Warning: Contains graphic subject matter. If you are a weenie, do not read any further.
If you are a man (or close to one, anyway), here's what I want you to do. Get something kind of big and heavy, like a dumbbell or a bowling ball, and strike yourself repeated in the belly with it. Not in your stomach, exactly. Lower down, near your pelvic bone. Do this repeatedly for several days. Occasionally, stab yourself on either side of the belly with something really sharp, like a bamboo skewer or an ice pick. And though you may be bleeding quite a bit, try really hard not to get any blood on your clothes.
Congratulations. Now you understand a small part of what it is to be a woman.
A few weeks ago, I promised you that we would have a discussion of periods sometime soon. Well, today is your lucky day, because I am finally in the mood to talk about this. (If you have guessed that "in the mood" means I am having my period, then yes, you are very clever. And you also better not fuck with me for the next several days.) So, where shall we start?
First off, the physical discomfort. Not all women hurt as much as I described above, of course. Some hurt much more. A few lucky ones escape the pain all together, but the rest of us think they are bitches. Basically, it's like a giant hand has pushed itself through the wall of your abdomen, grabbed your innards, and is twisting them as hard as it can. Fun, right? And then your back aches. And your breasts hurt and swell for several days, and when you take your bra off, they feel like someone has tied weights to them, dragging them painfully downwards. After that, they shrink and stop hurting, but they just sort of hang there like half filled-water balloons, very sad and depressed looking. And you feel as bloated as a 4 day old corpse and none of your pants fit right.
And then of course there is the dreaded PMS. Though why it is called "Pre-Menstrual Syndrome" I have never really understood, because it is not just a "pre" thing. It's should just be called "Menstrual Syndrome" or "Don't Fuck With Me Syndrome." DFWMS. Has a much better ring to it, I think. I'm sure you men think you know all about PMS. "Oh, yes," you are probably thinking to yourself right now, "that's when my girlfriend/wife gets mad at me for no reason and yells about how we have run out of strawberry ice cream." How wrong you are. Sure, we might yell or cry or be sulky. But only for good reason. And running out of strawberry ice cream is a damn good reason. And it's not our fault. Our bodies are swirling masses of hormones that make us act that way. We can't help it! Basically, if you don't want to spend several days being miserable, here is some advice for you: The woman is always right. Especially when she is in pain due to an evolutionary system designed to bear YOUR children! So go get the damn ice cream, bring her a glass of cold water, do the dishes, whatever she wants you to do. Otherwise you might find out what it's like to sing soprano, if you know what I mean.
And here's a tip for you. We don't like those jokes you guys like to make about "something that bleeds for a week." Not funny. Not even remotely. If you would like to see something bleeding for a week, we would be glad to take a very dull knife to some of your very sensitive skin.
Of course, when we are having our periods, we want to eat junk food. It makes us feel better, emotionally. The salt and sugar and soda, though, only make us feel more bloated, thereby adding to our discomfort. And did you know that many women have upset stomachs during their periods? Even more fun! Because it's not messy enough without that.
Speaking of messes, imagine trying to get dressed. What if there's a leak? You can't wear anything light colored, just in case. And you can't wear anything tight around your stomach. Or around your crotch. Or, for that matter, your boobs. Basically, you feel like wearing nothing but ratty old sweat pants and oversized T-shirts for a week. But of course, that is not socially acceptable.
Also, guys, another tip: We probably don't want to have sex with you when we are having our period. Yes, yes, I know, you've read those studies that say that orgasms help relieve pain, blah blah blah. So what? To want to have sex, we usually have to feel sexy, and I can think of few things quiet as not-sexy as feeling like your uterus hates you and is deliberately ruining your life. So sure, offer us a back rub, a foot rub, a heating pad, lots of drugs, whatever. But please don't try to put the moves on us. Unless we indicate that we would like the moves to be put on us, in which case you damn well better comply (see singing soprano threat, above).
Basically, periods are pretty miserable. If you don't want us to make you miserable, too, make sure you bring us our ice cream, lay in a store of good movies for us, and if we send you to the store to buy tampons, don't fucking complain about it, just do it. Because you do not want to piss the hormones off.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Monday, June 22, 2009
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Douches Behind The Wheel
Today's topic is: Tips for Drivers or, How to Not be a Road Douche.
Yes, I know, I have ranted and raved about bad drivers a million times before. Today, however, we are going to do something different. Instead of just complaining about bad drivers, I am actually going to teach them how to become good drivers. So pay close attention. As Dave Barry says, "the one thing that unites all human beings, regardless of age, gender, religion, or ethnic background, is that, deep inside, we all believe we are above average drivers." But that does not mean that we all actually are above average drivers. In fact, the very meaning of the word "average" would preclude that possibility. As in everything else, most people are average, with some below and some above. I, of course, am one of the ones above, which is what makes me qualified to deliver this very important public service announcement.
#1: First off, let's talk about the Speeder. I know, everyone loves to speed. I love to speed! Most speed limits are far too low, and it's fun to go fast, okay, we all get it. However, there is a fine line between merely going a little fast and being a road douche. Going a little fast means you are going ten to fifteen miles per hour over the speed limit, but still doing it safely. You're not weaving in and out of traffic, trying to pass every car in sight. You're not tailgating people. You're still using your turn signal. You slow down when appropriate. In other words, you're being a courteous driver who happens to be going a little fast. Fine. If you're a road douche, on the other hand, you're just being a jackass. You're swerving in and out of traffic, across multiple lanes, never using a turn signal. You're tailgating any car that you can't pass, sometimes honking at or flipping off the other driver for not accommodating your doucheishness. You speed even in bad weather, turning yourself into an accident just waiting to happen. Stop being such a jackass when you speed. Slow down a bit, stop tailgating people, and quit speeding in the rain. If speeding is that important to you, stop driving on the road and go join NASCAR. Then nobody will care if you cause an accident. In fact, it would probably make a lot of people happy. Especially if you die in a giant gasoline-fueled fireball.
#2: Of course, the other side of this coin is the Slow Driver. I mean, come on. No one drives exactly at the speed limit unless there is a cop in the immediate vicinity, you are in a school zone, or you're an ancient person who is half blind and probably shouldn't be driving anyway. Please, stop driving so slowly. It pisses everyone off. Especially on one lane roads where no one can pass you. You're lucky you haven't been shot yet. Come on, granny, hit the gas pedal. It's not that hard.
#3: Next, I want to address the issue of Red Light Runners. Unlike with a little bit of speeding, there is no excuse for this. You can see the light, you can see that it has changed color. Everyone, even 3 year old children, know that "RED" means "STOP." I'm sure you played "Red Light, Green Light" as a child, so you had that knowledge drummed into your head then. Why have you forgotten it in the intervening years? It's not that hard. When other people have a green light and want to drive but can't because you are blocking the intersection, it makes them angry, and it makes you a very big road douche. I fully support the red light cameras that have been installed all over the city. I just wish there were more of them. Or, even better, red light tire spikes that would pop out of the ground as soon as the light changed. That way, anyone who was running the light would have their car ruined. I bet after that was reported in the news a few times, people would get the message. STOP RUNNING RED LIGHTS! If you don't want to obey traffic signals, move to some Third World country where there are no traffic signals. And then maybe you will catch malaria and die, and that will solve everyone's problems.
#4: Next, we will discuss the epitome of road doucheishness: The Loud Crappy Music Playing Douche. Yes, we know, you love your music. You think it's the best music ever, that the person who created it is a genius that should have a national holiday named after them, that you plan to name your first born child after them and dance to this music at the ghetto wedding you one day might have. That's all fine and well and good. We all have music we love. However, most of us do not inflict that music in a painful way on other people. The road douche, however, doesn't care. By the FSM, you are going to jam, and it doesn't matter if nobody else wants to jam. It's not your fault they are driving so close to you! Or that your speakers have enough bass output to knock the Earth off its orbit. You just want to listen to your music, dammit! Because it is so damn cool! But guess what! Nobody wants to listen to your music, whether it is hardcore gansta rap or Kenny Rogers ballads. If they wanted to listen to it, they would have already bought the CD. Turn down your damn stereo. If you must listen to music so loud that it makes your ears bleed, at least do everyone else a favor and do it through a pair of headphones. That way, the only one to suffer hearing loss will be you. Also, no one likes your sub woofer. Get rid of it.
5: Get off your damn cell phone and drive. I don't care if you have a Bluetooth. You still can't concentrate on the road if you are on the damn phone. Whatever the hell you are talking about is not that important, believe me.
6: If you are in a lane that has a sign that says "Lane End in X Feet," please move over immediately. There is no reason to wait until the very last minute and then force your way into the other lane. Forewarned is forearmed, after all. On the other hand, if you are in a lane that another lane has to merge into, let cars merge. There is no reason to be a dick and block people. They can't help the fact that the lane is disappearing.
7: Always use your damn turn signal when you want to turn or change lanes. And remember to turn it off after you are done! No one wants to watch your turn signal blink blink blink blink forever.
8: When you are parking, don't try to squeeze into a spot that is too small for your car. There are probably plenty of spaces, even if some of them are a little further away. Oh well. You could probably use the exercise. Also, don't park in two spots. I know, you do that because you don't want someone to park next to you and scratch your car on accident. But you know what? Parking like that only encourages pissed off people to key your car. Also, when you are parking, if there are people behind you, don't pull forward and then attempt to back into the space. Yes, I know, it makes it easier for you to get out when you leave. But everyone who has to wait while you very slowly back into the spot is planning on beating you to death as soon as you get out of your car.
There are lots more tips I could offer, I'm sure, but this is already getting long enough, so I am going to close with the most relevant piece of advice. Basically, don't be a road douche. You are not the only driver out there. The definition of the road douche is someone who doesn't care about anyone else on the road. Don't do that. Please. Pay attention, drive safely, and turn down your goddamn music. Otherwise, I am going to have to shoot you with the roof-mounted rocket launchers on my grannymobile.
Yes, I know, I have ranted and raved about bad drivers a million times before. Today, however, we are going to do something different. Instead of just complaining about bad drivers, I am actually going to teach them how to become good drivers. So pay close attention. As Dave Barry says, "the one thing that unites all human beings, regardless of age, gender, religion, or ethnic background, is that, deep inside, we all believe we are above average drivers." But that does not mean that we all actually are above average drivers. In fact, the very meaning of the word "average" would preclude that possibility. As in everything else, most people are average, with some below and some above. I, of course, am one of the ones above, which is what makes me qualified to deliver this very important public service announcement.
#1: First off, let's talk about the Speeder. I know, everyone loves to speed. I love to speed! Most speed limits are far too low, and it's fun to go fast, okay, we all get it. However, there is a fine line between merely going a little fast and being a road douche. Going a little fast means you are going ten to fifteen miles per hour over the speed limit, but still doing it safely. You're not weaving in and out of traffic, trying to pass every car in sight. You're not tailgating people. You're still using your turn signal. You slow down when appropriate. In other words, you're being a courteous driver who happens to be going a little fast. Fine. If you're a road douche, on the other hand, you're just being a jackass. You're swerving in and out of traffic, across multiple lanes, never using a turn signal. You're tailgating any car that you can't pass, sometimes honking at or flipping off the other driver for not accommodating your doucheishness. You speed even in bad weather, turning yourself into an accident just waiting to happen. Stop being such a jackass when you speed. Slow down a bit, stop tailgating people, and quit speeding in the rain. If speeding is that important to you, stop driving on the road and go join NASCAR. Then nobody will care if you cause an accident. In fact, it would probably make a lot of people happy. Especially if you die in a giant gasoline-fueled fireball.
#2: Of course, the other side of this coin is the Slow Driver. I mean, come on. No one drives exactly at the speed limit unless there is a cop in the immediate vicinity, you are in a school zone, or you're an ancient person who is half blind and probably shouldn't be driving anyway. Please, stop driving so slowly. It pisses everyone off. Especially on one lane roads where no one can pass you. You're lucky you haven't been shot yet. Come on, granny, hit the gas pedal. It's not that hard.
#3: Next, I want to address the issue of Red Light Runners. Unlike with a little bit of speeding, there is no excuse for this. You can see the light, you can see that it has changed color. Everyone, even 3 year old children, know that "RED" means "STOP." I'm sure you played "Red Light, Green Light" as a child, so you had that knowledge drummed into your head then. Why have you forgotten it in the intervening years? It's not that hard. When other people have a green light and want to drive but can't because you are blocking the intersection, it makes them angry, and it makes you a very big road douche. I fully support the red light cameras that have been installed all over the city. I just wish there were more of them. Or, even better, red light tire spikes that would pop out of the ground as soon as the light changed. That way, anyone who was running the light would have their car ruined. I bet after that was reported in the news a few times, people would get the message. STOP RUNNING RED LIGHTS! If you don't want to obey traffic signals, move to some Third World country where there are no traffic signals. And then maybe you will catch malaria and die, and that will solve everyone's problems.
#4: Next, we will discuss the epitome of road doucheishness: The Loud Crappy Music Playing Douche. Yes, we know, you love your music. You think it's the best music ever, that the person who created it is a genius that should have a national holiday named after them, that you plan to name your first born child after them and dance to this music at the ghetto wedding you one day might have. That's all fine and well and good. We all have music we love. However, most of us do not inflict that music in a painful way on other people. The road douche, however, doesn't care. By the FSM, you are going to jam, and it doesn't matter if nobody else wants to jam. It's not your fault they are driving so close to you! Or that your speakers have enough bass output to knock the Earth off its orbit. You just want to listen to your music, dammit! Because it is so damn cool! But guess what! Nobody wants to listen to your music, whether it is hardcore gansta rap or Kenny Rogers ballads. If they wanted to listen to it, they would have already bought the CD. Turn down your damn stereo. If you must listen to music so loud that it makes your ears bleed, at least do everyone else a favor and do it through a pair of headphones. That way, the only one to suffer hearing loss will be you. Also, no one likes your sub woofer. Get rid of it.
5: Get off your damn cell phone and drive. I don't care if you have a Bluetooth. You still can't concentrate on the road if you are on the damn phone. Whatever the hell you are talking about is not that important, believe me.
6: If you are in a lane that has a sign that says "Lane End in X Feet," please move over immediately. There is no reason to wait until the very last minute and then force your way into the other lane. Forewarned is forearmed, after all. On the other hand, if you are in a lane that another lane has to merge into, let cars merge. There is no reason to be a dick and block people. They can't help the fact that the lane is disappearing.
7: Always use your damn turn signal when you want to turn or change lanes. And remember to turn it off after you are done! No one wants to watch your turn signal blink blink blink blink forever.
8: When you are parking, don't try to squeeze into a spot that is too small for your car. There are probably plenty of spaces, even if some of them are a little further away. Oh well. You could probably use the exercise. Also, don't park in two spots. I know, you do that because you don't want someone to park next to you and scratch your car on accident. But you know what? Parking like that only encourages pissed off people to key your car. Also, when you are parking, if there are people behind you, don't pull forward and then attempt to back into the space. Yes, I know, it makes it easier for you to get out when you leave. But everyone who has to wait while you very slowly back into the spot is planning on beating you to death as soon as you get out of your car.
There are lots more tips I could offer, I'm sure, but this is already getting long enough, so I am going to close with the most relevant piece of advice. Basically, don't be a road douche. You are not the only driver out there. The definition of the road douche is someone who doesn't care about anyone else on the road. Don't do that. Please. Pay attention, drive safely, and turn down your goddamn music. Otherwise, I am going to have to shoot you with the roof-mounted rocket launchers on my grannymobile.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Run Away!
So I was at lunch yesterday with my family--the husband, the kid, the semi-psycho aunts--at the Cheesecake Factory. I don't much care for the food, but they have really good desserts there. I had a slice of Chocolate Ecstasy cake, and let me tell you, the name is entirely apropos. Chocolate cake, chocolate frosting, with raspberry filling. Yum.
So anyways, there we were, placing our order at the counter. I happened to be wearing this shirt (purchased from Jinx):
It is, obviously, the Killer Rabbit from Monty Python and the Holy Grail, the one from whom one should RUN AWAY!! But the people behind the counter had apparently never seen that movie, because I could hear them whispering about it. Finally, one of them asked me what it was, and I told her. But from the back, one of the Spanish speaking workers called out, "Estas el Chupacabra!"
That's right, a chupacabra. Which, if you've never heard of it before, is a contemporary mythical animal, like Big Foot or the Loch Ness Monster. Chupacabra is a Spanish word meaning "goat sucker" because the chupacabra apparently likes to suck the blood out of livestock, especially goats.
Does that bunny look like a creature that would be happy sucking goat blood? No, I don't think so. It doesn't want the blood of livestock, it wants the blood of grown men who disturb it. Tim the Enchanter specifically says that it has nasty big pointy teeth and a vicious streak a mile wide. If I was a Killer Bunny, I would certainly not be content with the blood of animals. I would decapitate everyone who came within flying distance of me.
But, as we all know, I am kind of crazy. Still, my shirt was insulted. And one of these days, that woman is going to find herself confronted by a white rabbit with blood-stained fur. And then hopefully she will remember the advice on my shirt.
So anyways, there we were, placing our order at the counter. I happened to be wearing this shirt (purchased from Jinx):
It is, obviously, the Killer Rabbit from Monty Python and the Holy Grail, the one from whom one should RUN AWAY!! But the people behind the counter had apparently never seen that movie, because I could hear them whispering about it. Finally, one of them asked me what it was, and I told her. But from the back, one of the Spanish speaking workers called out, "Estas el Chupacabra!"
That's right, a chupacabra. Which, if you've never heard of it before, is a contemporary mythical animal, like Big Foot or the Loch Ness Monster. Chupacabra is a Spanish word meaning "goat sucker" because the chupacabra apparently likes to suck the blood out of livestock, especially goats.
Does that bunny look like a creature that would be happy sucking goat blood? No, I don't think so. It doesn't want the blood of livestock, it wants the blood of grown men who disturb it. Tim the Enchanter specifically says that it has nasty big pointy teeth and a vicious streak a mile wide. If I was a Killer Bunny, I would certainly not be content with the blood of animals. I would decapitate everyone who came within flying distance of me.
But, as we all know, I am kind of crazy. Still, my shirt was insulted. And one of these days, that woman is going to find herself confronted by a white rabbit with blood-stained fur. And then hopefully she will remember the advice on my shirt.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
If This Was A Sport, I Would Definitely Watch The Olympics
You should definitely watch (and possibly enjoy) this video. Though I would not suggest watching it at work. I would say more, but I don't think it requires much explanation. If you would like more explanation, please visit DoubleX.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
That Time of the Month
Ahh, the period. The female menstrual cycle, not the punctuation mark. I am not going to say much on it at this time, though I may at a later date (like, one where I am dying of cramps and sobbing all over my keyboard) but I wanted to share this lovely illustration, which I found on The Frisky. I'm sure you women out there know exactly how this is. And men, study it carefully. Take notes. Imprint it on your corneas. It might help you survive one day.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Lord, Save Me From Your Followers
Hello, my minions. I hope you have all been doing wonderful things, like shoving old ladies in front of buses and stomping on federally protected frogs. But now it is time for another installment of "Everything In The World Bugs Me."
I had some funny stories I was going to tell you, like the one about how I insulted all the workers at one of my favorite Mexican restaurants, by accidentally implying that they were all illegal immigrants. Or about how my daughter, looking at her baby book, started crying; when questioned as to why she was crying, she replied, "Because I was so cute!" Instead of these stories, though, I am going to tell you a much different one. About the horror I suffered through recently. A horror called: Attending One's Brother's High School Graduation Ceremony.
Yes, my youngest brother graduated from high school. Makes me feel kinda old, really, considering that I graduated 11 years ago, and I distinctly remember changing his diapers when he was a baby, and once dropping him on his head. But whatever. He's my brother, I love him, so of course I planned to attend the--dare I call them this--festivities. Even though the invitation, when it arrived in the mail, had my husband's name wrong on the envelope. And the ceremony was being held in a very far away evil place called Rio Rancho. That was all okay.
So I prepared. I took the day off work. I found a semi-appropriate outfit (gray slacks, black shirt, and--hey, I gotta be me--my totally rocking red Converse). I bought a card and stuffed a $20 in it. I printed a map and filled my gas tank, to be sure that I would reach my destination. And off I went.
I should have known it was going too well. The place where the ceremony was to be held, a big "center" where they have things like hockey games and Weird Al concerts, is veeeeery far away from my house, even though it is still considered as part of the same metro area. So it would have taken me at least 45 minutes to get there anyway. But of course, I got lost. And why shouldn't I? I never go up to Rio Rancho. There is nothing there that is worth that long ass drive. So I was all flustered and rushed by the time I arrived, with only 5 minutes to spare.
I really hate feeling flustered and rushed. But yesterday, I barely had any time to notice that, because almost as soon as I sat down, the graduates started filling in. All 250+ of them. So that took a while. And then all the teachers and administrators and priests and whatnot.
Yes, priests. Because my poor brother, like every one of us siblings, was subjected to a Catholic education. And, if I may say so (and of course I can), a Catholic education totally sucks ass. Not the school or the classes or anything, but the fact that one, you have to wear a uniform (which in my case consisted of a skirt--a skirt!! I NEVER wear skirts if I can help it--and a polo shirt), two, you have to go to church at school, all the freaking time, and three, my school was all girls. Which TOTALLY blew. But anyways.
So there we were, watching everyone walk in. And then we had to rise to pray. And then we sat back down. And then we had to get up to pray again. And then to sing a holy song. And then there was some more prayer. And then, the absolute highlight of the ceremony--the keynote speech, given by the archbishop. Yay! I was prepared for some boring drivel, something about hoping and praying the graduates go out to lead good Christian lives, blah blah blah. What we got was much different.
Apparently, the archbishop is on a crusade against: THE UNBELIEVERS. Yes. That is what the entire speech, all 20 minutes of it, was about: the evils of atheism and how the archbishop really really really hoped that none of the graduates would be seduced by the wonderful-seeming atheist life, only to discover that it is horrible and unfulfilling and makes you very sad.
Well, hell. Not only did I find that speech boring, but insulting as well. Now, I don't know that I would completely consider myself an atheist--I am not going to discount the possibility that there is SOMETHING out there. However, I can say with complete assurance that that something is not named Yahweh or God. I also know that it does not give a shit whether I eat meat on Fridays or masturbate or drink alcohol, or anything of the other myriad things that various religions forbid their followers from doing. To me, religions are not about divine power, they are about the earthly power being wielded by their leaders. As far as I am concerned, as long as you follow the golden rule--Do unto others as you would have them do unto you--you're good. Anything else is ridiculous.
So anyways. The archbishop went on and on about the horrors ultimately experienced by atheists, about how it might seem nice to sleep late on Sunday mornings rather than getting up and going to church, but that eventually atheist will become lonely and friendless and lose all their teeth and die alone in their apartment and then get eaten by their pet cats. Or something. He also decried Christopher Hitchens' book God Is Not Great, which I had just finished reading the week before and thought was fascinating and very true.
And then he said something to the effect of "And atheists become murderers and child rapists."
My response to that, of course, was, "Um, I thought that was the priests in your church?"
Anyways. So you can see how much fun I had. The rest of the ceremony was pretty standard, except for the praying. And then, it was finally OVER!! I would have thanked God, if only I believed in him.
I had some funny stories I was going to tell you, like the one about how I insulted all the workers at one of my favorite Mexican restaurants, by accidentally implying that they were all illegal immigrants. Or about how my daughter, looking at her baby book, started crying; when questioned as to why she was crying, she replied, "Because I was so cute!" Instead of these stories, though, I am going to tell you a much different one. About the horror I suffered through recently. A horror called: Attending One's Brother's High School Graduation Ceremony.
Yes, my youngest brother graduated from high school. Makes me feel kinda old, really, considering that I graduated 11 years ago, and I distinctly remember changing his diapers when he was a baby, and once dropping him on his head. But whatever. He's my brother, I love him, so of course I planned to attend the--dare I call them this--festivities. Even though the invitation, when it arrived in the mail, had my husband's name wrong on the envelope. And the ceremony was being held in a very far away evil place called Rio Rancho. That was all okay.
So I prepared. I took the day off work. I found a semi-appropriate outfit (gray slacks, black shirt, and--hey, I gotta be me--my totally rocking red Converse). I bought a card and stuffed a $20 in it. I printed a map and filled my gas tank, to be sure that I would reach my destination. And off I went.
I should have known it was going too well. The place where the ceremony was to be held, a big "center" where they have things like hockey games and Weird Al concerts, is veeeeery far away from my house, even though it is still considered as part of the same metro area. So it would have taken me at least 45 minutes to get there anyway. But of course, I got lost. And why shouldn't I? I never go up to Rio Rancho. There is nothing there that is worth that long ass drive. So I was all flustered and rushed by the time I arrived, with only 5 minutes to spare.
I really hate feeling flustered and rushed. But yesterday, I barely had any time to notice that, because almost as soon as I sat down, the graduates started filling in. All 250+ of them. So that took a while. And then all the teachers and administrators and priests and whatnot.
Yes, priests. Because my poor brother, like every one of us siblings, was subjected to a Catholic education. And, if I may say so (and of course I can), a Catholic education totally sucks ass. Not the school or the classes or anything, but the fact that one, you have to wear a uniform (which in my case consisted of a skirt--a skirt!! I NEVER wear skirts if I can help it--and a polo shirt), two, you have to go to church at school, all the freaking time, and three, my school was all girls. Which TOTALLY blew. But anyways.
So there we were, watching everyone walk in. And then we had to rise to pray. And then we sat back down. And then we had to get up to pray again. And then to sing a holy song. And then there was some more prayer. And then, the absolute highlight of the ceremony--the keynote speech, given by the archbishop. Yay! I was prepared for some boring drivel, something about hoping and praying the graduates go out to lead good Christian lives, blah blah blah. What we got was much different.
Apparently, the archbishop is on a crusade against: THE UNBELIEVERS. Yes. That is what the entire speech, all 20 minutes of it, was about: the evils of atheism and how the archbishop really really really hoped that none of the graduates would be seduced by the wonderful-seeming atheist life, only to discover that it is horrible and unfulfilling and makes you very sad.
Well, hell. Not only did I find that speech boring, but insulting as well. Now, I don't know that I would completely consider myself an atheist--I am not going to discount the possibility that there is SOMETHING out there. However, I can say with complete assurance that that something is not named Yahweh or God. I also know that it does not give a shit whether I eat meat on Fridays or masturbate or drink alcohol, or anything of the other myriad things that various religions forbid their followers from doing. To me, religions are not about divine power, they are about the earthly power being wielded by their leaders. As far as I am concerned, as long as you follow the golden rule--Do unto others as you would have them do unto you--you're good. Anything else is ridiculous.
So anyways. The archbishop went on and on about the horrors ultimately experienced by atheists, about how it might seem nice to sleep late on Sunday mornings rather than getting up and going to church, but that eventually atheist will become lonely and friendless and lose all their teeth and die alone in their apartment and then get eaten by their pet cats. Or something. He also decried Christopher Hitchens' book God Is Not Great, which I had just finished reading the week before and thought was fascinating and very true.
And then he said something to the effect of "And atheists become murderers and child rapists."
My response to that, of course, was, "Um, I thought that was the priests in your church?"
Anyways. So you can see how much fun I had. The rest of the ceremony was pretty standard, except for the praying. And then, it was finally OVER!! I would have thanked God, if only I believed in him.
Friday, May 8, 2009
I Really Really Heart Star Trek
Star Trek absolutely fucking rocked!!!
Before you get any further, let me put a SPOILER ALERT here. Don't read the rest if you don't want to know what happens!
Now, onwards!
So it was really cool. It was exciting, funny, sad, finger-clenching cool. The two hours passed in the blink of an eye, and I would have happily sat through a much longer movie. There were great action sequences--Kirk and Spock kicking each others' asses on the the bridge of the Enterprise; Kirk, Sulu and a redshirt parachuting--from space!--down to a platform, where Sulu then engages in a kickass sword fight with a folding sword; the very beginning of the movie, involving the destruction of the USS Kelvin. There were lots of really funny parts, especially for Trekkies, who would understand the underlying humor in McCoy calling Spock a greenblooded hobgoblin, or telling him that he's out of his Vulcan mind. It was sad--Kirk's father died in the first 10 minutes of the movie, fighting the bad guys (evil Romulans with funky tattoos on their faces) so that his crew and his wife (giving birth in the shuttle to James Tiberius Kirk) could escape. Of course that made me cry. And then later, Vulcan was destroyed (let me repeat that: VULCAN WAS DESTROYED!!!!) and Amanda, Spock's mother, was one of the casualties.
So it was great. The plot device (the aforementioned evil time traveling Romulan changing the course of the future by going into the past) allowed the film to be true to the spirit of the the original Star Trek without having to slavishly follow its canon. And, though I was skeptical about that, it worked great. It was especially moving when young Kirk met old Spock from the future, who had been brought back in time by the Romulan.
I did have one issue. Kirk was supposed to have an older brother, George Samuel Kirk Jr, who died in the the original series episode "Operation: Annihilate!" But in the movie, there was no mention of Sam in the movie, not even a throwaway line saying that he was on another planet or anything. But that was my only quibble with the movie, and it is relatively minor.
There was a few people that I saw in costume. I, of course, was wearing my ears. They looked great! (Not really, but that's okay, they were fun to wear.)
So basically, Star Trek was super cool. You should go, immediately. Drop everything and head to the theatre right this minute!
Before you get any further, let me put a SPOILER ALERT here. Don't read the rest if you don't want to know what happens!
Now, onwards!
So it was really cool. It was exciting, funny, sad, finger-clenching cool. The two hours passed in the blink of an eye, and I would have happily sat through a much longer movie. There were great action sequences--Kirk and Spock kicking each others' asses on the the bridge of the Enterprise; Kirk, Sulu and a redshirt parachuting--from space!--down to a platform, where Sulu then engages in a kickass sword fight with a folding sword; the very beginning of the movie, involving the destruction of the USS Kelvin. There were lots of really funny parts, especially for Trekkies, who would understand the underlying humor in McCoy calling Spock a greenblooded hobgoblin, or telling him that he's out of his Vulcan mind. It was sad--Kirk's father died in the first 10 minutes of the movie, fighting the bad guys (evil Romulans with funky tattoos on their faces) so that his crew and his wife (giving birth in the shuttle to James Tiberius Kirk) could escape. Of course that made me cry. And then later, Vulcan was destroyed (let me repeat that: VULCAN WAS DESTROYED!!!!) and Amanda, Spock's mother, was one of the casualties.
So it was great. The plot device (the aforementioned evil time traveling Romulan changing the course of the future by going into the past) allowed the film to be true to the spirit of the the original Star Trek without having to slavishly follow its canon. And, though I was skeptical about that, it worked great. It was especially moving when young Kirk met old Spock from the future, who had been brought back in time by the Romulan.
I did have one issue. Kirk was supposed to have an older brother, George Samuel Kirk Jr, who died in the the original series episode "Operation: Annihilate!" But in the movie, there was no mention of Sam in the movie, not even a throwaway line saying that he was on another planet or anything. But that was my only quibble with the movie, and it is relatively minor.
There was a few people that I saw in costume. I, of course, was wearing my ears. They looked great! (Not really, but that's okay, they were fun to wear.)
So basically, Star Trek was super cool. You should go, immediately. Drop everything and head to the theatre right this minute!
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
I Heart Star Trek
So I was really excited the other day, when I got home and found my ears in the mailbox.
Not my real ears, of course. Those are firmly attached to the sides of my head, where they perform the vital functions of allowing me to hear, holding up my sunglasses, and providing a high speed expressway into my skull for bugs. No, no, I am talking about my Spock ears. Yes, I ordered some Spock ears online last week, and they finally arrived. I ordered them because I intend to wear them on Friday, when I go see the new Star Trek movie (cleverly named Star Trek). Because that is how I roll.
Yes, I love Star Trek. Unlike those people who feel uncomfortable with the name and prefer “Trekker,” I am a full fledged Trekkie, and proud of it. To me, saying that you are a “Trekker” is just a way of saying that you are ashamed of your love of Star Trek and trying to hide it behind a veneer of self deprecation. Whereas a Trekkie proudly embraces her geekness.
Yes, that is me. I am a geek. I know it, I accept it, I love it. I have the entire original Star Trek on DVD, as well as all the movies. I can quote lines from them. I own tons of Star Trek novels and dolls (or “action figures”). I have a Star Trek tattoo, for FSM’s sake.
I know some people wonder what the big deal is. What is it about this 40+ year old TV show that inspires such a devoted following? After all, you don't see people going to Green Acres conventions, or buying Gunsmoke action figures. What is it about Star Trek that makes it so special?
I can't answer for anyone else, of course, but I love it for several reasons. First off, is the simple quality of the shows. A terrible Star Trek episode (and there are many--yes, I am talking to you, "Spock's Brain"!) is much better than a good episode of a lot of the crap that is on TV. The stories are interesting, and the writing and acting are usually pretty good.
Secondly, the characters are just so perfect. They are real people, with insecurities and faults and wonderfully deep emotions. The arrogant, confident, swaggering captain, who cares for each member of his crew and will do everything in his power to keep them safe. The coolly, relentlessly logical science-answer-man, who nonetheless has a deep core of affection for his human friends. The self doubting doctor, who somehow always manages to find the answers and save the day. And then there is their interaction, as friends and crewmates. When Kirk risks his career to save Spock's life, I think we can all identify with that. We all hope we would have a friend that cared enough about us to do that. And though Spock and McCoy fight all the time, you know that underneath, they really care for each other.
I think the most attractive element of the show, though, is the wonderful vision of the future that it presents. Lots of science fiction shows a dystopian future: the planet ruined, humanity destroyed by war or disease or environmental catastrophe. Even the ones that look really nice usually have a rotten core, with evil dictators or mind-control or mad robots behind the scenes. Basically, the future never looks like someplace you would want to live. And then along comes Star Trek. In that future, humanity, instead of destroying itself with some sort of doomsday weapon, has become united. People are no longer judged by their race or sex, or hell, even by their species (Vulcans are people too, you know). Poverty and war and disease have been erased from Earth. And people flourish, spreading into space, exploring, ever onward. As Tennyson says in "Ulysses": "To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield."
So that is why I love Star Trek. And that is why I took off work Friday afternoon, to go see the new movie. I already have my tickets. And I've got my Spock ears, and a Star Trek themed shirt to wear. And I will be there, all geeked out and proud of it. I hope I'll see you there!
Not my real ears, of course. Those are firmly attached to the sides of my head, where they perform the vital functions of allowing me to hear, holding up my sunglasses, and providing a high speed expressway into my skull for bugs. No, no, I am talking about my Spock ears. Yes, I ordered some Spock ears online last week, and they finally arrived. I ordered them because I intend to wear them on Friday, when I go see the new Star Trek movie (cleverly named Star Trek). Because that is how I roll.
Yes, I love Star Trek. Unlike those people who feel uncomfortable with the name and prefer “Trekker,” I am a full fledged Trekkie, and proud of it. To me, saying that you are a “Trekker” is just a way of saying that you are ashamed of your love of Star Trek and trying to hide it behind a veneer of self deprecation. Whereas a Trekkie proudly embraces her geekness.
Yes, that is me. I am a geek. I know it, I accept it, I love it. I have the entire original Star Trek on DVD, as well as all the movies. I can quote lines from them. I own tons of Star Trek novels and dolls (or “action figures”). I have a Star Trek tattoo, for FSM’s sake.
I know some people wonder what the big deal is. What is it about this 40+ year old TV show that inspires such a devoted following? After all, you don't see people going to Green Acres conventions, or buying Gunsmoke action figures. What is it about Star Trek that makes it so special?
I can't answer for anyone else, of course, but I love it for several reasons. First off, is the simple quality of the shows. A terrible Star Trek episode (and there are many--yes, I am talking to you, "Spock's Brain"!) is much better than a good episode of a lot of the crap that is on TV. The stories are interesting, and the writing and acting are usually pretty good.
Secondly, the characters are just so perfect. They are real people, with insecurities and faults and wonderfully deep emotions. The arrogant, confident, swaggering captain, who cares for each member of his crew and will do everything in his power to keep them safe. The coolly, relentlessly logical science-answer-man, who nonetheless has a deep core of affection for his human friends. The self doubting doctor, who somehow always manages to find the answers and save the day. And then there is their interaction, as friends and crewmates. When Kirk risks his career to save Spock's life, I think we can all identify with that. We all hope we would have a friend that cared enough about us to do that. And though Spock and McCoy fight all the time, you know that underneath, they really care for each other.
I think the most attractive element of the show, though, is the wonderful vision of the future that it presents. Lots of science fiction shows a dystopian future: the planet ruined, humanity destroyed by war or disease or environmental catastrophe. Even the ones that look really nice usually have a rotten core, with evil dictators or mind-control or mad robots behind the scenes. Basically, the future never looks like someplace you would want to live. And then along comes Star Trek. In that future, humanity, instead of destroying itself with some sort of doomsday weapon, has become united. People are no longer judged by their race or sex, or hell, even by their species (Vulcans are people too, you know). Poverty and war and disease have been erased from Earth. And people flourish, spreading into space, exploring, ever onward. As Tennyson says in "Ulysses": "To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield."
So that is why I love Star Trek. And that is why I took off work Friday afternoon, to go see the new movie. I already have my tickets. And I've got my Spock ears, and a Star Trek themed shirt to wear. And I will be there, all geeked out and proud of it. I hope I'll see you there!
Friday, May 1, 2009
Think Before You Click
Ahh, my friends. You know I love you. I love to talk to you, I love to laugh with you, and I love to get emails from you. But, please, before you forward me any more emails, let's set a few ground rules.
Most importantly: I like funny. Funny is good. Not funny is not good. Do you understand where I am going with this? I like it when you send me jokes. Jokes are great! Everyone loves to laugh! But when you send me not-jokes, it makes me sad. Like, cry-and-wear-sackcloth-and-ashes sad. So keep that in mind before you hit the "Forward" button, okay?
Secondly: I am a registered Democrat. I have been a Democrat since I was old enough to understand what the parties stood for. You are not going to change my mind. So you can stop sending me emails about how Obama genetically engineered swine flu to kill off conservatives, or quotes by Rush "Idiot" Limbaugh, or pictures of soldiers with captions about how they are saving the country. And those emails that end with "Forward this unless you are a coward!" do not make me want to forward them. They make me want to delete them. They make me want to go back in time so I can have never even read them in the first place. On the other hand, I also do not want my inbox flooded with petitions for Democratic causes, or articles from The Nation. Basically, let's keep the email politics free. Unless it's a really funny joke. I am fully in favor of political jokes. Even about Democrats. I am an equal opportunity laugher.
On a somewhat related note (though I wish it weren't) I am also not interested in religious emails. I do not believe in angels (especially not ones that promise you money), and no amount of email is going to convince me otherwise. I do not pray, not even for the troops, or poor cancer stricken children, or little lost dogs. I do not read the Bible, and sending me quotes from it is not going to make me curious enough to pick it up. I've already done so. It was boring. Shakespeare is much more interesting. Also, Star Trek. I do not believe in the Judeo-Christian god. I am a Pastafarian who worships the Noodly Appendages of the Flying Spaghetti Monster. If you want to send me stuff about the FSM, that is fine. Just don't ask me to pray to him.
Also, though I love you very much, I don't want to read emails about how we are sisters or how you are sending me a rose, unless I fail to send the email back to you within 10 minutes, in which case you are never speaking to me again.
I do not want pictures of cute animals/cute babies/sunsets/flowers/wildlife, etc. Unless the picture is accompanied by a great funny caption (see I Can Has Cheezburger for examples of this.) I especially do not want those cutesy pictures if they are accompanied by Bibles verses, or sayings about god's love, or any of that stuff.
Do not send me warnings for scary things without first checking them with Snopes. Most likely, they are not true, and you could save everyone some time and worry if you check before you send. There is no point is passing on unfounded hysteria!
Please, please, please, please, before you send the email, delete all the excess junk from the top and bottom of it. I do not need to see the addresses of all 3000 people who were sent this email previously, along with their commentary on how "this is a great one!". I do not need to see all the ads and confidentiality notices at the bottom. Just delete all that junk and only send along the meat of the email.
Do not believe everything you read. Just because an email says that if you forward it to 10 people, you will get a million dollars, or a cute little animation will pop up, or some company will donate money to poor cancer stricken children, does not mean it is true. In fact, it is almost certainly not true. But who does it hurt? you might ask. Me, that's who. Too much junk in her inbox makes Panda Loca a dull boy.
In fact, too much anything in an inbox is not a good thing. So don't send ginormous attachments. They will probably just get deleted for clogging up my inbox.
So, in conclusion, here is a simple rule of thumb. Before you hit "Forward" think about your reaction to the email in question. If it made you say "aww, how cute!" or tear up, or want to pray, or get very worried, do not forward it. If, however, it made you laugh, or say "what the fuck is that?" please, send it along. Remember: funny is good, not-funny is bad. Jokes, funny pictures, hilarious videos...all great. Prayers, pictures of impossibly cute babies or animals, chain letters...not good at all.
And yes, I know, the tone of this post is a little angry, but please don't take that to heart. Unless you are one of the email abusers. Then, please remember that when I take over the world, I will be the one deciding your fate. I'm sure you don't want to piss me off, right? I didn't think so. So think before you click!
Most importantly: I like funny. Funny is good. Not funny is not good. Do you understand where I am going with this? I like it when you send me jokes. Jokes are great! Everyone loves to laugh! But when you send me not-jokes, it makes me sad. Like, cry-and-wear-sackcloth-and-ashes sad. So keep that in mind before you hit the "Forward" button, okay?
Secondly: I am a registered Democrat. I have been a Democrat since I was old enough to understand what the parties stood for. You are not going to change my mind. So you can stop sending me emails about how Obama genetically engineered swine flu to kill off conservatives, or quotes by Rush "Idiot" Limbaugh, or pictures of soldiers with captions about how they are saving the country. And those emails that end with "Forward this unless you are a coward!" do not make me want to forward them. They make me want to delete them. They make me want to go back in time so I can have never even read them in the first place. On the other hand, I also do not want my inbox flooded with petitions for Democratic causes, or articles from The Nation. Basically, let's keep the email politics free. Unless it's a really funny joke. I am fully in favor of political jokes. Even about Democrats. I am an equal opportunity laugher.
On a somewhat related note (though I wish it weren't) I am also not interested in religious emails. I do not believe in angels (especially not ones that promise you money), and no amount of email is going to convince me otherwise. I do not pray, not even for the troops, or poor cancer stricken children, or little lost dogs. I do not read the Bible, and sending me quotes from it is not going to make me curious enough to pick it up. I've already done so. It was boring. Shakespeare is much more interesting. Also, Star Trek. I do not believe in the Judeo-Christian god. I am a Pastafarian who worships the Noodly Appendages of the Flying Spaghetti Monster. If you want to send me stuff about the FSM, that is fine. Just don't ask me to pray to him.
Also, though I love you very much, I don't want to read emails about how we are sisters or how you are sending me a rose, unless I fail to send the email back to you within 10 minutes, in which case you are never speaking to me again.
I do not want pictures of cute animals/cute babies/sunsets/flowers/wildlife, etc. Unless the picture is accompanied by a great funny caption (see I Can Has Cheezburger for examples of this.) I especially do not want those cutesy pictures if they are accompanied by Bibles verses, or sayings about god's love, or any of that stuff.
Do not send me warnings for scary things without first checking them with Snopes. Most likely, they are not true, and you could save everyone some time and worry if you check before you send. There is no point is passing on unfounded hysteria!
Please, please, please, please, before you send the email, delete all the excess junk from the top and bottom of it. I do not need to see the addresses of all 3000 people who were sent this email previously, along with their commentary on how "this is a great one!". I do not need to see all the ads and confidentiality notices at the bottom. Just delete all that junk and only send along the meat of the email.
Do not believe everything you read. Just because an email says that if you forward it to 10 people, you will get a million dollars, or a cute little animation will pop up, or some company will donate money to poor cancer stricken children, does not mean it is true. In fact, it is almost certainly not true. But who does it hurt? you might ask. Me, that's who. Too much junk in her inbox makes Panda Loca a dull boy.
In fact, too much anything in an inbox is not a good thing. So don't send ginormous attachments. They will probably just get deleted for clogging up my inbox.
So, in conclusion, here is a simple rule of thumb. Before you hit "Forward" think about your reaction to the email in question. If it made you say "aww, how cute!" or tear up, or want to pray, or get very worried, do not forward it. If, however, it made you laugh, or say "what the fuck is that?" please, send it along. Remember: funny is good, not-funny is bad. Jokes, funny pictures, hilarious videos...all great. Prayers, pictures of impossibly cute babies or animals, chain letters...not good at all.
And yes, I know, the tone of this post is a little angry, but please don't take that to heart. Unless you are one of the email abusers. Then, please remember that when I take over the world, I will be the one deciding your fate. I'm sure you don't want to piss me off, right? I didn't think so. So think before you click!
Thursday, April 16, 2009
A Special Surprise
So I was in a pretty good mood this morning. It's Thursday, which is nice. My kid has been sick, but she was feeling better today. The weather is warming up. I have a really good lunch (turkey and provolone on a hard roll, some Lay's potato chips, a Coke). All in all, I felt it was going to be a pretty good day.
And then I got to work and discovered a fucking booger on my sweater.
At least, that's what I assume it is. It's a brownish smear, about the size of a dime, on the back left shoulder of the sweater that I leave hung on my chair. More importantly, it wasn't there when I left work yesterday. Which means someone put it there after I left. Using my deductive reasoning skills, I can only assume that that "someone" was one of the cleaning people.
I really hate the cleaning people who work in my building. To begin with, I don't think they actually clean anything. Well, I guess they must scrub the toilets and stuff, though I have never actually seen them do that. For all I know, the toilets get cleaned by magic elves at night. But for argument's sake, I guess we can say it's done by the cleaning people. And sometimes they vacuum. Though not well. I have found old pieces of popcorn under my desk weeks after dropping them. And right now I can see a cherry pit that was dropped probably a year ago, and it's still sitting there on the floor, laughing at me. But, though I sometimes find pieces of feathers on my desk, they never actually dust. So the quality of the "cleaning" is suspect to begin with.
Then there is the fact that the entire cleaning staff seems to be comprised of practical jokers. There have been multiple occasions when we have gotten to work and all found our desks messed with: computer monitors turned backwards, supplies and knickknacks rearranged, and chairs lowered or raised. I have even had things on my desk broken. I don't know if the cleaning people think that fucking with our stuff is part of cleaning, or they are just having fun, getting back at the evil people that make them vacuum up cherry pits, since they are only here at night when there is no one to watch them.
But this...this is too much. A booger, stuck to my sweater. A booger! And not just a little one, but a big gloppy brown one. It looks like the dad booger from those Mucinex commercials, complete with fedora and wife-beater. Makes me want to gag. Plus, it had to have been done on purpose. I mean, if they accidentally cut their hand and some blood dripped onto my sweater, I could understand that. It's an accident. Gross, but an accident. But there is no way on earth that this huge booger accidentally got onto my sweater.
Speaking of my sweater, I, obviously, can never wear it again. So now I am freezing, because the air conditioner in this place is always on high and I sit right under a vent. I have a hoodie in my bag, but hoodies are against the dress code. I am thinking of risking it, though, because I am cold. And if one of my bosses says something, I will just wave the booger in their faces.
I totally cannot conceive of this. How does a sane, rational, semi-intelligent adult rub a booger onto another person's possessions? Hell, even my 6 year old knows better than that! She might eat her boogers, but she never wiped them on anything, especially something that didn't belong to her. So I am sitting here at my desk, totally flabbergasted, and suffering from Post Booger Stress Disorder. I am going to need counseling to get over this trauma.
So now I am trying to think of ways to get back at the cleaning people. Something creative, yet revolting. Ideas so far include throwing up all over my desk just before I leave for the day, so that they have to clean it, or leaving a used tampon on the desk. Both of those are excellent, I think. But I am still thinking about it. I wish I could get a hold of some anthrax. I would spread it all over my desk just before I left for the day. That would be a great revenge! But I will probably have to settle for throwing lots of crumbs on the floor and then getting those bastards in trouble when they don't vacuum them up.
Man, I hate people. And boogers are disgusting.
Friday, December 5, 2008
A Quickie
Hello, my minions. This is just a quick note, because I wanted to tell you about something interesting I found the other day. I was reading an article about the "Lamest Blogs on the Web." And, truly, most of these blogs were incredibly lame. A Paris Hilton fan site? Kim Kardashian's personal blog? Photos of celebrity hairstyles? Totally lame. But one was different. Interesting, quirky, and definitely not lame. So either the author of the piece has no sense of humor, or they really love this blog and just wanted a way to plug it to a larger audience. Either way, you should check it out. If you love me (and I know you do!) you'll like this one too.
http://theadventuresofpatoneil.blogspot.com/
And have a good weekend, wonderful little minions. I will talk to you again soon!
http://theadventuresofpatoneil.blogspot.com/
And have a good weekend, wonderful little minions. I will talk to you again soon!
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Sick TV
Ahh, my minions. I know, you have missed me terribly. I'm so sorry to have left you alone for so long, weeping and wailing and gnashing your teeth over the loss of me. I am here now! So don't cry anymore.
Or, well, I guess you can cry if you want to. Lots of people do, when I am talking to them. Usually, because I am saying evil things, like telling them exactly how stupid they are. I twist my lip just so, get an evil glint in my eyes, get the whole furrowed brow thing going...and people are sobbing at my feet, begging me not to hurt them.
Okay, I guess I am being a little bit overdramatic. Just a little bit. But some day, the mere mention of my name will be enough to make the masses tremble!
Anyways. Enough with the self-aggrandizement. Let's get down to business.
So, the reason I am able to post right at all is that I am home today, sick with a cold. I know, you thought that I, in my evilness, would be immune from such common things as viruses, but even evil goddesses get sick occasionally. I woke up this morning with a horrible pressure in my head and nose, which allowed me to have a marvelous revelation: I know what it feels like to be an Egyptian mummy! The Egyptians, when they mummified someone, pulled out many of their organs and put them in special jars, which were then sealed in the tomb with the person. But, for some reason, they saw no purpose in preserving the brain. Instead, a small hook was inserted up the dead person's nostril, breaking the bone between the nose and brain. Then the hook would be stirred around until the brain turned to liquid, at which point it would be drained out of the nose. Fun! And that's how I felt this morning, like someone was yanking my brain out of my head and into my sinus cavity. Gotta love colds!
So anyways, since I have been sick today, I have spent the whole day, until now, laying on the couch watching TV. I have one very important thing to say about that: I am eternally grateful that I have cable. If I had been forced to sit around watching the network crap like Good Morning America and General Hospital all day, I would have committed suicide by overdosing on my cold medicine.
Even with cable, there is not a lot of great TV on during the day. All the really good shows--Monk, Psych, Eureka, Burn Notice, In Plain Sight--are on vacation right now, and the other really good ones that are currently on the air--reruns of House and Seinfeld, Mythbusters, The Starter Wife--are not on during the day. So I had to settle for whatever I could stomach watching. And, during the past six hours, I learned several important things.
First off, there are a lot of demented/freaky/stupid/just plain annoying commercials. For instance, those Charmin commercials with the blue dancing cartoon bears. I'm sorry, but watching how well Charmin works on wiping bear asses does not convince me that I should buy it for my family. None of us are covered with blue fur, so the analogy really doesn't work. And watching the toilet paper get stuck to their butts is simply unappealing. I think I will stick with the generic brand that uses real humans in its advertisements and does not show pictures of anyone's ass.
Then there are those commercials for various beauty products, the ones that always show a "before and after" picture. Have you ever noticed how the people in the "before" picture are always gloomy-looking, as if they had just found out their mother had terminal cancer or something? And then in the "after" picture, they are always smiling away, like they just won the lottery! Though those smiles look demented to me. Not so much "look how pretty I am" as "I'm a total freak who just wasted $5 on chemicals to slather on my face and I'm probably going to get cancer!" Hmm. Maybe the smile is part of why they always look so much nicer in the "after" picture! So if you smile, you'll look nice naturally and you won't have to go out and buy overpriced crap to slather on your face! (Uh oh. I don't think I was supposed to figure that out! The powerful cosmetics industry is probably sending assassins to my door as we speak, and I will be found dead this evening, stabbed to death with mascara brushes.)
And now, with Christmas coming, there are two types of Christmas-themed commercials that really bug me. The first are those commercials where they sing a Christmas song, but replace the lyrics with words pertaining to whatever they are selling. Do I really need to hear "Deck the Halls" with words about how great your store/product is? No, I don't. The second kind of Christmas-themed commercial that really annoys me are the ones that suggest that practically anything can be given as a Christmas present. Now, I know there are lots of people out there who buy cars. But I have never in my life met anyone who bought someone else a car for Christmas. I mean, honestly. Who has $20,000 just laying around and decides to spend it on a car for another person? If I had an extra $20,000, you can be damn sure that I would not be spending it on anyone but me. I have also seen commercials suggesting that vacuum cleanings, electric toothbrushes, and electric razors would all make great gifts for that "special someone." I don't know about you, but if someone gave me a vacuum cleaner for Christmas, they would not be welcome in my house for a good long time after that. Also, they might very soon thereafter have to undergo experimental surgery to remove the vacuum cleaner hose from their right nostril.
The second thing I learned today is that I am an idiot. Well, not learned, exactly. I already knew that. But today reinforced it. See, here's the thing. I am deathly afraid of ghosts. I think they are cool, I think they are interesting and fascinating...and if I ever actually saw one, I would pee in my pants. And yet, today, sitting at home--alone, no less--I watched two shows about ghosts. I don't know why I do that. I know the shows will scare me. But I watch them anyways, all huddled on the couch with a blanket over my head, like that is going to save me from the absolute horror of looking around and seeing an actual ghost in my house.
Thirdly, I learned about how best to commit a murder. The shows I watched--aside from the scary ghost shows--were all true crime type shows, about how the cops caught murderers and pinned the murders on them, all using forensic stuff. Basically, if you decide to kill someone, be sure you 1) don't tell anyone else about it (those snitches are a real pain in the ass) and 2) don't leave any DNA behind. One of the guys got caught because he had used his teeth to rip the duct tape he put over the victim's mouth, so he left saliva on the tape, which the detectives were able to lift DNA from. Very cool. So when I start murdering people, I will be sure to wear gloves and a hairnet and not to lick anything.
So, those are the lessons I gleaned today from watching cable TV for six hours straight. And people have the nerve to say that TV is not educational! Ha! What fools you mortals be!
Man, I am getting delirious. It's the lack of brains, I think. I need another shot of Nyquil. And so, minions, I will leave you for now.
Or, well, I guess you can cry if you want to. Lots of people do, when I am talking to them. Usually, because I am saying evil things, like telling them exactly how stupid they are. I twist my lip just so, get an evil glint in my eyes, get the whole furrowed brow thing going...and people are sobbing at my feet, begging me not to hurt them.
Okay, I guess I am being a little bit overdramatic. Just a little bit. But some day, the mere mention of my name will be enough to make the masses tremble!
Anyways. Enough with the self-aggrandizement. Let's get down to business.
So, the reason I am able to post right at all is that I am home today, sick with a cold. I know, you thought that I, in my evilness, would be immune from such common things as viruses, but even evil goddesses get sick occasionally. I woke up this morning with a horrible pressure in my head and nose, which allowed me to have a marvelous revelation: I know what it feels like to be an Egyptian mummy! The Egyptians, when they mummified someone, pulled out many of their organs and put them in special jars, which were then sealed in the tomb with the person. But, for some reason, they saw no purpose in preserving the brain. Instead, a small hook was inserted up the dead person's nostril, breaking the bone between the nose and brain. Then the hook would be stirred around until the brain turned to liquid, at which point it would be drained out of the nose. Fun! And that's how I felt this morning, like someone was yanking my brain out of my head and into my sinus cavity. Gotta love colds!
So anyways, since I have been sick today, I have spent the whole day, until now, laying on the couch watching TV. I have one very important thing to say about that: I am eternally grateful that I have cable. If I had been forced to sit around watching the network crap like Good Morning America and General Hospital all day, I would have committed suicide by overdosing on my cold medicine.
Even with cable, there is not a lot of great TV on during the day. All the really good shows--Monk, Psych, Eureka, Burn Notice, In Plain Sight--are on vacation right now, and the other really good ones that are currently on the air--reruns of House and Seinfeld, Mythbusters, The Starter Wife--are not on during the day. So I had to settle for whatever I could stomach watching. And, during the past six hours, I learned several important things.
First off, there are a lot of demented/freaky/stupid/just plain annoying commercials. For instance, those Charmin commercials with the blue dancing cartoon bears. I'm sorry, but watching how well Charmin works on wiping bear asses does not convince me that I should buy it for my family. None of us are covered with blue fur, so the analogy really doesn't work. And watching the toilet paper get stuck to their butts is simply unappealing. I think I will stick with the generic brand that uses real humans in its advertisements and does not show pictures of anyone's ass.
Then there are those commercials for various beauty products, the ones that always show a "before and after" picture. Have you ever noticed how the people in the "before" picture are always gloomy-looking, as if they had just found out their mother had terminal cancer or something? And then in the "after" picture, they are always smiling away, like they just won the lottery! Though those smiles look demented to me. Not so much "look how pretty I am" as "I'm a total freak who just wasted $5 on chemicals to slather on my face and I'm probably going to get cancer!" Hmm. Maybe the smile is part of why they always look so much nicer in the "after" picture! So if you smile, you'll look nice naturally and you won't have to go out and buy overpriced crap to slather on your face! (Uh oh. I don't think I was supposed to figure that out! The powerful cosmetics industry is probably sending assassins to my door as we speak, and I will be found dead this evening, stabbed to death with mascara brushes.)
And now, with Christmas coming, there are two types of Christmas-themed commercials that really bug me. The first are those commercials where they sing a Christmas song, but replace the lyrics with words pertaining to whatever they are selling. Do I really need to hear "Deck the Halls" with words about how great your store/product is? No, I don't. The second kind of Christmas-themed commercial that really annoys me are the ones that suggest that practically anything can be given as a Christmas present. Now, I know there are lots of people out there who buy cars. But I have never in my life met anyone who bought someone else a car for Christmas. I mean, honestly. Who has $20,000 just laying around and decides to spend it on a car for another person? If I had an extra $20,000, you can be damn sure that I would not be spending it on anyone but me. I have also seen commercials suggesting that vacuum cleanings, electric toothbrushes, and electric razors would all make great gifts for that "special someone." I don't know about you, but if someone gave me a vacuum cleaner for Christmas, they would not be welcome in my house for a good long time after that. Also, they might very soon thereafter have to undergo experimental surgery to remove the vacuum cleaner hose from their right nostril.
The second thing I learned today is that I am an idiot. Well, not learned, exactly. I already knew that. But today reinforced it. See, here's the thing. I am deathly afraid of ghosts. I think they are cool, I think they are interesting and fascinating...and if I ever actually saw one, I would pee in my pants. And yet, today, sitting at home--alone, no less--I watched two shows about ghosts. I don't know why I do that. I know the shows will scare me. But I watch them anyways, all huddled on the couch with a blanket over my head, like that is going to save me from the absolute horror of looking around and seeing an actual ghost in my house.
Thirdly, I learned about how best to commit a murder. The shows I watched--aside from the scary ghost shows--were all true crime type shows, about how the cops caught murderers and pinned the murders on them, all using forensic stuff. Basically, if you decide to kill someone, be sure you 1) don't tell anyone else about it (those snitches are a real pain in the ass) and 2) don't leave any DNA behind. One of the guys got caught because he had used his teeth to rip the duct tape he put over the victim's mouth, so he left saliva on the tape, which the detectives were able to lift DNA from. Very cool. So when I start murdering people, I will be sure to wear gloves and a hairnet and not to lick anything.
So, those are the lessons I gleaned today from watching cable TV for six hours straight. And people have the nerve to say that TV is not educational! Ha! What fools you mortals be!
Man, I am getting delirious. It's the lack of brains, I think. I need another shot of Nyquil. And so, minions, I will leave you for now.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
The Agony of Stupidity
So perhaps some of you little minions have decided to watch the Olympics. Perhaps you are fools. Because, honestly, the Olympics rank right up there, for entertainment value, with do-it-yourself liposuction. (Actually, though I do not think it would be fun to perform do-it-yourself liposuction, it could be very amusing to watch. That could be the newest reality show! I Suck...My Own Fat! And sometimes they would make mistakes like accidentally sucking out their kidneys and die. Imagine the ratings!)
But anyways, as you have no doubt guessed, I have a very low opinion of the Olympics. It's not just the Olympics, though, it's all sports. I think sports are very stupid. I have no problem with people playing them for fun, or for exercise, or (primarily in bowling leagues) as an excuse to get drunk in the guise of doing something productive. But high school and college sports? Utterly ridiculous. People are there to learn, not to run around playing games.
And professional sports are even dumber. Why do athletes get paid multi-millons of dollars to run around with little balls (and yes, that double entendre was intended) while important people, like teachers, are lucky to scrape by? It's all very wrong and backwards and an indication of how stupid our priorities are. Why do we care so much about these stupid little games? Why are the people who play them worshipped, called heroes? Ooh, you can throw a ball really fast! That makes you a very good, heroic person who deserves the adulation of millions! Idiotic.
So when people start making big deals out of sports, I think it is very stupid. And the Olympics are just the epitome of stupidity. I mean, really. Let's say there was some sort of international reading competition. Would millions of people fly halfway around the world to watch it, and billions more watch it on TV? Of course not. Everyone would think it was very lame. But if it involves running or swimming or throwing, well then, that makes it okay!
And don't get me started on the so-called "sports" that they show there. Competitive badminton? Curling? Shooting? Someone please explain to me how shooting is a sport. You point the gun and pull the trigger. It's just like playing Duckhunt on your original Nintendo. So if shooting is a sport, then Duckhunt should be too. Arguably, Duckhunt would be more of an actual sport, because I bet when you shoot in the Olympics, you don't have some evil little dog snickering at you when you miss. And then you can't even shoot that little bastard dog. I always wanted to shoot him.
But anyways, this is why I have always thought of sports as stupid. Yes, people should exercise and have fun, and that's great. But when people's entire lives revolve around playing--or worse, watching someone play--a game...someone needs some serious professional help. Fantasy football, children named after sports teams, riots over soccer matches...can you people not see the insanity?
This is why, when I take over the world, all sports will be banned on the professional level. Sure, you can be an athlete, but you will also have to have a real, productive job that makes you an actual productive member of society, as opposed to a leech, which is what professional athletes are. The only authorized sport will be Ninja Warrior. (And if you don't know what I'm talking about, check it out on G4 network...waaaaaay better than the Olympics.)
So those are my thoughts on the Olympics. Please feel free to watch them if you must. But just remember, if you do, you're stupid.
Oh, and a little postscript about our last guest post. A person who shall remain nameless has requested that I make it very clear that it was not him picking his nose and eating the boogers, and he doesn't want you to think so just because he has an iPod like the booger eater. Just because one booger eater has an iPod doesn't mean all iPod users are booger eaters! Just FYI!
But anyways, as you have no doubt guessed, I have a very low opinion of the Olympics. It's not just the Olympics, though, it's all sports. I think sports are very stupid. I have no problem with people playing them for fun, or for exercise, or (primarily in bowling leagues) as an excuse to get drunk in the guise of doing something productive. But high school and college sports? Utterly ridiculous. People are there to learn, not to run around playing games.
And professional sports are even dumber. Why do athletes get paid multi-millons of dollars to run around with little balls (and yes, that double entendre was intended) while important people, like teachers, are lucky to scrape by? It's all very wrong and backwards and an indication of how stupid our priorities are. Why do we care so much about these stupid little games? Why are the people who play them worshipped, called heroes? Ooh, you can throw a ball really fast! That makes you a very good, heroic person who deserves the adulation of millions! Idiotic.
So when people start making big deals out of sports, I think it is very stupid. And the Olympics are just the epitome of stupidity. I mean, really. Let's say there was some sort of international reading competition. Would millions of people fly halfway around the world to watch it, and billions more watch it on TV? Of course not. Everyone would think it was very lame. But if it involves running or swimming or throwing, well then, that makes it okay!
And don't get me started on the so-called "sports" that they show there. Competitive badminton? Curling? Shooting? Someone please explain to me how shooting is a sport. You point the gun and pull the trigger. It's just like playing Duckhunt on your original Nintendo. So if shooting is a sport, then Duckhunt should be too. Arguably, Duckhunt would be more of an actual sport, because I bet when you shoot in the Olympics, you don't have some evil little dog snickering at you when you miss. And then you can't even shoot that little bastard dog. I always wanted to shoot him.
But anyways, this is why I have always thought of sports as stupid. Yes, people should exercise and have fun, and that's great. But when people's entire lives revolve around playing--or worse, watching someone play--a game...someone needs some serious professional help. Fantasy football, children named after sports teams, riots over soccer matches...can you people not see the insanity?
This is why, when I take over the world, all sports will be banned on the professional level. Sure, you can be an athlete, but you will also have to have a real, productive job that makes you an actual productive member of society, as opposed to a leech, which is what professional athletes are. The only authorized sport will be Ninja Warrior. (And if you don't know what I'm talking about, check it out on G4 network...waaaaaay better than the Olympics.)
So those are my thoughts on the Olympics. Please feel free to watch them if you must. But just remember, if you do, you're stupid.
Oh, and a little postscript about our last guest post. A person who shall remain nameless has requested that I make it very clear that it was not him picking his nose and eating the boogers, and he doesn't want you to think so just because he has an iPod like the booger eater. Just because one booger eater has an iPod doesn't mean all iPod users are booger eaters! Just FYI!
Friday, August 8, 2008
And The Winner Is...
.Well! I must say, I am very offended! Whichever one of you minions won my contest didn't bother to post a reply, thereby leaving all of us in suspense as we waited for someone, anyone, to come forward and claim the ultimate prize of writing wonderful things about me! And so, since the winner did not reply, I have appointed a winner. So, today we will read a guest post by Pure Poison:
Mysterious #111...this person who will remain nameless and therefore pretty much anonymous failed to enter in their praise and glory of our fearless yet evil future priestess of world-domination. Therefore, with bruised and battered shoulders, I shall carry the burden alone of submitting my own rambling and incohesive rant.
Now this opens the door to endless possibilities, but let's stay on the subject of creepy men, since we've all encountered one from time to time, or in some cases on a daily basis. Now you expect this to come from your toddler...toddlers, as most of us had experiences, have little to no problem in sticking the unknown into their mouths from time to time. We've all caught them exploring for those golden nostril nuggets and, to our disgust, proceeding to taste-test this gooey,sticky substance.
Fast forward to present day...you're sitting in your cube, eyes dropping and head beginning to nod down, then back up. As you wipe the sleepiness from your eyes, you look at your surroundings and catch a glimpse of the creepy dude in the cube next to yours. You notice that the hip of his finger had become lodges in his nose. You begin to wonder...is his brain leaking out? Does he get better reception from his iPod this way? But before you have a chance to look away, he removes his finger and proceeds to dine on the new-found delicacy on his fingertip.
You try to suppress the gagging noises coming from your throat as you race down the hallway. The moment becomes surreal and you begin to question your own sanity. Now, you knew the creepy dude in the next cube was a little odd, but you tried to ignore his peculiarities. But this is just too much. Certainly your boss wouldn't expect you to work under these conditions. Creepy dudes should be locked behind closed doors where no one can see them. Or at least behind 2 foot thick glass so that those who desire can observe from afar. Coincidentally, there is an office that resembles a glass-enclosed monkey cage. You pity those poor souls that have to work in there. You feel like throwing peanuts as you walk by. They look so defeated in that little room.
As you continue to walk around, you soon realize that you can't walk the hallways forever. You know your boss will not be sympathetic to your plight. So, reluctantly, with eyes averted, you trudge back to your own cube, realizing that you have to spend the rest of your days next to the booger-eater. Gross!
Wonderful post, Pure Poison! (and I won't even point out that the initials for "pure poison" are "PP." Like...pee pee! Ha! Yes, I am being juvenile. Who gives a shit?) So now, minions, do you see what you missed out on? The opportunity to tell the whole world about the things that you hate, the things that bug the crap out of you, the people you long to kill? But Pure Poison took advantage of it, in true Temple of Boredom fashion! And so, today (and today only) you must worship her as you would worship me! All hail Pure Poison!
Okay, now shut up, Pure Poison. This is my little world, after all.
Mysterious #111...this person who will remain nameless and therefore pretty much anonymous failed to enter in their praise and glory of our fearless yet evil future priestess of world-domination. Therefore, with bruised and battered shoulders, I shall carry the burden alone of submitting my own rambling and incohesive rant.
Now this opens the door to endless possibilities, but let's stay on the subject of creepy men, since we've all encountered one from time to time, or in some cases on a daily basis. Now you expect this to come from your toddler...toddlers, as most of us had experiences, have little to no problem in sticking the unknown into their mouths from time to time. We've all caught them exploring for those golden nostril nuggets and, to our disgust, proceeding to taste-test this gooey,sticky substance.
Fast forward to present day...you're sitting in your cube, eyes dropping and head beginning to nod down, then back up. As you wipe the sleepiness from your eyes, you look at your surroundings and catch a glimpse of the creepy dude in the cube next to yours. You notice that the hip of his finger had become lodges in his nose. You begin to wonder...is his brain leaking out? Does he get better reception from his iPod this way? But before you have a chance to look away, he removes his finger and proceeds to dine on the new-found delicacy on his fingertip.
You try to suppress the gagging noises coming from your throat as you race down the hallway. The moment becomes surreal and you begin to question your own sanity. Now, you knew the creepy dude in the next cube was a little odd, but you tried to ignore his peculiarities. But this is just too much. Certainly your boss wouldn't expect you to work under these conditions. Creepy dudes should be locked behind closed doors where no one can see them. Or at least behind 2 foot thick glass so that those who desire can observe from afar. Coincidentally, there is an office that resembles a glass-enclosed monkey cage. You pity those poor souls that have to work in there. You feel like throwing peanuts as you walk by. They look so defeated in that little room.
As you continue to walk around, you soon realize that you can't walk the hallways forever. You know your boss will not be sympathetic to your plight. So, reluctantly, with eyes averted, you trudge back to your own cube, realizing that you have to spend the rest of your days next to the booger-eater. Gross!
Wonderful post, Pure Poison! (and I won't even point out that the initials for "pure poison" are "PP." Like...pee pee! Ha! Yes, I am being juvenile. Who gives a shit?) So now, minions, do you see what you missed out on? The opportunity to tell the whole world about the things that you hate, the things that bug the crap out of you, the people you long to kill? But Pure Poison took advantage of it, in true Temple of Boredom fashion! And so, today (and today only) you must worship her as you would worship me! All hail Pure Poison!
Okay, now shut up, Pure Poison. This is my little world, after all.
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