Remember when you had all your shit together and you totally remembered to wish your peeps a happy holiday? Yeah, I don't. Sorry about that. I completely missed the Easterness with y'all because my attention span and memory completely suck. And, well, let's face it. At this point, if you don't expect me to forget shit fairly often, then I don't really know what to tell you. Except that this was coming, yo. You should always expect me to fuck up every now and again. Because fucking shit up is really one of the things I do best. If it wasn't, there wouldn't be anything to talk about here. So really, I forget things and screw up because I love you guys. And I want you to have fun reading the stuff on here. And I want you to have someone you can relate to, and be all, ugh, dude I know I forgot to get that report in on time, but that's nothing, because this one chick I know FUCKING FORGOT EASTER.
I do this for you, you guys.
Monday, April 21, 2014
Monday, April 14, 2014
Damn You, Jed Clampett
The problem with having an attention span as shitty as mine is that, unless your end of the conversation is riddled with interesting facts and humorous anecdotes, before I know it you're balls-deep in some kind of monologue about whatever, and in my head I'm playing the opening credits for The Beverly Hillbillies.
People: yeah, so you know, the thing with the stuff about the person
In My Head: Coooommmme, listen to me story 'bout a man named Jed ...
Me: uh huh
People: I know, right? Because of the thing with the stuff about the person
In My Head: ... poor mountaineer, barely kept his family fed ...
Me: uh huh, I know
People: Shit, I'm telling you ... the thing with the stuff about the person
In My Head: ... then one day, he was shootin' at some fooooood ... and up through the ground come a bubblin' crude ...
Me: Shit, yeah, you're telling me
People: I know, it's a damn shame about the thing with the stuff about the person
In My Head: ... oil, that is. black gold. Texas tea. ...
Me: Yeah, it's a damn shame
But then, eventually, my head gets me into trouble .........
People: So, you know, anyway, the thing with the stuff ???
In My Head: ................ swimmin' pools. movie stars. .............. THE BEVERLY HILLBILLIES!!
Me: uh huh
People: (silence)
In My Head: wtf? they stopped talking. why'd they stop talking?
Me: (silence)
People: so?
In My Head: seriously. w.t.f.?! oh, shit. did they ask me a question? crap. they're still looking at me. they definitely asked me a question. shit. they're still staring at me. they're waiting for an answer, dumb ass. think of something. anything. damn you, Jed Clampett! I should've been paying attention! shut-up. it's not Jed Clampett's fault that you weren't paying attention. and it's not Jed Clampett's fault that his theme song was so damn catchy. and now you've just wasted even more time talking to yourself about the awesomeness of the Clampetts. shit! they're still looking at you! say something! anything! SAY SOME WORDS.
Me: oh, yeah, you know, I'd have to check on that, I'm not sure
People: you're not sure if you like pie?
In My Head: shit.
Me: oh, "pie"! Hahahahaha! Of course I like pie! Who doesn't like pie, right? I was just... I was thinking... I thought you were talking about the other kind of "pi" ... like the one from math. But, yeah, I mean, pie is totally great. You know, put some ice cream on that shit, it's all good.
And THAT, my friends, is what it's like in my head ...
People: yeah, so you know, the thing with the stuff about the person
In My Head: Coooommmme, listen to me story 'bout a man named Jed ...
Me: uh huh
People: I know, right? Because of the thing with the stuff about the person
In My Head: ... poor mountaineer, barely kept his family fed ...
Me: uh huh, I know
People: Shit, I'm telling you ... the thing with the stuff about the person
In My Head: ... then one day, he was shootin' at some fooooood ... and up through the ground come a bubblin' crude ...
Me: Shit, yeah, you're telling me
People: I know, it's a damn shame about the thing with the stuff about the person
In My Head: ... oil, that is. black gold. Texas tea. ...
Me: Yeah, it's a damn shame
But then, eventually, my head gets me into trouble .........
People: So, you know, anyway, the thing with the stuff ???
In My Head: ................ swimmin' pools. movie stars. .............. THE BEVERLY HILLBILLIES!!
Me: uh huh
People: (silence)
In My Head: wtf? they stopped talking. why'd they stop talking?
Me: (silence)
People: so?
In My Head: seriously. w.t.f.?! oh, shit. did they ask me a question? crap. they're still looking at me. they definitely asked me a question. shit. they're still staring at me. they're waiting for an answer, dumb ass. think of something. anything. damn you, Jed Clampett! I should've been paying attention! shut-up. it's not Jed Clampett's fault that you weren't paying attention. and it's not Jed Clampett's fault that his theme song was so damn catchy. and now you've just wasted even more time talking to yourself about the awesomeness of the Clampetts. shit! they're still looking at you! say something! anything! SAY SOME WORDS.
Me: oh, yeah, you know, I'd have to check on that, I'm not sure
People: you're not sure if you like pie?
In My Head: shit.
Me: oh, "pie"! Hahahahaha! Of course I like pie! Who doesn't like pie, right? I was just... I was thinking... I thought you were talking about the other kind of "pi" ... like the one from math. But, yeah, I mean, pie is totally great. You know, put some ice cream on that shit, it's all good.
And THAT, my friends, is what it's like in my head ...
Sunday, April 6, 2014
Let It Go, Yo. Let It Go.
So I finally watched Frozen. I had to. Because of all the hype. And everybody was talking about it all the time, and there were all these jokes about it on Pinterest, and adults everywhere were like, "o.m.g. have you seen it yet? it's soooo good!" And I was all, no I haven't seen it. I don't know what everyone's talking about. I don't know what the jokes mean. I want to understand.
And now I do. Olaf.
And there was other crap, too. Like the snow. And the ice. And the cold. Because all of the shit is frozen. There is no subtlety in the title, people. All of the shit. Is. Frozen. And the only thing I could think when the queen is beginning to discover that her powers are growing, and you know there's trouble on the horizon, was "WINTER IS COMING". (Spoiler alert: Ned Stark isn't in this one. And as far as I know, the Lannisters are still wreaking havoc in King's Landing.)
But for me, it was all about Olaf. That guy is hilarious. They need to make a movie just about Olaf. Because he earned it, yo. That snowman is a fucking star.
And now I do. Olaf.
And there was other crap, too. Like the snow. And the ice. And the cold. Because all of the shit is frozen. There is no subtlety in the title, people. All of the shit. Is. Frozen. And the only thing I could think when the queen is beginning to discover that her powers are growing, and you know there's trouble on the horizon, was "WINTER IS COMING". (Spoiler alert: Ned Stark isn't in this one. And as far as I know, the Lannisters are still wreaking havoc in King's Landing.)
But for me, it was all about Olaf. That guy is hilarious. They need to make a movie just about Olaf. Because he earned it, yo. That snowman is a fucking star.
Sunday, March 30, 2014
It's Like Watching Wilson Float Away
You've never known self-restraint until you've been to a Pampered Chef party. Because all of their shit is awesome. ALL OF THEIR SHIT IS AWESOME.
When it starts and they do demonstrations, at first you're a total non-believer, like, pshhh whatever, I know how to cook with the same tools that I've been using for decades because that's the kind my mom and my grandma used to use and they work just fine; I don't need any of your newfangled culinary sorcery. But after awhile (and you don't even really feel it start to happen), you become mesmerized and find yourself whispering to the person next to you:
Did you fucking see that? They just baked a cake in 10 minutes. In the microwave. In the goddamn microwave.
And then they pass around the catalogs that are filled with so much cool shit that you never even knew you needed:
A mango slicer?! Omg, I could totally use one of those even though I'm allergic to mangoes. I know exactly which drawer I would keep it in too!
Holy shit!!! It's a whole collection! A mango slicer, an apple wedger (and corer included!), and another one specifically designed for pineapple! This is perfect for my OCD! It's like they know me.
Oh wow! A brownie pan? It automatically makes the brownies into squares, yo. You don't have to cut them and get the crumbs all over! Holy shit, I bet you could use it to make cornbread and mini-cakes, too. It's a total multi-tasker.
So it continues, on and on, through the whole catalog, until you have a list of shit you want to buy that's longer than your fucking bucket list. And then, the challenge begins. Because you obviously can't buy all of the awesomeness that you want to because surviving life makes you use your money for stupid shit like paying bills, not buying stuff that will help guide you into culinary greatness. It's like life doesn't even want you to achieve the goals you never even knew you had.
So the choice-making starts. And it's like Sophie's Choice. Or deciding who to vote off the island. Or putting all of the stuff you want to buy into the glass bowl for The Reaping.
And eventually you leave the party glad for the gems you were able to get, but saddened and somehow broken by what you had to walk away from. And you tell yourself, It's ok, you didn't really need those two extra pie crust shields. And the canister that automatically sifts the confectioner's sugar onto the pastries of deliciousness would've been too much. Where would you have put it anyway? ... and then as you get into your car you realize where you would've put it, and you put your head in your hands and sigh, In the fucking cabinet by the stove, that's where.
When it starts and they do demonstrations, at first you're a total non-believer, like, pshhh whatever, I know how to cook with the same tools that I've been using for decades because that's the kind my mom and my grandma used to use and they work just fine; I don't need any of your newfangled culinary sorcery. But after awhile (and you don't even really feel it start to happen), you become mesmerized and find yourself whispering to the person next to you:
Did you fucking see that? They just baked a cake in 10 minutes. In the microwave. In the goddamn microwave.
And then they pass around the catalogs that are filled with so much cool shit that you never even knew you needed:
A mango slicer?! Omg, I could totally use one of those even though I'm allergic to mangoes. I know exactly which drawer I would keep it in too!
Holy shit!!! It's a whole collection! A mango slicer, an apple wedger (and corer included!), and another one specifically designed for pineapple! This is perfect for my OCD! It's like they know me.
Oh wow! A brownie pan? It automatically makes the brownies into squares, yo. You don't have to cut them and get the crumbs all over! Holy shit, I bet you could use it to make cornbread and mini-cakes, too. It's a total multi-tasker.
So it continues, on and on, through the whole catalog, until you have a list of shit you want to buy that's longer than your fucking bucket list. And then, the challenge begins. Because you obviously can't buy all of the awesomeness that you want to because surviving life makes you use your money for stupid shit like paying bills, not buying stuff that will help guide you into culinary greatness. It's like life doesn't even want you to achieve the goals you never even knew you had.
So the choice-making starts. And it's like Sophie's Choice. Or deciding who to vote off the island. Or putting all of the stuff you want to buy into the glass bowl for The Reaping.
And eventually you leave the party glad for the gems you were able to get, but saddened and somehow broken by what you had to walk away from. And you tell yourself, It's ok, you didn't really need those two extra pie crust shields. And the canister that automatically sifts the confectioner's sugar onto the pastries of deliciousness would've been too much. Where would you have put it anyway? ... and then as you get into your car you realize where you would've put it, and you put your head in your hands and sigh, In the fucking cabinet by the stove, that's where.
Friday, March 21, 2014
I Didn't Get Stabbed
So I'm just gonna start off this post by saying that if you're easily offended by cleavage and bras for some reason, then you should probably stop reading right now. Because the shit's about to get real here. But all of my fellow large-breasted homegirls out there will completely understand when I say that my cleavage is like a goddamn cavern. Sometimes, I find all kinds of shit in there. Crumbs, bits of paper when I clean out the shredder, confetti, and on a windy day, the occasional leaf. And today at work I found a paper clip that had somehow fallen into the depths. This was a new one for me, I've never found paperclips in my cleavage before, and I gotta tell you, even I am a little bit stumped as to how it got there. I don't remember a shower of office supplies, and if someone was flinging them across the office, I think I would remember paperclips flying at me like ninja stars. But hey, who knows, right?
All I know is that halfway through the day, I felt the piercing and pinching start, and I figured that my underwire had escaped its fabricy confines and was being an asshole and trying to murder me by stabbing me in the chest. Which has happened before. I have the scars to prove it. Because that's the real cleavage life. It's the secret that Victoria never talks about. So I had to excuse myself and go to the restroom. Because you just can't wrestle your underwire in public, people. It's frowned upon. But as it turns out, my underwire had not staged a mutiny and was still holding the fort, so to speak. It was a paperclip, yo. In my cleavage. Because weird shit is the fucking story of my life.
All I know is that halfway through the day, I felt the piercing and pinching start, and I figured that my underwire had escaped its fabricy confines and was being an asshole and trying to murder me by stabbing me in the chest. Which has happened before. I have the scars to prove it. Because that's the real cleavage life. It's the secret that Victoria never talks about. So I had to excuse myself and go to the restroom. Because you just can't wrestle your underwire in public, people. It's frowned upon. But as it turns out, my underwire had not staged a mutiny and was still holding the fort, so to speak. It was a paperclip, yo. In my cleavage. Because weird shit is the fucking story of my life.
Friday, March 14, 2014
There Was Blood. A Lot Of Blood.
Earlier today:
Me: hey, do you think I need stitches?
Mom: are you kidding me right now? what the fuck did you do?
Me: sliced my finger
Mom: with what?
Me: razor blade
Mom: shit. what the hell were you doing?
Me: shaving my legs
Mom: so how the hell did you manage to slice your finger?
Me: well, I was trying to take care of the blade and dry it real good
Mom: the fuck?
Me: you know, so that it'll last longer
Mom: you know those are disposable blades?
Me: um, yeah, but you know, waste not want not
Mom: so for a two-dollar razor you made yourself bleed?
Me: well, when you put it that way it makes me sound ridiculous
Mom: uh huh
Me: so?
Mom: what?
Me: do you think I need stitches?
Mom: um. no. that doesn't need stitches. that is a glorified paper cut.
Me: what the hell are you talking about?! do you know how much that shit bled? a lot, dude. I had to hold my hand above my head and everything.
Mom: uh huh
Me: and then I flushed out the wound and the bitch still bled, and then I disinfected it, and it bled even more
Mom: uh huh
Me: seriously, dude
Mom: uh huh. so what you need there is a band-aid. and some neosporin
Me: dude, we've been through this. I'm allergic.
Mom: oh yeah that's right
Me: so?
Mom: what?
Me: what do you think I should do?
Mom: um, nothing dude, it's really not that bad
Later in the day
Me: shit
Mom: what?
Me: I was putting on the seatbelt and the wound popped open again
Mom: wound?
Me: yes, wound
Mom: that's not a wound. it's more like a minor cut
Me: it hurts, it's bleeding. it's a wound
Mom: uh huh
Later that evening:
Me: dammit!
Mom: what the hell are you doing to yourself?
Me: it's not my fault!
Mom: what?
Me: I sneezed. and the force of my sneeze popped it open again
Mom: the fuck?
Me: my sneezes are violent, dude
Mom: I don't even know what to say to you right now
Me: i'm bleeding, yo
Mom: let me see ... dude, there is one drop of blood coming out of that paper cut
Me: wound
Mom: ... (silence) ...
Me: there is a drop of blood seeping out of my wound
Mom: and I couldn't bref
Me: hey, do you think I need stitches?
Mom: are you kidding me right now? what the fuck did you do?
Me: sliced my finger
Mom: with what?
Me: razor blade
Mom: shit. what the hell were you doing?
Me: shaving my legs
Mom: so how the hell did you manage to slice your finger?
Me: well, I was trying to take care of the blade and dry it real good
Mom: the fuck?
Me: you know, so that it'll last longer
Mom: you know those are disposable blades?
Me: um, yeah, but you know, waste not want not
Mom: so for a two-dollar razor you made yourself bleed?
Me: well, when you put it that way it makes me sound ridiculous
Mom: uh huh
Me: so?
Mom: what?
Me: do you think I need stitches?
Mom: um. no. that doesn't need stitches. that is a glorified paper cut.
Me: what the hell are you talking about?! do you know how much that shit bled? a lot, dude. I had to hold my hand above my head and everything.
Mom: uh huh
Me: and then I flushed out the wound and the bitch still bled, and then I disinfected it, and it bled even more
Mom: uh huh
Me: seriously, dude
Mom: uh huh. so what you need there is a band-aid. and some neosporin
Me: dude, we've been through this. I'm allergic.
Mom: oh yeah that's right
Me: so?
Mom: what?
Me: what do you think I should do?
Mom: um, nothing dude, it's really not that bad
Later in the day
Me: shit
Mom: what?
Me: I was putting on the seatbelt and the wound popped open again
Mom: wound?
Me: yes, wound
Mom: that's not a wound. it's more like a minor cut
Me: it hurts, it's bleeding. it's a wound
Mom: uh huh
Later that evening:
Me: dammit!
Mom: what the hell are you doing to yourself?
Me: it's not my fault!
Mom: what?
Me: I sneezed. and the force of my sneeze popped it open again
Mom: the fuck?
Me: my sneezes are violent, dude
Mom: I don't even know what to say to you right now
Me: i'm bleeding, yo
Mom: let me see ... dude, there is one drop of blood coming out of that paper cut
Me: wound
Mom: ... (silence) ...
Me: there is a drop of blood seeping out of my wound
Mom: and I couldn't bref
Friday, March 7, 2014
It's Spring Break, Charlie Brown
When I was a kid, and in my teens, and in college, I always assumed that Spring Break was for us kids. Negative. Spring break is for the grown-ups. I understand that, now. Because Linus explained it to me, and at the end he said, "So you see, Charlie Brown ... Spring Break was not created for the children. It was made for the adults that are responsible for educating the children. And it was made in the middle of the Spring semester to keep them from losing their shit."
And so, as some college kid takes off to a beach somewhere to go surfing with Jaws, I will be honoring the true spirit and meaning of Spring Break with NyQuil shooters and a quiet nod to the Spring Break Gods.
And so, as some college kid takes off to a beach somewhere to go surfing with Jaws, I will be honoring the true spirit and meaning of Spring Break with NyQuil shooters and a quiet nod to the Spring Break Gods.
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