Here's What Cereal To Eat As You Watch The Royal Wedding by Carolyn Busa

Watching the Royal Wedding tomorrow? DUH. OF COURSE YOU ARE. LOVE IS ALIVE AND FINALLY BALDING AND MIXED-RACE AND AMAZING. You got your Beatles ringtone alarm set for 5AM and your Big Ben pajamas are laid out on your bed (shout-out to Mom for not giving them away when you told her to!). However, there is one thing missing: a royal breakfast!

I got you covered! After living through a handful of royal weddings myself (and a few funerals), I've narrowed down the top 5 cereals that pair best with ceremonies you have nothing to do with. Grab your wallet and head to the nearest grocery store (or bodega you hip, city things).  You're gonna wanna stock up!

Cheerios
I mean, need I say more? This light but filling cereal will have you cheerio and pip pip-in' all the way through nuptials! 

Lucky Charms
Meghan found her lucky charm - time to find yours! And of course a stomachache 45 minutes later cause something's up with those marshmallows. 

EZEKIEL 4:9®: SPROUTED WHOLE GRAIN CEREAL
This cereal looks like it tastes boring as hell! Kinda like wedding ceremonies!

Kix
Kid-tested, grand-mum approved (but probably not cause Queen Elizabeth seems like a bitch, right?)!

Life
It's what Diana would've wanted.*

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*OMG. Who am I? I hate myself. I'm sorry.

 

 

Open Wide by Carolyn Busa

I laid horizontal. My arms at my side, my feet gently crossed. I pulled my dress to ensure the fabric was taut and without crease. Perfect. I was fresh. I was clean. I was ready for him. The clock on the wall read 2:41.

“I hope he comes soon.” I thought.

And as if my thoughts cued his entrance, I heard him walk in from behind.

“Hello.” he said.  The light directly above only allowed a vision of a silhouette as he took a seat next to me. I squinted. I attempted to shield the light with my right hand as the light suddenly dimmed. He was always one step ahead of my needs.

Finally, I saw him. It had been six months since our last encounter. He looked the same in his white coat. He always did. Tousled hair, soft features, and a smile that said ‘I’m about to make a bad joke.’

“So I hear we’re removing all your teeth today, right?”

There it was.

“Please don’t do that, doctor.” I laughed and felt myself blush.

“Okay, okay.” he conceded. “But I do need to take a good look inside you.” He revealed two white gloves. I jumped at the snap of the glove hitting his wrist.

“Nothing to be nervous about.” he assured.

I wasn’t nervous. But it was now 2:45pm and I had to be back at the office by 3pm. ZocDoc didn’t have any morning appointments. I knew this would be cutting it close. I was always pushing my limits.  

I opened my mouth wide and kept eye contact with him as I did. He instructed me to move my tongue to the right. To the left. Bite down. Open wide. Swallow. Was he punishing me with his endless demands? Did I do something wrong? I know I didn’t floss enough, but this was oral torture meant for a reckless child. I writhed in the chair as he writhed his fingers in my mouth. I thought I might scream or bite or spit. But right before I completely leaped the ledge of my sanity his hands departed.

“Perfect.” he said. His compliment suffocated my frustrations and my insides flittered. I was a good girl. I didn’t disappoint.

“Looks like you’re all set here.” He rotated in his chair, like the Earth on its axis, and returned not with a sunset, rather a small bag that included a toothbrush, floss and a mini mouthwash. I gasped with delight. I needed mouthwash.

“Thank you.” I said. My body slowly returned to a sitting position.

“We’ll see you in six months.” he said, his 5’ 8” frame towered above me.

“Yes. Yes you will.” I stood up from the seat and faced him, separated only by the paper bib I forgot to remove.

“Oh, one more thing.” He turned back around, grabbed something and put it in my hands. “Remember…” he said with a smile.

I looked down and smiled to myself. I knew exactly what he wanted me to say.

“Brushing alone is never enough.” I whispered. But when I looked up from the Waterpik pamphlet he was already gone.

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Carolyn Busa is a sexually peaking woman. This is her first attempt at erotic fiction. She'd like you to know her dentist has a weak handshake.

"What is this a Shoe Factory?" That And Other Passive Aggressive Questions To Ask Your Roommates by Carolyn Busa

What is this a shoe factory?
What is this a duck sauce packet factory?
What is this a soy sauce packet factory?
What is this a ketchup packet factory? (You get it.)
What is this a plastic fork factory?
What is this a plastic bag factory?
What is this a leftover container factory? 
What is this a crumb factory?
What is this a junk mail factory?
OR
What is this a Bed Bath & Beyond coupon factory?
What is this a remote control factory?
What is this a clean dishes in the dryer rack factory?
OR
What is this a dirty dishes in the sink factory
What is this a Japanese restaurants we'll never get take-out from factory?
What is this a disheveled shower curtain factory?
What is this a two pennies and a receipt factory?
What is this a computer charger factory? 
What is this a hair in the sink factory?

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A word from the author: Carolyn lives with two nice boys, Greg and Aaron. She gets frustrated by shoes by the door, crumbs, and dishes in the sink. However, Carolyn has her own shit too including her dog's fur, her dog's toys and she does that thing where she repeats what they say in an annoying high-pitched voice. She thinks it's really funny. They don't. Greg and Aaron are super great roommates.

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A Thank You To Dancing (And My Body) by Carolyn Busa

At 5-years old I mimicked my sister's hitch kicks to New Kids on the Block. At 9-years old I joined my first jazz class. I learned how to tap dance when I was a Follie Girl my freshman year in our production of Crazy for You. My senior year I danced to Kanye West so hard in my parent's living room that my knee popped out of place causing me to scream, my mom to think I somehow got shot in our gun-free house and my dad to think quick and pop it back into place. Point is, dancing has always been somewhere in the background of my life. But this past year, dance has been itching to take a step forward. Dancing no longer asks permission. Now, I have to dance.

When I explain to people how I am 'sexually peaking', their minds immediately travel down south to Dirtyville. Who? What? Where? When? How many times? All fun stories to tell, but the truth is, those stories wouldn't even exist without the presence of dance. My sexual peak would fall flat if I was not lifting myself and my confidence through my own movements. But that wasn't always the case. I may have learned how to Pas de bourrée and step-ball-change when I was 5, but I only just learned how to let myself go. 

I remember the various dance classes I took over the years. Surrounded by mirrors, forced to look at myself and others. Comparing, competing, pointing farther, looking sharper, flexing flexier. I'd turn bright red when we had to work on our stretches as I hunched over my sad split. More embarrassing than helpful. Now if there is a mirror in the room when I dance, I try not to look. I dance to feel, not to perfect. To quote Shania Twain, when I dance 'I feel like a woman.' But not a woman burned by man or her boss or a bad hair day. I feel like woman - the creature.

Did I lose you? I've never been to Burning Man (although I fear that will change in the next few years) and every time I have to do a group sigh or breathing exercise I roll my inner eye. I'm still sarcastic and snarky when it comes to mindfulness. But now, more than both of those combined, I'm super sensual. When I dance I can't help but feel the sexual, female force within me that, until recently, only a vibrator has been able to bring out. Now I am unplugged, battery-free and using nothing but my body to create feelings of ecstasy. I feel pretty fucking grateful.

I'm also grateful because this year I found people that love dancing as much as I do. I found music that makes me feel primal. I found people that embrace all these things without so much a molecule of judgement. Thank you. In their absence I dance alone in my bedroom as my dog watches skeptically without interruption. Thank you, Remy. I dance when I am frustrated or sad or angry when the leader of our country proves himself a monster once again. Thank you, dance. 

I've recently started dancing with my hair down. It gets stuck in my mouth, my eyes, it sticks to my sweating neck sometimes even trapping itself between my armpits. Afterwards, only then will I make a point to look myself in the mirror. Sometimes I look like some sort of goddess. Sometimes I look down right crazy. I see the shape of my lips outlined by the red lipstick I obsessively wear. I see my face aging in certain ways. I see my hair growing. I see the same freckles I've had since a child but now the freckles mark the face of a woman. I also see my blemishes, my tears, my brow when I'm pissed. My life isn't perfect. I am not perfect. But it has taken until now to truly love this woman I see. I love the woman I have become. The woman that my body has allowed me to become (despite still being unable to do a split).

Thank you.

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My Top 10 Best Guesses As To What The Spice Girls Meant by 'Zigazigah' by Carolyn Busa

By now we all know that if you want to be a lover of the Spice Girls, you have got to get with their friends. We get it. But after all these years, I am still unsure of what Scary, Baby, Ginger, Posh and Sporty meant by their other famous phrase: I wanna really, really, really wanna zigazigah.

There was speculation about the meaning when a co-writer of Wannabe revealed earlier this summer that 'zigazigah' was a take on the words 'shit' and 'cigars.'  That's clever enough, but eh. I'm not buying it. 

Unable to wonder no more, I decided to do my own research. I would go back and relive my Spice Girls days. I would listen closely to Wannabe, as well as the other Spice Girls hits, even the B sides. Yes, they had B sides. I'd go through all the fan books I saved, the stories, their image, their Chupa Chup lollipops:

I would solve this mystery! So, after many hours smiling and dancing and positivity, I've narrowed it down to 10 other possibilities as to what our 90's pop queenz meant by 'Zigazigah.' 

1 . ORGASM - This is, of course, the obvious answer. We know the Girls were indeed having sex thanks to the lyrics of 2 Become 1. BUT. What we don't know is, WERE THEY CUMMING? Answer: Probably not. Which brings me to...

2. THE CHANCE TO WORK WITH ALAN CUMMING - Alan Cumming, another famous UK-er, was #1 on Broadway for his role as the Emcee in Cabaret. He wore his knickers on stage and loved singing about sex so of course the girls wanted to work with him! And they did. In Spice World. Although, I'm pretty sure this is the closest they ever appeared together throughout the 'film.' Film is in parentheses because, well, it's Spice World

3. BABIES! - The girls were roughly between the ages of 20-25 when Wannabe was released but, man, their wombs were already BURNING. They even got a whole song about mamas that I WILL cry to given the right road trip. Now, every Spice has their very own offspice. Nice work, ladies. 

4. A BABY G WATCH -  Speaking of babies, I looked through a lot of images from the 90's and these watches were everywhere. Everywhere except on the wrists of the Spice Girls. And, there's not one but two G's in zigazigah. Coincidence? 

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5. THE WORST REMIXES EVER  - As a huge fan of the Spice Girls (and super cool tween), even though I already owned the albums, I would buy every dumb single that was released. In doing my research, I found some absolutely horrific remixes on these singles. Think dub step and bad tribal beats and techno on acid. Shame on you, Virgin Records. 

6. A GOOD HALLOWEEN COSTUME - What if this all started by five friends trying to think of a good group costume for Halloween? "You be scary! And, and, I'll be a baby! And, Geri, make your twat as visible as possible! We'll get soooo much candy!" 

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7. DINNER - It's like how I would finish book reports in 3rd grade when I didn't finish reading the book: "You'll have to read Charlotte's Web for yourself to find out what happens to Wilbur and his spider friend which is very much alive at the point when I stopped reading!" I gave up! I was OVER IT. And given the intensity of Wannabe's lyrics and message, I'm sure after a stressful 30 minutes of brainstorming, the Spice Girls were also OVER IT and just wanted to eat some fish n chips with their hoes.

"Fuck it, write Zigazigah and let's GTFO." 

8. NORMAL SHOES - Mel C always knew what was up.

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9. A COKE COMMERCIAL - I know. Right now you're thinking, "Carolyn, the Gals were in a PEPSI commercial not Coke. What kind of fan are you?!" But check it. PEPSI can practically spell 'spice' except! There's no C. Where's the C guuuys? Oh, that's right. It's in the Coke! BOOM. 

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10. EQUAL RIGHTS - Good lord, the Spice Girls were crazy but they showed me I could be whoever the fuck I wanted to be and I wish certain people in charge would think the same. Come on DC, it's time to put on some obnoxious, chunky heels, pull your orange hair into old school raver buns, throw up a peace sign and give me some god damn inspiration. 

Dear Abby... by Carolyn Busa

Dear Abby,

Whenever my dog touches himself, he stares me dead in the eye. The thing is, I always stare back. Am I a bad mom? 

Signed,
Concerned Mother

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Dear Concerned Mother,

Of course it's ok to look back! When your dog looks you in the eye, that's his way of showing you affection. As long as you aren't getting any sexual satisfaction out of watching, all is well. 

Good luck! 

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Dear Abby,

Thank you for your reply! When you say 'sexual satisfaction', what exactly do you mean? I mean, I'm not like, participating in any sexual acts with my dog but I do find watching him pleasure himself, gives me pleasure as well. Am I going to get arrested?

Signed,
I Never Had Pets Growing Up

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Dear I Never Had Pets Growing Up, 

Relax, you are not going to get arrested for feeling thoughts of pleasure. But please, please, please, NEVER ACT ON THEM. 'I never had pets growing up' will not hold up in court when someone finds photos of you fucking your dog. Believe me. Once I accidentally kissed my dad on the lips and my friends would NOT shut up about it. 

You got this!

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Dear Abby,

You kissed your dad on the lips? YIKES.

Signed,
You Nasty

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Dear You Nasty,

Haven't you ever went in for the cheek and the person shifts their head at the last moment? Please, don't act like that never happened to you before. Ugh, why did you even write to me in the first place? Why am I wasting my time writing back to you? People used to write to me with REAL problems about love and loss and overbearing step-moms. How'd you even find my address? You realize there's a whole stamp-free world of advice out there called THE INTERNET, right? You should try it out. I'm sure there are a TON of people out there who are aroused by their pets. Maybe you should ask them for advice, you freak. 

Go fuck yourself.

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Dear Abby,

Hey sweetie. I think you may have sent this to the wrong person? Or maybe this is some sort of joke I don't get. Either way, it was great to hear from you. It's been too long. I'll tell Dad you said hi.

Love,
Mom

PS. Remember when you accidentally kissed your father on the lips? That was so gross.