They must be big in Germany. France. Japan?

 Let’s take a closer look at this Jeep ad.

What adventurer with attitude wouldn’t want all that stuff? I know that if I was not so urbane and public transportationy, I would want it. I would plug my ipod in and stream some KEXP on a drive down to Austin and crank my speakers up so all my indie-credulous sharers of the road would know that I love music and my car proves it.  I would not, however, tout the fact that I and my Jeep went to this many G. Love shows.  At the “Head-Bangers Ball” no less.

 

Being an adventurer though, I bet I probably moshed the shit out of them.

Maybe this Jeep owner is Special Sauce’s mom.

The only place where you can live in a t(ee)p(ee) and have your record wiped clean.

 We here at ANAWFOS are no strangers to the  poo issues. But methinks this ad took it to an unintentional new place.  A place where all homo-sepians can coexist peacefully. A place where, at the local cinema you can see such classic films as “An Affair to Raw Umber”. And a place where I bet I’ll be sienna lot of my fellow brunettes.

Oh Garnier Nutrisse, Thank you. This chestnut is a chesnut.

Just another Friday night in the city

“Hey you guys. You might be wondering why I brought you up to my roofdeck. It’s cool right? Quite a view of our generic metropolis at sunset.  I love having a roofdeck, even if it only has one bench that barely fits the three of us and it’s a tight squeeze. But it’s perfect for having intimate conversations, which is good because there’s an issue I need to talk to you about. Well, I’m going to talk more to you, Amy, than I am to Jessica. Honestly Jessica, I don’t know why you insist on still wearing those bra strap headbands. Who do you think you are, Amanda Peet? The look is over. O-V-E-R. Anyway, Amy. As I was saying, there’s this new — ohmigod, thank you! I love my blue necklace too. I bought it on that street in our city that’s known for having cheap knockoff jewelry and purses and the occasional dead duck in the window. I know, I didn’t think I could pull off such a chunky bead either but I think it works with my delicate features. You know what doesn’t work for me? Gnarly, boho, earth-toned prints that are currently breathing down my neck could you please back off just a little, Jess? It’s bad enough that we’re all wearing low cut v-neck dresses, but that print – honestly, who dresses you? Now please. I am trying to tell Amy about the new way for us to not ruin our hip, urban lifestyle with a stupid baby. It’s called Yaz. No, Jessica, NOT like the band. What are you even talking about? There’s no such band, shut up. It’s a low-dose pill that will totally let you do it with anyone and not get preggers. I should know! You totally won’t need that prescription for the morning after pill anymore, either. Anyway, Amy, I glad we could talk like this. Hey,  does my pink eyeshadow look ok? I just got it at Sephora with that giftcard Jessica got me – I think the color might not work on me though, what do you guys think? Yeah, I know, I don’t know if I like it either, but since the giftcard was only for $25 it’s not like I can go buy another shade! Anyway, I totally need to pee after all those mojitos! God, I love mint! It reminds me of gum.”

Re-Lax, Don’t Poo It.

Doncha sometimes just wish your life was like a painting? Like you were Vermeer’s girl with a pearl earring, a beautiful Tahitian woman rendered with seductive care by Gauguin,  or a six-eared half-human, half-guitar borne out of Picasso’s nutso mind? It would be so mysterious and romantic.

You know what’s less mysterious and romantic? Dulcolax’s pastel drawings of women who cringe when the thought of taking a dump comes up. Of course we’ve all been there. The Lamaze breathing, the painful pushing, the “why don’t I drink more water!?” lamentations while we sit on our throne trying to extract that difficult poo like it was a C.I.A. agent on a compromised mission in Bora Bora. (God, I miss Alias so much.)  But these whimsical drawings of women with Joan Baez hair who are lounging peacefully on picnic blankets and hammocks while shamefully hiding their hard-poop secrets do nothing to show the reality that is constipation. 

 

Coyness in the face of constipation. 

That’s not to say it doesn’t work though. I would think that it does, especially because they have an exhaustive website with tips and suggestions for easing the pain, and a profile of a famous celebrity who is unable to crap, Spanish talk-show host Cristina. Cristina no puede tomar una mierda suave para ahorrar su vida.  Cristina may occasionally have diarrhea of the mouth on her talk-show, but that’s certainly not true of her other end.

Maybe there really is nothing like spreading out on a large, animated blanket or soft over-sized chair to remind your pastel self that there is softness in the world. Ours is a soft planet. But you know what is not a soft planet? Uranus.