This is not a kiddie porn site, you utter a-holes.

Dear Disgusting People:

For reasons known only to Miss Littleheart, I’ve decided to update this blog sporadically. Meaning once in a blue moon, but that’s my business. Apologies in advance to decent people who visit here by accident or design. What is disturbing is this: I can see how all of you got to this blog, and I am NOT happy with some of you.

What makes some of you disgusting is the search terms you’ve used to get here. Yes, I can see that part of it. I’m not sure why so many of you are using the term “little girl on toilet” (or more graphic variations thereof) in your searches, because potty training isn’t exactly the most interesting topic, so I’m assuming that you’re trolling for porn. I get hits EVERY DAY for this subject. Multiple hits. How do you sleep at night?

Just so you know, since I can see what you’re searching for, so can other sites. This site doesn’t have anything even remotely resembling kiddie porn, so I’m sure you’re crushed and move on to the next. The part that upsets me mightily is that I can’t report you because I can’t prove your real intent, but how I wish I could. The instant I can, I will scream to the ISP mountain tops, the FBI, police, and anyone that might be able to do you harm.

If you are actually a parent looking for an image of this (HIGHLY DOUBTFUL), then please accept my apologies and realize this rant is not meant for you. If you are sitting around looking for a picture of some poor little girl in your quest for kiddie porn, I hope you die by simmering in a vat of acid over a slow burning fire with scorpions stabbing at your eyes. For real. Now go to hell, perverts.

What I’ve learned from daytime television.

Staying at home with just my television for company has provided me with a unique perspective on the outside world. For example:

• Carpeting our homes is the #1 issue in all of our lives.
• One word: DIABEETUS. It’s going to get all of us, but we are all fortunate to know where to get our diabetes supplies. We can also, thankfully, get fresh catheters instead of boiling the old ones. Seriously.
• Also, Wilfred Brimley is terrifying.
• We are all extremely fat and cannot live without diet supplements or ab machines. Thankfully, I was sitting down eating cookies when I heard that.
• I can regulate my pooping with yogurt. This is an untested theory.
• I don’t have to stop my life because of limited mobility. Nowadays, I can apparently drive a power scooter from Boston to the Grand Canyon, and will be able to strap my super portable oxygen tanks to the back. I wonder if they can be used as jet packs.
• My bones are dissolving as I age. Which is most likely true, and I’m looking forward to becoming a gelatinous heap.
• I cannot be turned down for insurance due to my age. However, I can be turned down for all other reasons, real or imagined.
• According to all the lawyers that advertise during the day, I don’t have to pay my taxes, I can sue the kid that made me cry that time in third grade (BASTARD, VENGEANCE IS MINE), and I need to review all my medications, because I can sue just for taking those also. I’m still researching to see if this counts for Pamprin abuse. Who needs to work?
• Going back to college is easy as a click on the computer, because actually interacting with people is so 2003.
• We should all wear necklaces with buttons that call 911 if we fall down the stairs. If we don’t, we are FOOLS. They should make them with diamonds, as a girl needs style.
• Infomercials will provide me with all the gadgets I need in life. If I buy them all, they will do all of my cooking, laundry, hair styling, car repair, and plumbing. Also: PAJAMA JEANS. Can’t wait!
• If I take heart medicine, I am instantly transported to springtime in a park to run with balloons alongside other heart patients. Nobody told me heart attacks were magic!

See? My time at home hasn’t been wasted.

Well HELLO again.

Hi! It’s me, Miss Littleheart! Seriously! I wouldn’t kid around like that. No, it’s really me. Don’t call 911, they won’t bother and you’ll look dumb for calling. They frown on lie tellers, so don’t be one. Nobody wants to see you on Cops.

I’m sure you’ve spent the last few months wondering what happened to Miss Littleheart and her homespun yet bedazzled advice and commentary. Oh sure, you came up with the usual scenarios (internationally jetsetting, sitting in my vault counting my money, coming up with a spreadsheet to keep track of all my boyfriends, drying out someplace), and you might be right. Okay, you’re not, but I like your scenarios. So much better than what I’ve been going through. It’s hard to be humorous when things are bad. Yes, I said humorous. I AM TOO.

To be honest, the last few months have not gone well. Which is an understatement of epic proportions. Other than supporting this fine website, I’m jobless. Unemployment is running out, my car made me take it to the extortionist mechanic due to the sunroof leaking and questionable brakes. Everyone on Earth seems to be having babies, having baby showers, or having a birthday (how dare these people?). My heat is set on frozen. And nobody wants to hire me. This is not right.

I have to pat myself on the back for at least lasting almost a year on my savings and unemployment; no borrowing money from anyone or hooking (only because I don’t have the wardrobe). But what does one do? Do I break into my 401K and lose thousands of dollars to capital gains taxes, just for an immediate inflow of cash that is only going to help temporarily? That’s the last thing I want to do, but I might not have a choice.

In real life, I’m a graphic designer for print, no web. So, if anybody still looks at this, please provide your suggestions in the Comments, or if you have any superduper ideas, send them to askmisslittleheart@gmail.com. If they involve hooking (already thought of it) or drug dealing (thought of it, looked in medicine cabinet, and realized nobody wants old Tylenol), try something else. The phone lines are open.

Now, I’m going to stop whining and get back to business. So where are your questions, slackasses?

Miss Littleheart is taking a minibreak

No, not the cool kind of minibreak like in Bridget Jones when she drives into the countryside with Hugh Grant only to end up running into Colin Firth (SWOON) and his witchy girlfriend and then telling Hugh she loved him (the cad) only to have him drop her off at the weird family Tarts & Vicars party where she was dressed as a Playboy bunny and nobody else was in costume and Colin Firth was there again and it was SO AWKWARD.

No.

I’m taking a few days off. No, I’m NOT IN REHAB. Sorry for the short notice. Feel free to browse the archives for your Littleheart Littlefix. I’ll be back in action in no time! In the meantime, here is a gratuitous picture of Colin Firth. You’re welcome.

Cheers!

Dear Miss Littleheart:

Why do people go to bars?

Curiously,
Sober

Dearest Sober:

How curious. The question should be “why WOULDN’T they go to bars?” Oh sure, there are some groups of people that shouldn’t go to bars for obvious reasons (alcoholics, children, Hasselhoff, the deeply religious, and criminals). If you’re any of those, stop reading this immediately and go play on the Xbox or pray. I MEAN IT. But for everyone else, the bar is your oyster. I think. I know at some bars you can get oysters. Whatever.

Bars are fun. There, I said it. They’re fun for the drinks, fun for the people watching, and fun for the conversations. Like anything, sometimes too much of a good thing is actually a bad thing. For example, one time I was down at my favorite place enjoying the sweet, sweet nectar of a quadruple whiskey with exactly one ice cube, when I might have had just a little too much (however, in my defense, there was a terrible stomach bug going around and everyone knows I can hold my booze better than a Russian sailor as it’s a proven fact). Sooooo when the ex and his new skank just happened to stop by MY FAVORITE BAR and he KNEW IT, I may have accidentally had a tiny little episode that could have involved buffalo wings, a white coat, and some projectile vomiting. I’m not going to go into it now, because the lawsuit is still pending, but I will send an encrypted message to the skank directly. Use YXO NEALC. Don’t unscramble that, as it was for the skank only, or you will become a material witness at the trial.

So if you’re of age and are so inclined, you should put on your hottest outfit, round up some of your friends, spritz on some Axe or Glow by JLo, and head down to the nearest watering hole. Everybody doesn’t need to know your name, but it’s nice if the bartender knows your favorite drink. I should know.

Bangs: you’re doing it wrong.

This is that slouchy/grouchy girl from Twilight. Somebody needs to help her, as I don’t understand what is going on with her hair:

Why does she have a stripe of it on her forehead? Do they not pay people ridiculous amounts of money to stand around with a comb and giant can of AquaNet (pink label) for emergencies such as this? I need to apply for a job like that; nobody would have foreheads split into visual hemispheres on my watch. Maybe it just fell in her eyes when she was slouching in her ill-fitting dress. Or when she twitched. Or both. Anyhoo, I don’t get the whole tween mania for the vampires. They all look like they need a good scrubbing. I think every show on TV now has some sort of bloodsucker (I’m looking at you, Dora the Explorer). Harry Potter must be so jealous now that the tweens have moved on from Hogwarts to translucent, pouting vampires.

Meh, all this kid stuff is aggravating me. Speaking of kids, I’ll be in my lounge mixing up a batch of Drunken Shirley Temples. No, you can’t have the recipe.

On g-strings and other things.

Dear Miss Littleheart:

My wife wants to go to a bachelorette party, and I know there will be strippers there. It’s not that I don’t trust her, but I don’t trust the strippers. Should I let her go or should I take a stand and forbid her?

Sincerely,
Chip Endale

Dearest Chip:

I think your biggest problem is that you don’t trust your wife. If you think the moment she’s out of your sight she’s going to throw caution to the wind and get her groove on with a well built, oiled, sweaty dude in a tiny g-string (CALL ME, I MEAN IT THIS TIME), then you do have a problem. Has she done something like this before, like going out with her girlfriends and coming home wearing some college guy’s shirt and a brand new tramp stamp that says “DADDY’S HOME?” Waitahotsecond, is this your behavior and you’re projecting? Do you lose all self control when you go out with your friends and a hot chick walks by and gives you a half smile, ending with you handcuffed to her bed and suspicious bruises in intimate places? Bachelorette parties are embarrassing anyway, and the worst thing that might happen is that a picture of her wearing a hat made out of condoms will circulate amongst her friends for eternity. Everything else is usually just all drunky goodness.

She’s your wife. Be an adult and talk to her about it. Let her know how you feel, but let her decide on whether or not to attend. You really don’t have the right to forbid her to do anything, as she is your partner in this marriage, not your subordinate. If something does happen at the party and your stripper suspicion is valid (and I wonder how I can get invited to this party), Miss Littleheart suggests you go to an actual therapist and not some drunken whackjob on the Internet. You’re welcome.

Strippers. Ruining marriages since clothes were invented.

Will work for khakis.

Dear Miss Littleheart:

Next week I have a job interview at a store in the mall. I really need this job. When I looked at the employees in the store, they were all dressed casually, wearing mostly jeans, running shoes, and company shirts. So I’m confused. I used to work in an office where we wore business clothes, but got laid off. Everyone tells me to dress like I would for any other office interview, but I think it might be overkill. What do you think?

Starchily,
Blazer

Dearest Blazer:

As much as Miss Littleheart loves kicking back in her favorite green leopard-print sweatsuit and pink Adidas visor, which is the envy of the senior set (suck it oldies) and deranged preppies everywhere, she knows there is a time and place to err on the side of caution. You can never go wrong with dressing for success. I would go back and check out what the managers are sporting, then shoot for a little better than what they’re wearing. They wear khakis; you wear dress pants. They wear sweaters; you wear a nicely pressed shirt or blouse with a jacket. You want to look serious about getting the job.

If you show up in your lucky JEM shirt from the 80s (everyone has one) and your favorite pair of Dickies low riders, you might not get the job. But you also don’t want to go overboard, as it might make you look desperate. Don’t show up in your Wall Street power suit to a job at Wretzel’s Pretzels or your nicest work dress to Wet Seal. That would confuse them and make them think you’re a mystery shopper, which would get you a free pretzel with extra mustard or a frighteningly short Hello Kitty crop top (get me one), but not the job. They also might be all paranoid and think because you’re dressed better than they are that you’re gunning for their job which you ARE but you don’t want to let them know because you should be in stealth mode so you need to get the job then make them feel inadequate.

Just look neat and clean, and for God’s sake be professional. Leave the gum at home. It’s evil anyway.

Never overstay your welcome.

Dear Miss Littleheart:

I have the houseguest from hell. My cousin has been visiting for three weeks now, and he’s treated me like an innkeeper. He invited himself, doesn’t clean up or pay for anything, and demands to be entertained when he’s bored. He’s supposed to be here for one more week, but I don’t know if I can take it. Should I say anything to him or should I keep the family peace?

Despairingly,
Marriott

Dearest Marriott:

You did say it yourself, in that he is your guest. As a host or hostess, you have extra duties to provide a lovely atmosphere for your guest(s), such as a nice place to sleep and their choice of nightcaps. You should take pride in that you are able to provide that for your friends and family. Most people appreciate the effort and would reciprocate if you were to come to stay. However, it looks like Cousin Freeloader wiped his smelly, ungrateful feet all over your doormat self. Yes, he invited himself, but you let him stay — for a MONTH. Somebody stays with me for a month and they have to chauffer me around in the LittleheartMobile, regaling me with witty stories and feeding me moonshine. He would also have bought me a few (dozen) cartons of Virginia Slims to stay on my good side, and have mastered the art of foot massage. It’s only polite.

This guy has been there THREE WEEKS and you haven’t said anything to him? No short sheeting, no needles in his bed (I would never do that I just hear people talk in my head sometimes), no locking him out during a rainstorm? You’ve been kind enough to welcome him; you also have to stand up for yourself and let him know what you expect from him as a houseguest. It’s your home; let him know how you feel. As for family harmony, he should be the one to worry. Your concern about not making waves is making your life miserable. Stop it! He’s there for another week, right? Remember, you can always throw him out early. Like today.

If this happened to me, one word to Mother Littleheart and Thanksgiving would be over for him before it began. Mother Littleheart does not fool around. Neither do I, so let me know if I should pop over there with some spiked egg nog and my Cranium: Taser Edition game. They do too make that. Oh really, then why do I have one? Hah.

Now here is a tea party I would actually attend!

 

SERIOUSLY! It has everything! Velvety tablecloths to make the food taste better, ornate furnishings, a REAL LIVE PIRATE, and if you look right above the pirate’s nifty hat, there is also a skanky wench. The most important thing is on the table already. I’ll give you a second to locate it. Hmmm hmmm hmmm keep looking hmm hmmmm hmmmmmmm I’ll give you another second hmmm hmmm hmmmm hmm hmmmmmmmm and it’s GROG! At least I think it’s GROG, because all pirates drink GROG and I’d like to try it just to say that I did because it’s on my bucket list and I’ve been banned from the Pirates of the Caribbean at Disney World because of that thing that happened that time so I’m going to say it’s GROG and that’s that! GROG is to Miss Littleheart what tea is to the Brits. Using all caps makes it real.

On a side note, the pirate looks a little bit fake. Where is his fabulously saucy talking parrot? Or his hook from that time when he fell overboard after too much GROG and that Jaws shark nibbled it off for a snack? And who told Joe Jeans Day on the left to get in the picture? Maybe he’s in charge of the GROG. In that case, get over here, Joe Jeans Day, as my glass is perilously close to empty.