WHY 22 IS THE END: NO ONE "GETS" YOU ANYMORE

Kristen and I met while we interned at a cable television channel while in college. We were in New York City for the summer, none of our friends were really in the city, and we had a lot of free time while at work. So, we spent most of our hours making LOL creatures to maximize LULZ instead of committing suicide in a cubicle.

Beyond that, one thing we realized that summer (and what brought us to be ~*~bEsTiEs~*~) is that no one we worked with understood us or got our humor. We were lone rangers, cruising through a desert on the fastest wild stallions in the West. People in our office couldn't keep up (At. All.). Most of the other interns couldn't even keep up. It got to a point where our bosses were like "We don't give you real work, so make us a Powerpoint presentation of current trends because you introduced us to LOL and Facebook, so you guys must be hip."

So, we blew their minds with YouSendIt and Amy Winehouse--before either were trainwrecks.

And, even though we made a fancy Powerpoint, no one understood what we were saying. No one "got it." Kristen and I discuss to this day if we presented drunk and spoke French. Really, we don't get it.

As foxy 22 year olds, Kristen and I have realized the same thing as we forge into the real world: no on gets us. We both make jokes, try to win people over with our killer fashion sense, and are hard fucking workers--but no one respects or takes our worth beyond face value. No one says "Oh, she's a spectacular, comedic, ironic writer" or "Oh, he is a greaaaat actor and entertainer."

No: all we get are jobs that have nothing to do with what we studied in college. Or, they have nothing to do with what we actually want to be "when we grow up." Either way: we feel like we're doomed.

Beyond predicting "David at the Dentist" or "Kittens Inspired by Kittens," no one has taken our cool hunting predictions beyond being strange, weird, and off-kilter. We have close-to-mainstream-taste, but no one takes us seriously (which is why we started a blog).

But, you know what: we've reached a point where we don't fucking care anymore. We'll watch "Bart is the General" and laugh at "Riding On the Bus with my Sister" and still love/hate Rosie O'Donnell and not care that no one "gets us."

Whatever. Excuse our beauty.

TODAY IN IM: ONE DAY WE SHALL SHINE

K: SOMEONE KEEPS PRITING ON COMPANY LETTERHEAD WHICH WHEN RUN THROUGH A PRINTER SMELLS LIKE YOU ARE BEING SUFFOCATED BY SAWDUST
K: EW I ACTUALLY REMEMBER THAT SMELL EW
K: POOL CHEMICALS AND SAWDUST
K THE KIND OF SMELL THAT MAKES YOUR TEETH HURT
K: THAT LAST DESCRIPTION DESERVES A LITERARY MEDAL
K: WHAT CAN I SAY IM A WRITER ON THE INSIDE AND AN ACCOUNTANT ON THE OUTSIDE
K: ONE DAY: WE WILL SHINE IN GOD'S LOVE

GOD ISN'T AS BIG ON FACEBOOK AS WE THOUGHT

One of me and KF's favorite facebook related activities is an IM exchange of friends' statuses with commentary. It seemed that God was having a big day on facebook. Examples:

Facebook friend is thinking just when i wanted to give up God came and saved the day!
Facebook friend is a winner in God's eyes!

That got me to thinking: What if God was one of us? Just a facebook addict like one of us? God would probably have sooo many friends. He would probably be tagged as "the one you can depend on."

Much to my dismay, God doesn't have a profile, but he does have a PAGE! I thought God must have so many fans, but he only had 2,934! Well if God isn't that popular, than Satan must have like 5 goth kids who only have 5 friends each on facebook right? WRONG! Satan has 3,628. To put this all in perspective, Boo from Monsters, Inc. has 2,160,642 fans. YES. A CARTOON GIRL FROM A MEDIOCRE PIXAR FILM HAS TWO MILLION ONE HUNDRED SIXTY THOUSAND SIX HUNDRED FORTY TWO FANS. Boo has about 736 times the amount of fans God has. I'm kind of indifferent on this whole situation though. Can I be a fan of indifference? Yes.

FINALMENTE

FINALMENTE E' VENDREDI' EVERYONE

WHY 22 IS THE END: YOU HAVE EVEN LESS MONEY THAN YOU DID IN COLLEGE

I work as a personal assistant and am pretty content with my just-outta-college wage. However, like every working man, working woman, and--if you are in Asia--working child, mo' money brings mo' problems. And, once you are in the real world, these problems all hit at the same time.

I've learned that with car payments, rent, student loans, phone bills, credit card, and the "cost of living" combined, you barely make ends meet. I am not understanding how people can be upwardly mobile if this is how "adulthood" begins. I mean, I don't even have that high of bills but I can't imagine them going up even in the slightest. Do adults secretly win the lottery? Do adults just quietly stew in their debt? Do adults all eventually become Willy Lohman? Please, adult readers who we do not have, answer these questions.

I cant figure out what I'm doing wrong (besides not listening to my weekly Buxfer.com report) but I cannot foresee and end to this madness. You would think I am just bank-bank-banking that dough but, honestly, I have no idea where it is going because I am banking nothing. Like, zero point zero zero dollars. Like, I think I'm actually paying my boss to work for him. Like, FML.

If I can get someone to pay for my alcohol addiction and my housing and my clothes and my car, then I think I will be able to bank some money and actually move on with life. Then, maybe, 22 won't be the end.

A PICTURE IS WORTH A THOUSAND WORDS...OR TEN

Aren't they supposed to be hotter with their shirts off?

(Nick Jonas: You will always be beautiful in my eyes. I can't wait until we can make out.)

FUN WITH GOOGLE PREVIEW

WHY 22 IS THE END: BEING ON THE INTERNET AT 2:45 AM IS NO LONGER "WHAT YOU DO"

It's weird to say "back in college" but I haven't been to my Alma mater in over a year. So anyway back in college, it was perfectly normal to be up doing absolutely nothing at 3 AM, and then call your BFF who only lives 5 doors down to go to the C-store and get some snacks. Being up at all hours used to be just "what you do" but now it's "what you do when you are lame." Normally I don't ever make it to 3 AM unless I am out, about, and wasted. Otherwise I am in bed by midnight because I am too exhausted from my big girl job to even bother.

So what happens late night after Conan finishes (FOREVER as of tonight, but that's another blog post) in the life of a 22 year old? Well I did some regular weirdo "I live alone so I can" stuff like change my clothes in the kitchen and hold an impromptu yoga session in my living room. Now I'm online at a time where EVERYONE used to be online, but right now I only have one person on my buddy list, the same BFF who used to live 5 doors down on the 7th floor (that's another blog post on an entirely different blog). OH WAIT HE JUST SIGNED OFF.

AM I OLD? Brb planning my funeral. Or obsessing over how I am not married yet while acknowledging the fact that I don't want to be married yet. I think that's the next stage of life anyway.

TODAY IN IM: IMITATION IS THE HIGHEST FORM OF FLATTERY--UNLESS YOU DO IT WRONG

K: LETS PLAY A GAME CALLED "HOW DO I LOOK TODAY"
K: I LOOK LIKE SHIT AND I KNOW IT

K: HOW YOU LOOK
K: LET ME EXPLAIN HOW I "LOOK"
K: I WAS INSPIRED TO DRESS LIKE JEWELRY DESIGNER PHILIP CRANGI (WHO I WANT TO BE), SO I COMBINED THESE IMAGES:
phillipcrangi_assembly.jpg
00001f.jpg
AND crangi_2.jpg
K: BUT INSTEAD OF LOOKING LIKE THAT, I LOOK LIKE THIS:
393_bio_homepage_main.jpg AND THIS SALLY_JESSE_RAPHAEL1.jpg
K: MY HAIR IS RATTY AND IM WEARING AN UGLY BELT
K: O DEER

K: I WOULD SAY WE FAILED AT THE STYLE TODAY

PROOF THAT WE NEED TO BE BUYING ITEMS IN THE MICHAEL JACKSON ESTATE SALE

If you haven't heard, Michael Jackson is auctioning off all his items from the Neverland Estate. And if, for whatever reason, you thought you didn't want to get anything, the above is proof we all need to be investing.

(or, proof that we all need paintings commissioned of E.T. fashioned in our own image)

WHY 22 IS THE END: NO ONE FACEBOOKS US ANYMORE

For the adult, checking Facebook once a week is a new sport you participate in once a week. For the high schooler, checking Facebook is something you do when you're not on MySpace or YouTube or LiveJournal or Xanga or AIM. But, for the college student, checking Facebook less than once an hour is a faux pas, social suicide, inexcusable: if you do not check your Facebook profile more times a day than there are hours you are awake--you're in trouble.

Speaking for two recent college graduates, we at 22IsTheEnd are still running on a schedule that requires our being on Facebook more minutes a day than we spend actually working at work. This isn't actually our fault, though: it is the product of having spent the past four years in college slaving over the art of Facebook stalking and replying tactfully to Facebook messages whilst drunk. But, the only difference in our Facebooking as "adults" versus our Facebooking while in college, is that people do not give a damn about our profiles anymore.

Recently, checking Facebook and going to our profiles is like taking an optimistic walk through a ghost town: you hope you're going to see something new but, inevitably, you won't. Your friends from school are either still at school or you don't talk to them because they are in a different city. Your "new" friends (if you are so ~*~bLeSsEd~*~ to have them) don't know you as a Facebooker but rather as an adult. Thus, the only people who Facebook you are you're best friends who always Facebook you. This is not a bad thing; however, when you log in twenty times a day and you've only received one message from your fellow blogger/business partner, you feel incomplete and like you want to take your profile behind the work dumpster and put it out of its misery (believe me--I've come real close).

Moreover, in our year removed from school, living the high life of the 2-2, Facebook has devolved into a wasteland where you:

1. Receive friend requests from people you don't care about;

2. Get frequent postings from relatives who should not be on Facebook

3. Or, are persistently sent resumes from people you knew in elementary school who know you work in the biz and really would like to get into the entertainment industry but have only worked as a waiter but know that entertainment is "where they belong."

Facebook for the 22 year old + crowd is a sad, hollow sham. It reminds me of those elderly people you see at tennis courts shuffling around the green pavement chasing tennis balls: the sport will never be the same for them, even though they try to force it to be. 

And, in 2009, maybe our Facebook profile's shifting toward obsoleteness is a good thing: who wants to be obsessing over an unnoticed profile when you have a shiny new blog? 

(And, Facebook gives you cancer, so fuck that boolshite--I'm gon keep blogging.)

EXCUSE ME AS I GET ALL PRETENTIOUS ON YOU WITH MY TOBACCOLESS ELECTRONIC CIGARETTE

I love smoking. I absolutely love it: lighting the cigarette, sucking in the nicotine, attempting to blow the smoke out in a "cool" way--you know, the juvenile reasons for smoking. I've never really been committed to the activity but I've always been in love with activity. I mean, it's so damn cool: you are putting something on fire in your mouth. There is nothing more badass about that.

I recently found a healthy alternative: the Luci, a tobaccoless electronic cigarette that claims to be "good" for you.

The cigarette looks really sleek and cool and like you are still a badass smoking a ciggie. However, the only drawback is that you look like a huge dickhead. Now, I have not been able to find any photos of anyone "smoking" a Luci or any proof that anyone actually uses the product, but I'm predicting you probably look like a pretentious, Eurotrashy doofus.

I'm really excited by this product but also extremely turned off by it because I know, regardless of who you are with and what they think of you're smoking a Luci, Luci smokers will always remind me of this:

That's right: light up that fake fag and fake smoke you're way to cancer of the brain, since you are already mentally handicapped to be a fake cigarette smoker.

I'll stick with my real cigarettes--if I choose to smoke them.

THERE IS A GOD

PREPARE THINE SOULS:

It's going to look something like this. And, at that point, 23 will be the end. I'm so excited.

TODAY IS THE DAY I HAVE OFFICIALLY BEEN AFFECTED BY THE FINANCIAL CRISIS

As a lowly media worker I may not get paid much (YET YET YET) but I am pretty much guaranteed to be able to drink my salary's worth of Diet Coke in the office, effectively doubling what I make which in turn makes me feel a lot better about myself. Yesterday I went to go grab a cup but a clear substance came out. Maybe some pranksters or dub room ghosts replaced it with Crystal Pepsi. FOOLED AGAIN. It was water. BLEH! I calmed down, took a few deep breaths, and went to Walgreens to make sure I could sustain my addiction another day longer. Today however, put my cup under the fountain and STILL NO DIET COKE. No one else seemed too worried so I carried on with my day until THIS HAPPENED:

"What financial crisis?" indeed! Boy, when it hits, it hits hard. I walked all the way up ONE FLIGHT of stairs to swipe some and scurried back down before anyone noticed I actually went to another floor to get some soda instead of just having some Flavia time. When I got back, I had an email to join the company Weight Watchers meetings. Are you trying to tell me something, Employer? Now I know those stairs will do me good but its DIET COKE.

PS - Is it just me or has this blog been really girl wearing a skirt as a top lately?

FUN WITH GOOGLE PREVIEW

NINA FLOWERS HAS BECOME VITAMIN C

Now, we here at 22IsTheEnd have had smiles on our faces LOVING Ru Paul's Drag Race and feel that if you are not or have not been watching--something is wrong with you because you need to be watching it.

This week, the ever fab Nina Flowers literally became Vitamin C (circa As Long As You're Loving Me)--and no one else seems to notice. Bloggers have been all "NINA SAID H-I-V LOLOLOL" and "AKASHIA SUCKA-SUCKA-SUCKS"--but no NF/VC comparison. Even Ru herself seemed to be unaware: she just made a Madonna joke.

Didn't see it?

I mean, are you effing blind?

Look--Nina Flowers:

 Nina, ERR, Vitamin C:

Vitamin N:

VITAMIN FLORES:

Case to the closed: Ru Paul's Drag Race is fabulous and Vitamin C is F-I-E-R-C-E. 

YOUR NAME + MAJESTY = YOUR CHILD'S NAME, TOO

If you were Jermaine Jackson and you had a son, what would you name him?

Thanks to The Insider--and my good friend Mia for alerting me--Jermaine Jackson's son name is JERMAJESTY.

WHY HASNT JERMAJESTY BEEN FRONT PAGE NEWS FOR THE PAST EIGHT YEARS???

I really don't get this and I really don't get why more people aren't using the tried and true formula: YOUR NAME + MAJESTY = BEST NAME EVER.

Some examples:

Kristen + Majesty = KRAMAJESTY!!

kf + Majesty = KFAJESTY!!

Mia + Majesty = MIAMAJESTY!!

Jermajesty + Majesty = JERMAJAJESTY!!

Can anyone come up with a better combination?? I feel a Blingee coming on.

PRIDE FLIP FLOPS: NOT SO PROUD AKSHUALLY

Perusing my favorite gay blog--Towelroad--this afternoon, I discovered an advertisement for a product called "Pride Flip Flops." 

Once I followed the ad, I realized why I need a pair: flip flops that illustrate your gay pride by your covering the symbol of gay pride with your foot so no one can see that your Pride Flip Flops are actually proud of anything (and that you are actually stomping out your pride and the fact that you are gay). I need a pair.

Check them out:

              

These are perfect for me: I can't wait to buy these and wear them around with Ted Haggard and our wives as we galavant around Arizona. My mother will be so proud when she sees my new flip flops.

IS FACEBOOK SECURITY FRISKING ANYONE ELSE WITH CRAZY TALK?

I just tried to post a funny photo of a cake on Kristen's wall on the Facebook, but was met with an angry "Security Check" screen where you have to type the scribbly text into the text box. However, I kept failing because the words Facebook wanted me to type were fucking ridiculous. 

Case in point:

I mean, it's Sunday at 5PM--why must I go through a security check? Yes, I've had some champagne and this may be in my best interest to go through a screen before I post anything, but really?

I'm not even going to comment: I'll let these gems speak for themselves. 

(And, apologies, Kristen, for not being able to post the CakeWreck on your wall: Facebook was behaving like a drunk frat boy.)

WHILE YOU WERE WATCHING THAT VIDEO OF JOAQUIN PHOENIX ON LETTERMAN, YOU SHOULD HAVE BEEN WATCHING THIS

But, Joaquin was so February 12, 2009, so you're probably watching Kittens Inspired By Kittens now (which, technically, is also so February 12, 2009).

Y.E.V.

YA! ES VIERNES everybody.

DATE ACTIVITIES FROM SUITE101.COM: "SUMMARIZATION PHOTOS"

Go ahead and laugh: I was Googling date activities yesterday at work. The results were not exciting and didn't actually shine any light on actual "date activities." But, I did find a strange alternate internet universe called Suite101.com, a strange online networking site for writers. The reason that Google directed me here is that it was like a bizarre sort of--how do I put this?--dating activities mecca for retards.

The site's search results for "Date Activities" brings you to a collection of stellar advice and suggestion articles for things to do on dates. The catch here is that if you read and follow the site's advice, clearly you should not be dating in the first place. But, the advice isn't the real winner here: it's the accompanying photos meant to "illustrate" the idea and drive the main idea home--a sort of "summarization" photo, if you will.

Dating Homework/Things To Help You Date With Ease

I read these articles and while feeling both pathetic and enlightened, I was most turned-off by the portrayal of "the single person" and "the single life" in these photos. What? Are all single persons women? Do they live these idyllic shells of lives but have hollow innards that echo "Touch me. Just once: touch me"? Actually, I'm not going to dive into that question because I'm realizing it hits--how do you say?--too close to home.

First Date Do's and Dont's

Immediate reaction: "God, kissing on the first date? What a fucking slut."

Secondary reaction: "Homegirl, your forehead goes forever."

Tertiary reaction: "DO. NOT. WANT."

First Date Conversations to Avoid

Now this article was something that I felt was the most useful because, if you don't abide by them, you probably will come off as a crazy. And, as a person who went on a first date last week, I highly recommend your following this article's advice. Even the photo for this one does a good job glaring at you, judging you for bringing up the fact that you are circumcised and prefer other circumcised men and that your last boyfriend felt the same way and thats how you guys initially bonded but he broke your heart because he was kind of crazy. I'm glad I didn't do that on my first date last week. Phew.

Date Ideas From A - Z

Out of all 26 options of things to do, an arcade is the top pick. I'm not sure if that's because A = #1 to some people or if the writer is a gamer, but some other gems were nature walks, treasure hunts, and--my favorite--hayrides. That got me thinking: the last time I went on a hayride was when I lived in Kansas in the 5th grade and I went on a hayride birthday party on a farm and the only thing I remember is that at the end of the party they blasted "Macarena" in a barn and I did the Macarena on top of a picnic table and some girls were yelling "Wow, I like the way he does the Macarena" and I replied "Thanks, I'm hispanic." A hayride would be a good date.

Date Ideas Under 5 Dollars

Unless "playing with leaves" was being done outside of the Vermont mountain home that my husband or boyfriend were to buy me, then this the shittiest date idea because I would much rather buy a bottle of Andre and vomit on my boyfriend for fun than do this shite. Call me a prude but playing with leaves: retarded.

I don't exactly know if my experience with Suite101.com has been a good or bad one for my dating career but I do know this: writers do not know anything about dating. Advice columns: poppycock (that sounds like a cheap date activity. HRRRM.).

FUN WITH GOOGLE PREVIEW

IF I HEAR "MICHELLE OBAMA" AND "JACKIE O" IN THE SAME SENTENCE AGAIN, I WILL KILL A J.CREW SALES ASSOCIATE

This March's Vogue cover features the ever fly Michelle Obama, making her the second First Lady to play cover girl for the magazine (here's looking at you, Hillary Clinton). With her best "aw, shucks: lil' ole me?" pose, Michelle sits gracefully in a magenta Jason Wu dress ready to conquer the world--one J.Crew at a time.

The article discusses many things about Michelle, like her being Super Mom and a comedienne of sorts ("the South Side of Chicago is our Kennebunkport"). But--most important to me--the distinction is made between her and Jackie O: their style of dress differs because for Michelle "Pragmatism, not glamour, is what matters when she gets dressed."

And, yes, unstylish people of America, I agree: she is not a "stylish" or "glamourous" dresser. The accusations that Michelle is the new Jackie O are ludicrous and emphasizes that Americans do not know shit about fashion (which they don't). 

For starters: Michelle barely wears designer clothes while Jackie wore Chanel in the shower. Also, since when is J.Crew designer? Fancy, beautiful, and W.A.S.P.y--yes; but, designer--HELL NAW. If J.Crew is "designer" or "upscale," then I guess I'm on par with Thom Browne because I own many J.Crew items.

Also, am I the only one who thinks this, but Michelle picks clothes that fit real awkwardly on her. I think she's beautiful and knows how to use colors, but, really? I mean, really? I love some Michelle, but--if she is in a fashion showdown--she'd always lose.

Let's not play: Michelle is the best First Lady we've had since Jackie O in terms of style (well, Nancy Regan was fabulous, too). But this is only because all other First Ladies have been stylistically retarded and didn't give a damn about their appearance.

In any event, I will respect Michelle for her being a great First Lady--but not for being a fashionista. And, remember, America: J.Crew is still a God (and God is not Michelle Obama).

YOU HAD ME THERE FOR A MINUTE, SUDAN

A thrill came over me when I first read that Sudan was urging a boycott of Valentine's Day. Finally, I thought. A beacon of light through the rain made of tears of single people everywhere. I thought the only hope I had this year was that the day before Valentine's Day is Friday the 13th and hope something terrible happened to every one of my peers who was shoving their 8 dozen roses in my face. But alas, I had to go ahead and ruin it by reading the rest of the article.

"The money that is spent on Valentine's Day would be better spent encouraging
young people to marry."

Really, Sudan? I thought you were on my side! Marriage is the last thing I want to think about when Valentine's Day rolls around. There are already plenty of people encouraging me to marry over here in America. I'm looking at you, Grandma. And producers of Who's Wedding is It Anyway, Bridezilla, My Big Fat Fabulous Wedding, Say Yes to the Dress, etc etc etc. You paralyze me in bed on Sunday afternoons. I can only get up to get ice cream.

And then, Sudan, after that dagger to my icy heart, I learned that you FORCED SOMEONE TO MARRY A GOAT BECAUSE THEY HAD SEX WITH IT. Not even you really want me to get married, Sudan! How could you! You tease me! This was just a pity dance at sophomore year homecoming! I kept reading again anyway because I am self-hating. Like that Lit song.

"When I asked him: 'What are you doing there?', he fell off the back of the goat, so I captured and tied him up."

Oh wait. I see what you are doing there Sudan! You are trying to get me to laugh so I can begin to open up and accept love into my heart! A thousand thank yous!

WHY 22 IS THE END: WE OBSESS OVER OUR HOROSCOPES

My neighborhood has an unusually high amount of storefronts for psychics. The only thing that prevents me from going in is the fact that it would seem "sad" if I went alone. Not the fact that I want to see a psychic. Then you could tell people you went at as a joke if they find out. Sort of like seeing "Bride Wars" with your gay BFF instead of seeing it alone with one of those tiny packs of tissues your grandma always carries in her purse.

Anypathetic, kf and I follow our horoscope (we are both Taureans) religiously even though we know that the EXACT SAME THINGS never happen to the both of us during the same day, week, or month. We sit at work insisting that we will both find true love AND be promoted this week, all the while not dating anyone and not doing anything about how disgruntled we are between 10 AM and 7 PM. When the horoscope has nothing to do with what is going on in our lives whatsoever, we insist the sun signs have shifted and are in fact Gemini, because the week was totally shitty for Geminis.

PREDICTION: Soon enough, on a Sunday afternoon when once of us is catching The Craft on TBS for the 38th time, we will end up checking out spell books from the library. Hopefully we will at that point become totally embarrassed, explain to the librarian that we were really just trying to research Salem, Massachusetts, and delete ourselves from the ivillage.com daily horoscope email list. Hopefully. Unless those spells totally work.

STOP WHAT YOU ARE DOING: KOALAS ARE DYING

You've now seen it all: an Australian firefighter quenching the thirst of a dehydrated Koala.

ps. these Australian fires are FRIGHTENING. Thank God I live in Los Angeles.

PAJAMA GRAM: FEEL UNSEXY FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE

While watching the Westminster Dog Show this evening, I incurred some pretty bizarre Valentine's commercials. Many advertisers did their damnedest to win over the most brain dead of men to buy the stupidest and most disgustingly unsexiest of shit for their wife.

The worst? Pajama Gram.

The site was boasted on the commercial to be a "sexy" Valentine's alternative but, upon visiting the site, it seems that Pajama Gram was created to foster anger in the hearts of many Valentine's Day participants. Whereas Victoria's Secret seeks to kindle erotic flames this Valentine's, Pajama Gram aims to spark heat in suburban rec rooms between couples who have given up on

 sexual practices since 1989. Lets look at some sexy looks from Pajama Gram and who they are intended for:

Ruby Velour Gown

For the Renaissance Fair enthusiast. She also will probably wear this going out with a crown she made from tin foil.

"Insomniacs Do It At Night" Pajamas for Men

For the man who is an active sleeper and not actually an insomniac. This look is more of a warning: it should say "Rapists Attack while you sleep."

Crossword Pajamas for Men & Women

For the couple with that spelling fetish. Please Note: A good husband always steps on his wife's right foot (so says the NYT Sunday Crossword).

Besides these beauts, the site disturbingly extends well beyond the extent of giving to a girlfriend or boyfriend: there are pajamas for "the family." Please note the beautiful photoshopping:

"Daddy's Little Valentine" Pajamas for Toddlers

For the pervy father. No explanation needed.

Mommy and Me Fatigued Pajamas

For Shannon Elizabeth and her kids.

Red Dropseat Pajamas for the Whole Family

For the family that hates each other and thinks "bonding" happens simply by wearing matching clothes. Does that work? Well, the dog won't look at the camera, the little boy is nearing a hysteric fit, and the black one is preparing to run away. So, yes, it works wonders.

Mommy and Me Stewart Plaid Coordinating Pajamas

For the woman who just doesn't understand how to use her whore pills.

These jewels are just scratching the surface. Pajama Gram also covers such "night time items" like slippers, bath and body items, 3X items, and--of course--Get Well Pajamas, since nothing says "get well soon" like a nightgown that looks like it belongs on the corpse of your female character from Oregon Trail. 

Pajama Gram is a depressing exercise in Valentine's frugality. If you want to be "cute" or "funny" Valentine's gift this Saturday--just get them a Snuggie. Everyone else is.