesbian, but still, I really like real breasts. They're so...malleable and full of surprises in their shape, movement, and variety. They're like wine. Even if you've had that kind before, each bottle (or breast) is it's own unique flavor.

How can we come back from this plastic-obsession? Any ideas out there? Please, post a comment. How do we dig ourselves out of this craziness?

I like pretty things as much as the next visual gal. But I like uniqueness, personality, character and naturalness more. I also love seeing an older woman who shows her wisdom on her face. I believe Joan Rivers wishes she could go back. I heard that somewhere. I wish she could too. She's always been an extremely talented, funny, and striking-looking woman, but now her strikingness is due to too much plastic surgery, not her greatness and God-given unique look.

I have ZERO plans to have plastic surgery. I have never botoxed, and don't plan to. To be honest, I'm not crazy about the subtle lines between my forehead - indicators that I tend to be cerebral, and that I (used to) take myself (and sometimes life) too seriously! Those who know me well know I'm working hard (or not working - mostly meditating and learning how to relax and really do and think nothing), on being less serious. But, I'll make you a deal... If I ever get elective plastic-surgery, I will run down the 405 freeway naked during rush hour (except for my sneakers or five fingers running shoes)...showing off my plumped up lips and breasts that are not bouncing freely as I run.