The Hurricane Names for 2014 Are Totally Lame.

My friend Jack got me to thinking after this tweet:

Super Typhoon Neoguri set to slam into Okinawa (Sounds a bit more ominous than 'Arthur', wouldn't you say?) http://t.co/wK6W5LxzNj
— Jack Lauterback (@jackgoesforth) July 7, 2014

I have to say I thoroughly agree with him. I think it’s pretty clear that the 2014 Hurricane season’s names are the worst yet. Sorry in advance if your name is Dolly, Fay, Nana, Teddy, or Wilfred. Although I’m not sorry, your names are terrible hurricane names. You should complain to NASA or NOAA or Al Roker or something.

I can't hear 'Hurricane Dolly' without thinking of Dolly Parton. Or maybe a sheep. Or maybe a sheep dressed as Dolly Parton. Supposing there is a Hurricane Dolly, it had better be absolutely fabulous, with a disproportionately (and possibly artificially) large western wall. All news segment music intros had better include a chorus of “Jolene.” And Jim Cantore better be clinging to a sign post, winds bearing down on him, making a “9 to 5” reference.

Okay, so maybe that hurricane isn’t so bad. But Hurricane Fay? … … Never mind, I’m related to a Fay, and she is definitely a hurricane--in all the best ways, of course. She is in charge, knows how to make a grand entrance, is good at organizing people, her arrival is greatly anticipated, she's frequently found in Florida, and her penchant for shopping is certainly hurricane-like.

So we’re good with Hurricane Dolly and Fay. But what about Nana? What is she going to do? Harass you about when you’re going to FINALLY get married and have babies? Or when are you going to cut your hair? Or lose weight? Or wear nicer clothes? Or put on some make up? Or when are you going to do something with your life? Or dump one guy for another? Or go to her preferred church? Or clean your house to meet her level of clean? Or criticize some other part of your life?!?!?! … … Never mind, that is all very destructive and scary. Hurricane Nana is also very, very terrifying.

Well Teddy can’t possible be that intimidating a name. Teddy makes me think of bears, and bears totally--

Terrifying. Teddy is effing terrifying. Never mind.

But we can all agree that Hurricane Wilfred is not at all scary. Not even a little. Wilfred is a middle-aged man in a dog suit. Sorry Wilfred.

Even I Have My Limits: Don't Invite Me to Any "Tasteful" Toy Parties.

If you know me in real life, you know I'm a fairly open person and that it takes a lot to embarrass me. I mean a lot. My mother has long since lost her ability to embarrass me by threatening to sing the Hokey Pokey in the middle of Wal-Mart. (I'd probably join in at this stage in my life and lead the crowd in a mass Hokey-Pokeying.) The truth is that there are very few words that offend me or subjects that are otherwise off limits, be you friend, family, or a complete God damn stranger. That said there is one topic that I can say categorically makes me massively, and I mean MASSIVELY uncomfortable.

They call them tasteful, but I think taste is a relative thing. I don't get these parties that are cleverly named so you'll feel comfortable purchasing "intimate items" while sitting next to your closest friends and family members. First of all, I don't want to know what you're buying. Second of all, I don't want you to know what I'm buying. Third of all, OMG THAT'S MY MOM, SHE CAN'T KNOW THAT I WOULD EVEN CONSIDER BUYING SOMETHING LIKE THIS.

Kidding.

It's the damnedest thing; I have no idea why anyone would participate in such an activity. What happened to going in ALONE to a shop and buying what you want in the comfort of anonymity (while secretly checking out what strangers are buying and either being horrified/curious/confused/titillated/laughing hysterically on the inside)???


No. There are people—usually women with a contingency of gay men—who invite their friends and FAMILY to their house where toys, accessories, novelties, and other product are exhibited. And then people buy these products. They do demos. Some people even test-run these products—yet the hosts don't have the courtesy to offer brain bleach at these parties, as I understand it, which is perhaps a crime against humanity. They taste these products, "You know I love licorice. And I love getting frisky. Maybe they're onto something with this licorice flavored whip!" They discuss the offerings as though they were considering buying a new knickknack, "Oh look honey, it's shaped like a woodland creature!" (THINGS THUMPER WAS NEVER INTENDED FOR, I MIGHT ADD.)

What gets me is there is a potential for someone to see what you've bought and to later on down the road ask, "How are you enjoying your ____________?" Oh my God. NO! No, no, no. I mean that's truly horrifying, and I'm pretty sure if someone I knew did ask me that I'd have a coronary.

And I'm not a prude. I want to make that clear; I'm not someone who faints at a dirty joke or who can't have an open discussion about sexuality. I'm sex positive; everyone should do their thing in a safe, legal, consensual manner, challenging their boundaries, having fun, etc. And the truth is I'm probably my friends' most offensively frank friend—and that group's not a bunch of delicate flowers either. No. I just have a comfort zone and that comfort zone does not include my mother or even bestest best friend in the whole wide world knowing if I bought a "massager" or not.