Prince Pubic Hair Jeff Goldblum Boner Time

My mother always taught me to aim high and by God she taught me well for you see, Ladies and Gentlemen, I've discovered that when one Googles "Prince pubic hair", "Freddie Mercury chest hair" and "Jeff Goldblum boner" Hipstercrite is the very first search result that comes up on Google.

I know what you're thinking- that is some pretty impressive shit.

Well, it took me a very long time to get to Prince Pubic Hair Freddie Mercury Chest Hair Jeff Goldblum Boner status in life. I knew when I was a little girl that it would be a difficult task but one day, I would achieve such notoriety.

It wasn't an easy journey though.

The first time I wrote about Prince's pubic hair it caused strain on the relationship between my father and I. It was in the early stages of my blog and boundaries had yet been established between what my parents and my blog. My Dad, at the time, thought my blog was a parental buffet of offspring information and was surprised when he read my post about Prince's pubic hair. I mean, my father did overreact a bit. It wasn't an entire post devoted to Prince's creepy crawlies or anything. The post was simple devotional reminder of believing in oneself. Here is the part that most upset my father:

I'll never forget...I was at a photo exhibit for a rock n' roll photographer. She had these wonderfully intimate portraits and live shots of popular musicians in the early 80's. I'm scanning the wall, studying each photograph intently.

I get to a picture of Prince and it's just of his bush.

All bush.

He was wearing a lamé speedo and had pubes coming out of every which direction. They were slowly taking over his whole body. I look at Prince's smiling face. He knew his pubes were awesome. He was giving me that look, "Baby, these pubes are for you."


So when I begin questioning myself, for example, with something like "Hey, Lauren, maybe texting that boy more than once though he never responds might seem a little dumb?" I now think, "No, no it's not. If I were Prince, I would show up at that guy's house in my lamé hot shorts, pubes hanging out everywhere, phallic guitar strapped to my chest, a raging jheri curl, and sing: "baby, what does it take 2 have u text me back? is it another girl? does she wear diamonds and pearls? boy, i love the way your body moves. there ain't nothing that's gonna keep me from u. i think i love u."

After reading this post my father threatened to "defriend" me on Facebook and I had to get my mother, his ex-wife of 20 years, to intervene. We've now established rules and my parents will not read my blog unless I specifically tell them to. I know it sounds harsh, but this is for everyone's benefit...and for me to write posts about them.

As for the "Jeff Goldblum boner", that is a story I don't share with my folks though they've seen the photo where said boner occurred a million times. In fact, my mother has it framed above her desktop computer. Listen, faring through a Jeff Goldblum boner attack just so I could be the top search result when Googling "Jeff Goldblum boner" was not easy. Just look at my face.

As for "Freddie Mercury chest hair", many of you have seen the pic and heard about it, so I won't beat that very hairy dead horse. For the ones who haven't, in short, I seem to talk about Freddie's chest hair A LOT and even attempted to physically embrace it on Halloween. See below:

In addition to the aforementioned search words, another very popular searched phrase on my blog is "hairy gay men". In fact, it's so popular, I'm beginning to think that everyone in the world is into them. I get great satisfaction from the idea that many horny gay dudes, out of hopes of seeing a photo of a dazzling hairy bear, instead come face-to-face with a picture of a young white girl with what looks like Robin Williams shavings Spirit-Gummed to her chest.

One day I hope to make a t-shirt that says, "Prince Pubic Hair Freddie Mercury Chest Hair Jeff Goldblum Boner", or a crown, but in the meantime, I'll try to keep coming up with search words of ironic cultural icons and their body parts.


What are the most popular or suggestive search results for your blog?

WWPD?-What Would Prince Do?

WWPD? (What Would Prince Do?)

On those particular days when I'm feeling weary, feeling small, when tears are in my eyes, Art Garfunkel comes and dries them all.
But on the particular days that Art doesn't stop by to say "heeeyyy!", and my self-esteem and confidence are at an all-time low, I think of another man.

A purple man.
A woman-man.
A 5'2" larger than life man.
A sexy, sexy man.

When I feel like shit about myself, I ponder, "What would Prince do?"

Would Prince sit there curled up on his bed, with a bottle of red wine that he opened with a pen because he doesn't have a cork screw because he likes to think he doesn't drink, and feel sorry for himself?
NO!
He'd get out of that bed, go find a stage somewhere, hold the bottle up against his crotch, pop that cork, spray the crowd with the wine, and sing "Purple Rain".

Would Prince cry purple tears when one of his respective under-aged girlfriends would leave him in a fit of jealousy?
NO!
He would write a power ballad about her, then go play the song for girlfriend No. 2, tell No. 2 it's about her, and then have amazing Prince sex with her.

Does Prince question every choice he's made or feeling he's ever had?
HELL NO!
Do you think he spent hours wondering if using "4" instead of "for" and "2" instead of "to" was a good idea? Or if wearing an ass-less unitard seemed too gay?

Prince rolled with his shit!

And that's what I have to do.
Come up with shit and roll with it.
Fake it until you make it.
That's what Prince does.

Prince doesn't care how people perceive him. He doesn't apologize for ANYTHING!

I'll never forget...I was at a photo exhibit for a rock n' roll photographer. She had these wonderfully intimate portraits and live shots of popular musicians in the early 80's. I'm scanning the wall, studying each photograph intently. I get to a picture of Prince and it's just of his bush.
All bush.
He was wearing a lamé speedo and had pubes coming out of every which direction.
They were slowly taking over his whole body.
I look at Prince's smiling face. He knew his pubes were awesome. He was giving me that look, "Baby, these pubes are for you."

So when I begin questioning myself, for example, with something like "Hey, Lauren, maybe texting that boy more than once though he never responds might seem a little dumb?" I now think, "No, no it's not. If I were Prince, I would show up at that guy's house in my lamé hot shorts, pubes hanging out everywhere, phallic guitar strapped to my chest, a raging jheri curl, and sing: "baby, what does it take 2 have u text me back? is it another girl? does she wear diamonds and pearls? boy, i love the way your body moves. there ain't nothing that's gonna keep me from u. i think i love u."