GGC's "Top Six" Unresolved Searches

Unfortunately for those who GOOGLE searched for the following phrases listed below, you did not find what you were looking for. Sadly, you settled for (This) Girl's Gone Child: The Blog, and scanned the archives searching for answers you will most likely never find. Your own personal missing link, a key to one undiscovered voyage, a life's expedition turned sour with question marks and ellipsis... A dream shattered with no explanation and more ellipsis... ...

Today I have chosen six unresoved searches to discuss and/or research for the oddballs out there who so kindly and anonymously asked...

...For the brave souls who searched the web with cracked binoculars this is for you:


Search #1. Exciting Handshakes for girls

The following are my all-time top three favorite and most exciting handshakes (for girls.)

1. Girl #1: "Hiya. I'm from the Itty-Bitty-Titty-committee"... (grabs boob with left hand and shakes Girl #2's hand with right.)
Girl #2: "Nice to meet a fellow member!" (grabs own boob AND friend's boob a la bonding experience.)

2. Girl #1: "Hiya. I'm from the... (shakes Girl#2's hand and tugs at Girl #2's pinky finger as if to milk it) ...Alta Dena Milking service!!!!"

3. Girl #2: "Hey there. How's it hanging!" (shaking hand like normal) "I'm Girl #2 and I'm from... (pulls hand over right shoulder and rests chin firmly on Girl #1's elbow) ...the American Rifle Association!

I hope you find these as exciting as I do. Go on and enjoy.


Search #2: How to talk sweet nothings to Latin woman

I am not myself a Latin woman, so in all fairness I called up Uncle Frank who's close enough. His response? "Feed her while you're talking. The nothings will sound sweeter."


Search #3: I made the stranger suck my boobs

Actually this search brought it's searcher to exactly the right place. Making strangers suck my boobs is something I have been doing for several glorious years.


Search #4: Pictures of uncensored girls vaginas

I have been searching all day and have not been able to find any uncensored vaginas. They have all been censored, unfortunately. Perhaps next time you might want to use a word a little less scientific like, oh, I dunno, Va-goo-goo? Polly Pocket?


Search #5: If I can teach you one thing it's that snails can't crawl backwards

I in fact did not know this and am thrilled at this fact. Enlightened and thrilled. I didn't even know snails could crawl! My life = officially complete.


Search #6. Is there a practice video game which I can play on how to learn on how to change a baby's diaper?

This is by far my favorite question. Great Scott, you're a genius! I'm on the phone with EA Games right now. I'm going to pitch the hell out of that shit. I mean, are you serious? How brill! I would totally play a diaper-changing video game AND I'd enjoy it. A million dollar idea and because you are an anonymous search-er, I am not sharing a dime. Tough luck, ex-lax.

GGC

My Mommy Went to the Beach (with me) And All I Got was This Lousy Sister

I must carry an attract-a-child pheromone or something because as of late wherever I go I end up with someone else's kid on accident. They follow me out of farmers markets, through bookstore isles and across supermarkets. They find me schlepping ten bags of who-the-hell-knows-what on the beach, take my hand and say hello.

Yesterday, this happened once again. At the beach, Archer in hand, two large bags swinging from my sides.

A little blonde girl in a flowered swimsuit wandered in front of us. "Excuse me," she said.

"Why hello there."

"Hello."

"Where are you going?"

"Where are YOU going."

"That way," I pointed. "Toward the bluff."

"Oh. Can I come?"

"Where's your Mommy?"

"Over there." The girl pointed every which way and I nodded and looked around.

"Um. Maybe we should find your Mommy...?"

Just then, out of nowhere, Supermom appeared in her American Flag one-piece, waving at us.

"Is this your daughter?" She asked.

"Nope." (She just wishes. JK)

"I see. Well, I've been watching her and I think it's safe to say she is lost."

"Yeah. She's lost. It is safe to say."

"This is the third child I have had to bring to the lifeguard tower TODAY!" The Supermom shook her head. In the background, her children were running amok, burying each other alive. I focused on her obvious choice of a bathingsuit and tried not to laugh and or/burn her.


Supermom started pulling at the little girl's arm. "Come on, hon. We're going to the lifeguard tower!" But the little girl wouldn't budge. She just held on tighter to my arm, closed her eyes and screamed.

I imagine it all looked a little strange. Me holding Archer in one arm, being pulled by the little girl being pulled by Supermom.

"Why don't I take her to the Lifeguard Station?"

"Do you know where it is?"

"Um. Yeah. I do."

"I'll come with you."

At this point the little girl was crying, Archer was crying, my bags were falling off me, towels were dragging and I was going blind from overexposure to the American Flag.

Several steps later, five or so little blonde girls in the same swimsuit as my new friend came dashing toward us with outstretched arms. OH. MY. GOD. There were more. MORE. Luckily the little girls were coming to take their sister away, not to join her by my side. Not that it would have been a bad thing. I just don't know if the huz would have been amused by our newly-extended family of hibiscus-clad blondes.

And so the little girl waved goodbye and Supermom dissapeared in a cloud of red, white and blue smoke and Archer and I continued on our merry way. The two of us. Just the two of us.*

GGC

*Until today of course when we will be returning to the beach and I will be swimming with fourth graders hanging off my ankles.

Why I Hate the Suburbs: Episode One

Today, ready for a long day of poolside activity I drove on over to the local Rite Aid to pick up some Swimmer diapers for Arch. I pulled into the parking lot and waved to the man with the great big bag of charcoal to go ahead and cross the street in front of me.

"Go ahead," I said sweetly, humming along to the ster-e-er-e-o.

At first I thought he was waving back as if to say, "thanks" but then he squinted and glared and lifted his arms above his head as if to threaten me. "What the hell is your problem, bitch? Jesus Christ!"

"What?" Um. Are you..."

"We don't need your permission to cross the fucking street, dumb bitch."

"Um... I..."

"Come on kids, get in the car."

That's right. He was a FAAAATHER. He had KIIIIIDS. The children didn't even flinch at his outburst and I was so caught off guard I accidentally bought Archer the Little Mermaid, pink swimmer diapers instead of the blue "for boys" Nemos. He will be spending the week exploring his feminine side (sorry, little dude) and it's all the lifted-Suburban driving, red-mustache rocking, flip-flop Tommy Bahama wearing, Budweiser The King of Beers drinking, asshole in the parking lot with the W sticker on his rear and the softball-coach waddle. Growing up these men were everywhere. Perving on us at Ice Cream socials and pizza joints, drunk at the beach littering their idiocy all over the place, blasting Rush Limbaugh on their way to Wal-Mart.

Our L.A. crazies are far crazier than, well, everyone, but at least they're well-dressed and/or homeless without their dozen kids following them around in the streets. That's just aint cool, dude.

Unfortunately I was not born to be confrontational. I was born to smile and nod and flash a thumbs-up like a proper tourist and then talk shit on my blog, thank you very much.

GGC