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Wednesday, January 30, 2008

Conspiracy Theory #652 - Writer on the Loose

Alright, for all my conspiracy theories regarding everything and everyone else in the world, I thought it might finally be time to turn my highly-tuned *cough* insight on myself.

Anyone who knows me knows that I have too good a memory for the retarded, redundant, or just plain insane - even though I'd forget my own name if it wasn't embroidered in my underwear.

Okay, I made that up, but it made you wonder for a second there, didn't it?

So, just for the sake of playing fair and proving that it's all in good fun, here are the top 3 reasons why it's dangerous to spend much time with or around a writer.

1. Have you ever read a blog, story, blurb, or anything else and wondered, "...are they talking about me...?" Odds are, if you know the writer and the shoe fits - YES.

2. It should go without saying that if you drunkenly (or otherwise):

  • miss your chair (and by "you" I mean "I"),
  • state matter-of-factly that your butt is "too big to miss your chair",
  • dirty dance with an appliance,
  • sneak up on a fly just to shoo it away,
  • use air freshener as a deodorant and feminine spray,
  • engage in insightful conversation with your table (not the people AT the table - the actual table),
  • wear someone else's boxers on your head and strike superhero poses for the camera as "Captain Underpants",
  • crawl in from the front porch and stuff your face in a butter dish,
  • pick a carburetor up out of the floor and seriously ask who "dropped this",
  • drive 90 miles an hour down the wrong side of the road,
  • piss off a cop so badly that you wind up with your faceprint permanently embedded in your car hood,
  • get hit on by someone (or several someone's) of the same sex - even though you're not gay,
  • attract every midget in a tri-state area,
  • steal your sister's car but only make it 3 feet from where the car was originally parked,
  • adopt a gay man's cat and rename it "Pookie",
  • make a 500 gallon cup of lemonade and expect no one to say anything,
  • tape spiders into holes in the wall,
  • offer someone else's wife money every 5 minutes to see her boobs, then give her the money even though she won't,
  • hit on a dog because it's the only female in the place who's paying attention to you,
  • mushroom stamp bald guys "just because it's funny", even though you're the most homophobic person on Earth,
  • slap your testicles in another guy's hand on a dare,
  • make me biscuits and mustard AND blueberry waffles just because I drunkenly (and jokingly) ask for them - and THEN pose for pictures with them,
  • make out with a stuffed California Raisin,
  • pee outside even though an indoor bathroom is readily available,
  • try to start serious debates about the nature of the orgasm (and not making any sense whatsoever),
  • are unable to stand in one place even though your feet aren't actually moving,
  • go on a boobie grabbing spree and then swear it never happened,
  • offer to be "a prop" in someone else's *cough* home movies,
  • trust me with a pool stick even though I've made it clear that things get broken when I play pool (surprisingly, several people are guilty of this one),
  • tell me you can't feel your nose while you're touching mine,
  • blatantly make fun of a complete stranger in the middle of the ghetto,
  • fart on random animals,
  • fart on my daughter's head and then laugh hysterically when she says "EWWW YOU POOPED!",
  • spear houseflies with paperclips and perform a puppet show with them,
  • tap dance down the walkway into a hospital,
  • make cat-hissing noises when someone enters the room and then spontaneously and creepily ask "GOT MILK?",
  • flash people, even though they really, really, don't care to see it,
  • ask me every 5 seconds if you're "cute yet," or if you can "take advantage of me yet,"
  • tell me (and every other attractive female in the place) that you'd "run through hell with gasoline soaked boxers" just to get close to us - and then expect us not to laugh at the thought of you naked and on fire,

OR

  • do or say pretty much anything that I think is funny, stupid, embarrassing, or incriminating -

...you will more than likely hear or read about it later. Repeatedly.

3. I'm generally a nice person, hard to make angry, who doesn't usually believe in grudges or getting even - but if you piss me off - I mean really, really, do something above and beyond all concept of indecent or horrid, don't be surprised if you play a staring role as the deformed, evil-yet-stupid villain in a blog or story. At the very least, expect an unflattering caricature with certain body parts reversed.

So there you have it - the frightening truth of the Internet revolution, where unknown amounts of people can be held captive to anyone's mindless banter, and just think - they could be reading about you....

Scared? You should be. *evil laugh*

If I don't hear from some of you for a while, I understand.

Until next time...

Monday, January 28, 2008

Oooh, Bubble Wrap

A good friend of mine once told me that showers were the cure-all for just about anything.

Got a headache? Take a shower. Stressed? Take a shower. Got mid-terms? Take a shower. Diagnosed with some foreign, icky, incurable disease? Take a shower.

Showers are wonderful, but in the case where a shower isn't immediately available, I'm partial to bubble wrap.

Oooh, bubble wrap... Takes me to my happy place.

Seriously. You can squeeze it and it makes that awesome popping noise. If someone makes you mad, you can wrap them in it and poke them with a stick. You can lay it in the floor and jump on it, or twist it up, or sneak up and scare the crap out of someone....

Plain old plastic wrap is great too, minus that great popping noise. If someone makes you mad, you can use that to cover the toilet seat, or you can use it to cover the top of a shot glass while they're not looking and laugh at them when they repeatedly miss their shot and can't figure out why... but I still like the poking with a stick idea better. It's cleaner.

*sigh*

I have entirely too much time on my hands, obviously.

I'm off to my happy place...

Tuesday, January 15, 2008

...and the Drama Award goes to...

I'd like to thank my husband, my sister, my children, and a certain friend, for making this the most incredibly stressful and confusing week ever. There have been ups and downs, misunderstandings, death threats, and a few extra holes and dents in my house, but we made it, and we're all better for it - so I propose a toast -

Testosterone, anyone?

What is it about men that makes them raise their guard at the sight of another man, pounding their chests and grunting incoherent things that are supposed to assert their alpha-maleness, frighten potential threats and make females swoon? I get that there's a caveman deep in the heart of every man, but I draw the line at poo flinging.

And what is it about women that makes them think they have to fix everything, play middle man without permission, all the while stressing themselves out a billion times worse - unneccesarily, at that - than the original people involved? Don't get me wrong, I'm a female and I know how much it sucks to see people you care about fighting or hurt, but from a logical standpoint, does it not seem just a bit counter-productive?

While I'm at it, what the hell is the deal with the toilet seat issue? Is it really that hard for a woman to remember to put it back down if a man has to remember to put it up?

I guess that's yet another unanswerable question of the universe, like "what is the meaning of life," "why is the sky blue," and "who the hell does Tom Cruise think he is, anyway?"

So in closing I just want to say that I love you all, but dammit, you make me crazy. I accept this Darwin award with much adoration and respect for each of you - but next time, keep the chest pounding, poo flinging, and overprotective interventions to a bare minimum.

There's only so much Dr. Phil and drywall putty can do.

Saturday, January 05, 2008

What if Aliens were Monitoring our Media?

First of all, I want to make it clear that I didn't sleep well last night, so if this post is a little...strange...it's not my fault. If I offend or make anyone question my sanity, I assure you it's the insomnia talking.

I don't know if I believe in aliens. There's been no proof that there are, but there's also been no proof that there aren't either - so I'm keeping an open mind on the subject. What frightens me is that if there are in fact beings from another world, they may be curious about us, and may have decided to research us... The problem, however, is that it makes sense that they would most likely be intercepting radio waves (or whatever they use these days) from our media...

It's bad enough that we have "Bob," the creepily happy guy that represents Enzyte and *ahem* male enhancement. We have brightly colored bears that cuddle toilet paper, drunks that believe they're pirates, and tv shows where idiots give their permission for their arrests, accidents, and random stupidity to be broadcasted to the public.

What scares me most however, the most heinous of heinous, is the trainwreck we all know as - Britney Spears. Aha, you saw that coming, didn't you?

I don't have anything personal against Britney, I really don't - in fact, where I once loathed the very thought of her existence, I really just feel sorry for her now. The thing is, if we needed a representative for Earth, is she really what we want the universe to think we are? For that matter, even if they expand their research to the rest of our media coverage, what have we got? Paris, Lindsay, Nichole... so now our planetary neighbors think we're a bunch of rich, horny, cosmetically and herbally enhanced alcoholic party girls who cuddle toilet paper and think it's great when our 15 minutes of fame involves a drag queen and a bag of "oregano". That, and if we fall in love, we use forgotten words like "glib" and scare the hell out of Oprah by jumping up and down on her couch and screaming like a banshee.

And don't even get me started on YouTube.

Come on, people! We drink, we light ourselves on fire, we shave our heads and beat defenseless cars with umbrellas (ok, that's just Britney). Nevermind the kind, intelligent people out there who are actually doing something with their lives, we'd much rather keep tabs on the rich and aimless, as if watching them go down in flames somehow makes our boring minimum wage lives seem more valid. Bitter? Not at all. Frightened? Absolutely - if I were the Ambassador of Zergon I'd just blow the Earth up and be done with it.

Let's just hope that if we aren't alone out there, aliens are as captivated by trainwrecks as we are.

Tuesday, January 01, 2008

'Tis the Season

Wow, it's been a while since I last wasted your valuable time with my rambling... I'm hoping everyone had a great holiday season.

So, just as the title says, 'tis the season, although I think "to be jolly" is a dated term these days. Seems to me a more accurate slogan would be, "'Tis the season to be hungover, bloated, broke, and 'regifting' all the things you've received in the past but didn't want."

...fa la la la la, la la la OWNED.

True, it's not as catchy, but I think it works well, no?

No worries, I'm actually in a great mood and my Christmas and New Years were great (and I actually don't mind receiving "regifts," that just means I have a head start on my gifts for next year), it's just that when I watch everyone scrambling for the "perfect" gifts they can't afford (including me) and throwing their scales out the window because they've scarfed too many egg nogs and holiday cookies, I have to laugh. I'm not really sure why, I just know I'd love to own stock in the diet & fitness industry this time of year.

On a different note, I made the mistake of putting gummy bears in the fridge - so now they're more like shoe-leather bears. I know, random thought, just wanted to share.

So, that's about all the catching up I have to do for now, so until next time...
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