Wednesday, May 27, 2009

What kind of a fucktard do you have to be to need your beer can to let you know when it's cold? Seriously, how did this "invention" come about - were people complaining?

"Puh-leez help me, shitty American beer manufacturer, I can't never tell when mah beer is cold, it's so much trouble to FEEL THE CAN IN THE REFRIGERATOR"

You want to come up with something useful? How about a microwave burrito or Hot Pocket that will tell me when it's cooked all the way through so I don't bite into that chunk of chicken glacier halfway through.

Tuesday, May 26, 2009

know what's better than going to the dentist?

going to a new dentist.

know what's better than a new dentist?

a new dentist located between an Asian massage parlor and a taqueria in a strip mall.

know what's better than a new dentist located between an Asian massage parlor and a taqueria in a strip mall?

a new dentist located between an Asian massage parlor and a taqueria in a strip mall with such a small office that there aren't exam rooms but exam cubicles.

know what's better than a new dentist located between an Asian massage parlor and a taqueria in a strip mall with such a small office that there aren't exam rooms but exam cubicles?

being able to hear the woman two cubicles over SCREAMING IN AGONY* & ** while a cute little Asian man is shoving x-ray stuff in your mouth.



* seriously, this woman made noises that I didn't make while giving birth

** I instantly liked the new dentist when the first thing he said was "don't worry, I won't make you sound like that". Also, his first name is Hamlet, how cute is that?

Thursday, May 21, 2009

PMS letters

Dear Boys Who Think I Can't Like and/or Speak Intelligently About Basketball;

Kiss my ass.

xxoo,

me

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear People Who Block Entire Aisles At The Grocery Store Like You've Never Seen Food Before,

Where the fuck are you from? The Soviet Union in 1982? Ooooooh, toilet paper! Oooohhh, canned chicken! Big fucking deal.

Fuck off.

xxoo,

me


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Anyone Who Writes A Check At The Grocery Store,

Get a fucking debit card like a normal person, would you? Also, if you INSIST upon writing a check, start filling that shit out ahead of time.

xxoo,

me

Labels: letter to

Wednesday, May 20, 2009

pms can fuck right off.

that
is
all.

Tuesday, May 19, 2009

The past 3 nights in a row, my basketball-playing kid had challenged me to play H-O-R-S-E .

The past 3 nights in a row, I have kicked my kid's basketball-playing butt in H-O-R-S-E.

These have been major feats for me since I have zero athletic ability and he's a basketball whiz. He's also terribly competitive and hates to lose - being the awesome parent that I am, I feel the need to rub it in.

Today, as I victory-danced into the house, I told him "I'm getting a t-shirt that says 'I beat my kid!'"

"Um... Mom, I don't think that's a great idea."

"It's fine, I just won't wear it when I come to your school."

Labels: adventures in shitty parenting

Saturday, May 16, 2009

Remember when blogs first became popular and everybody you knew had a blog and 98% of them sucked, or just didn't get updated ever and were eventually abandoned? And all these experts opined that bloggers were big old narcissists.

I'll agree with that, I mean, how full of myself do I have to be to think that anyone gives half a crap about any of my useless anecdotes? And I think most, if not all bloggers go through a phase where they're concerned about what everyone else thinks and obsessed with the traffic coming to their site. I had one of those phases where I signed up for every blog catalog/directory/listing service and checked my stats a few times a day. I was consumed with how to get more people to look at my words. Wanna know what I got out of that? A sum total of nothing. I almost ditched my blog, then I realized that I was writing because I kind of like to write and if other people care or like it, great, if not, who cares? I'm a phenomenally not-social person in real life, why did I want to be social online?

Right about then, all of these social networking sites started popping up -

First it was MySpace - which I signed up for because... I don't know. When I was a derby chick, MySpace was a way for all of us to keep in touch (you know, since we only saw each other 4 days a week) and it was helpful for publicizing derby stuff and passively stalking keeping in touch with people I've had no contact with since high school.

Then came Facebook, which - I've had the account for well over a year, but I still don't get it - why the hell do you think anyone cares about your fucking status updates every 4 minutes? No one cares that you are thinking about taking a nap, or that you're wearing brown socks, or that you're "now a fan of carbon-based-lifeforms". I'm terminally unemployed, but even I don't have the time or inclination to dredge up any give-a-fuck for people who update their status every time they pee. And to be completely honest, when my sister talked my mom into getting a Facebook, I quickly became even less interested.

And now it's Twitter* & **- it's like the social networking site for those who find Facebook too complicated? It's just status updates - endless status updates - cut up into bite-sized portions of 140-or-less-characters for our attention deficit society. Not to mention how it's been all but taken over by advertisers and spammers.

(And we won't even go into the sites people try to get me to join so we can compare and contrast our tastes in music, books and movies)

If bloggers are narcissists, what label can be applied social-networking addicts? At least when I blog, I try to tell a story, well, I try to do more than just vomit out word-vomit.

What I'm really wondering is... why do I need this social networking crap? I can honestly say that I haven't formed a lasting relationship, or even strengthened any of my existing relationships through e-social e-networking. If we're already friends, or you, for some ridiculous reason, want to foster a friendship with me, we can email, or IM, maybe even text on occasion, but I don't see why you would think that wanting me to read and comment on the mind-numbing details of your day-to-day existence might bring us closer together.

*speaking of Twitter, here's a couple quick tips on how to get un-followed by me:

1) Feel the need to follow 10,000 people and reply to EVERY SINGLE UPDATE OF THEIRS - even if it's just shit like "@random_person - lol :)" or "@other_random_person I agree!!!:)" so that the one or two times a day I check my twitter, the entire page is your face.

2) Update every time you do ANYTHING - eat, sleep, have sex, look out the window, change your clothes - so that the one or two times a day I check my twitter, the entire page is your face. No one is half as interesting as you think you are and no one is half as interested as you think they are.

** the only good thing about Twitter is the teensy handful of generally douche-tastic, yet actually kind of really funny celebrities who use it - people like Shaquille O'Neal, John Mayer and Diablo Cody. And the teensy handful of stupidly cool celebrities like Eric Hutchinson (swoon), Rainn Wilson and Mindy Kaling.***

*** the time I spent collecting those links was more time on Twitter than I've spent since I joined the site.

Friday, May 15, 2009

GIANT sign in front of the park down the street from our house:



me: as opposed to every other day when it's PEDOPHILES-AND-GUYS-WHO-LIKE-TO-WHACK-IT-IN-PUBLIC day?

Sunday, May 10, 2009

Dear Grumpy Old Cat,

I get that you're 13 or 14 years old and you'd just like to spend as much time as possible sleeping. I also get that my side of the bed is, apparently, the most comfortable spot on the planet to you. That's great and you're welcome to it all day long.

Please note, though, that "all day long" does not start at 6AM when you decide to climb on my pillow, purring, ramming my head with yours and sticking your furry hindquarters in my face.

There are about 90 million soft surfaces in this house on which you could snooze until a decent, human hour of the morning. Please adjust your schedule accordingly.

Thanks,

the lady who feeds you

Labels: letter to

Tuesday, May 05, 2009

first thought of the day (forty-five minutes before my alarm is scheduled to go off):

why the hell can't someone create a trash truck that's not so damn loud?


second thought of the day:

because the loud trash truck serves as a necessary wake-up call to those of us who consistently forget to put out our trash cans the night before. Damn.