This is what happens when most of the office is out

This isn't a "real" post...I mean, it exists because I'm typing it, and you're looking at it. It's kinda like a more lame version of Schrödinger's cat. I mean that it's not "real" in the sense that I'm not going to be using a lot of words. Starting.....now.

What I feel like doing at about 2:30 on a Friday:

When stupid people talk to me:

Walking through a dark room after watching a scary movie and thinking I heard something behind me:

What I'd like to do when my sister annoys me:

When I see someone I don't like, I'm like:

When I'm bored and feeling restless, I'm like:

When someone pisses me off:

When someone tried to steal one of my best friend's hat at a 311 concert:

When someone doesn't acknowledge my high five:

How I feel sometimes driving home from work:

To the creeper at the bar:

When something turns out better than I expected:

I'm feeling lazy, but still want to drink:

When I want two of my friends to stop fighting and make up:

When someone won't let me concentrate on what I'm doing and keeps interrupting me:

When someone gets into my bubble:

What I'd like to do when I leave the bar:

When I'm the only one who doesn't care:

When one of my friends is about to do something really stupid and looks at me for approval:

When I'm hyper, and Jared's trying to watch tv/read:

When someone doesn't laugh at my joke:

How my face looks vs. how I'm actually feeling:

VS








Okay, I'm done for now. FYI, I did get this idea from #whatshouldwecallme.tumblr.com. You should check her out; it's pretty funny.

It's even BETTER than a kick in the nuts!!

 There is a place in Houston called Saint Dane’s Bar & Grill. I’ve never been there, but Jared and I happened across it while we were looking at houses. I’ll admit, it looked like a pretty decent bar, and it was in an eclectic part of town that made me think a little bit of Austin. I glanced at the bar, pointed it out to Jared, and was about to move on with my day. As I commented on how it was a cute little corner bar, I glanced back at it to confirm that I agreed with myself. That’s when I noticed the sign.

“IT'S BETTER THAN A KICK IN THE NUTS”


You might be asking yourself, much as we did, “The fuck???”

Jared and I both agreed that they were setting the bar really, really low. I pointed out that that was actually pretty smart marketing because if anyone ever complained, the staff could say, “Hey, we didn’t say this place was amazing; we just said it was better than a kick in the nuts. It’s not our fault you disregarded the sign and waltzed in here with your high expectations” or (with an infuriatingly idiotic grin on their face) “The drinks are disgusting and the bar is filthy, you say? Well, it could certainly worse…in fact, it’s better than a kick in the nuts!!” at which point, the complaining party would then set the staff member on fire and exclaim, “It’s better than a kick in the nuts, motherfucker!!”

We laughed at that scenario for a minute, but then I got quiet as a much more disturbing thought crept into my head.


Me: “What if getting kicked in the nuts is supposed to be a good thing?”

Jared: *blink*“…..uh….what?”


Me: “What if they’re into S&M, Fifty Shades of Grey, and red rooms of pain? What if they like being kicked in the nuts? I bet they think that that’s actually a selling point, ‘Come have a blast at Saint Dane’s Bar & Grill…it’s even BETTER than a kick in the NUTS!!’”

Jared, glancing over at me, probably making sure I wasn’t about to stroke out: “Yeah, that’s possible too…”

Me: “And if that’s the case, I know where I’m not going! To the bar that’s run by people who enjoy being kicked in the nuts…the fuck is that about?? I don’t want to be kicked in the nuts. And I don’t even have nuts. Clearly they have questionable morals.”

Jared: “Yeah, that’s completely fucked up…”

 I stand corrected. The amusement level of racking someone is completely relative. Kind of like hitting your funny bone.   X, like, 1,000,000,000.

As I was writing all of this down, I thought of another situation regarding the sign. What if the sign wasn’t referring to the bar at all? Maybe they were trying to put things into perspective for all of us that happened by their sign. “You lost a leg in a fight with a hobo? Man, that sucks…but hey,, it’s better than a kick in the nuts.”

Actually now that I think about it, I don't think that works. Forget I suggested it.


Here is a list of reasons as to why I'm probably going to steer clear of Saint Dane’s:

1. They use “a kick in the nuts” as a unit in which to measure how awesome or not awesome their bar is. It’s all very confusing and disturbing.
2. They don’t know their maths. I’m not going to trust a “bar & grill” that doesn’t know how much a quarter is worth. 
3. Their bar is named after a dog breed that doesn’t exist. From their website: “First off, the name comes from a new breed. A Saint Bernard crossed with a Great Dane = Saint Dane's”. And they give absolutely no reason for this; it sounds like a drunken slip of the tongue. Also, I don't like their attitude.

Either they're really bad at math or they're really bad at the English language. Either way, it's not helping their image. Although the Mango Habanero sounds delicious. Don't judge me.

 Side note: Thanks to Sarah for piquing my interest enough that I broke down and read the plot summary of Fifty Shades of Grey. After reading it, I decided two things: 1) I'm never fucking reading that book. It sounds like Twilight for adults, and I've heard some of the bizarre and, to be honest, fucking disgusting things that they've said in reference to how to the book makes them feel; and- actually side note to the guys: Stop reading. Seriously. Stop. I know you're still there....Fine. Don't say I didn't warn you- 2) I've decided that during my period, I'm going to refer to my uterus as the "Red Room of Pain".

By the way, here's the plot summary for those of you who didn't immediately jump on over to good ol' Wikipedia:

The plot traces the relationship between recent college graduate Anastasia Steele and manipulative billionaire Christian Grey. Steele is required by Grey to sign a contract allowing him complete control over her life. As she gets to know him she learns that his sexual tastes involve bondage, domination and sadism, and that childhood abuse left him a deeply damaged individual. In order to be his partner she agrees to experiment with BDSM, but struggles to reconcile who she is (a virgin who has never previously had a boyfriend) with who Christian wants her to be: his submissive to do with as he pleases in his “Red Room of Pain.”

....yeah....And this is a bestseller, y'all. I've lost almost all faith in humanity. I might post sometime this weekend as to why I haven't lost complete faith. Yet.

THE RED ROOM OF PAIN!!! Also? Don't do an image search for 'Uterus". Just...don't. Trust me.

And then I met a weasel wearing an apron.

They were nice enough to post an arrow to direct me where to sit. It's totally legit. You can see it's shadow on the wall.

I just came across this picture from Jenny Lawson's book signing at the Blue Willow Bookshop in the Memorial area. I was not playing around...I got there super early and made sure I was right up front. Mission: Accomplished. I was hoping to get a picture with her, but Jenny, or her assistant, or Jenny's husband, Victor, forgot that she had a flight at 9 pm (to be honest, it was probably Victor) so they rushed us through the line. I did however get her to sign my book and the bookmark that I made while I was
waiting.

This is Juanita...well a bookmark version of her. The real her is pictured below.

Property of thebloggess.com and Jenny Lawson. I don't want her sending her army of taxidermied animals to eat my face and/or haunt my dreams.

It speaks and writes correctly or else it gets the hose again...

Seriously…what has happened to us? No one can be bothered to speak and spell correctly anymore. I wasn’t aware there was an ‘F’ in ‘birthday’ and ‘mouth’….and ‘teeth’. Oh wait, that’s right…because there isn’t!! And did you see what I did there? I used the correct “there/their/they’re”. It’s really not that hard, I promise. I know you think your brain is going to explode because you’re not used to using the sophisticated rules of the English language properly (or at all, for that matter), but I assure you, your empty brain is in no danger of suddenly bursting into flames. Actually, it’s quite the opposite; if you start speaking and writing correctly I probably won’t set you on fire. I say probably only because honestly, you’ve already done a lot of damage. So much so that I might not be able to stop myself.

That or I'll send him to your job to dance around you like this all day...Don't look at me like that; you do it to yourself.

Like I've said in the past, I’m no longer claiming the status of grammar Nazi because it’s too much pressure. I know this may come as a shock to many of you, but I make mistakes too. I will occasionally ‘eff up’, and I don’t want all 5 of you demanding that the streets run red with my blood. Because to be honest, I don’t have enough blood for that. It’s like you guys don’t even know how the human body works. Really, I’m looking out for you guys; I don’t want y’all to get bent out of shape because y’all were planning on flooding the streets with my copious amounts of blood, and only end up with enough for a comparatively tiny stream of blood. If anything, you guys should be thanking me.

You’re welcome.

Anyway, that’s not the point. My point was that we all make mistakes. We are educated in the ways of the English language and use it freely. Good for us! We also mess up sometimes when we’re flustered or in a rush. It happens. This post is not for those people. This post is for the people who talk like they have a goddamn mouth full of mush, and for the people who type lyk dis XD!!!!!!!!! <3333333

….I don’t think you even realize how close you come to me setting you on fire. Especially the people that I know personally. The fuck, y’all??

Every time I see someone type some stupid-ass bullshit like this:

"Hey sis how u an lil man doin????? Me an tha babies doin fine i ask them who u was they said thats TT *** smh dey dont forget nobody we miss yall an also we enjoyed yall when yall was down here hope to see yall soon!!!!"

I want to put my fist through my computer. What the….fuck w-…was that even English??

Say 'birfday' again. Say 'birfday' again, I dare you, I double dare you motherfucker, say 'birfday' one more Goddamn time!

And somehow I'm Samuel L. Jackson again for this story. This shouldn't surprise anyone.

Missing: My motivation

Bad news, y’all…I lost my motivation. Like, I can’t find it anywhere. I’ve even looked in the freezer because the freezer is kind of like Narnia. You never know what you might find in there. Holy crap, I totally figured out where the entrance to Narnia is in my apartment. Actually I have two: the freezer (obviously) and the dryer. I would say I probably have an entrance in my closet as well, but my closets are tiny and Narnia wouldn’t fit….yet somehow my freezer and dryer are able to hold Narnia within them. Interesting.

I don’t know how Narnia works.

Related note: I think Mary Poppin’s purse (or would it be Poppins’? Apparently I don’t know how fictional characters’ names work either) also contains Narnia within it. And it’s infinitely smaller than my tiny, hobbit-sized closets. And it’s portable. Two things:

1)Why the fuck does she get magical powers AND a portable Narnia?? Because she’s played by Julie Andrews, and clearly Jules sold her soul to the devil. What a bitch. The hills are alive with the sound of music. And the screams of the innocent.

2)The smaller the object, the more likely you are to find Narnia. So ladies, when gift giving time comes around, don’t be upset with your guy because that tiny jewelry box contains earrings and not a ring. Get upset because it contains earrings and not Narnia. Scratch that…get upset because the tiny box doesn’t contain earrings AND Narnia.

….I clearly don’t know how Narnia works. Or Mary Poppins. Or Julie Andrews. Or freezers. Or closets. Or dryers. Or gift giving.

Seriously y'all...how have I made it this far in life? 

This is probably where the moths come from too. Narnia moths are the worst.

I will have a real post later. Until then, enjoy:

Nathan Fillion wins Halloween. Forever.

You're welcome.

Sorry I haven't updated...I've been in the middle of a battle of epic proportions...Seriously, Frodo ain't got shit on me.

It’s been a while since I’ve posted anything about bugs…okay, that’s mainly because it’s been forever since I’ve posted anything at all. My bad. Stop yelling at me.

Anyway, a couple of months ago, I was getting ready to feed my cat some new food that came in a box instead of a bag. It was a brand new box, so you can imagine my confusion when I went to pour it into her bowl, and small bugs rose up from the food like an army of undead assholes. With wings. For a minute I stood there, staring dumbly at the bowl as most of them gave me the finger and flew away, presumably to find something else to contaminate or a nice cozy place to lie in wait until they could regroup and attack me in my sleep. I don’t know…I’m not sure how these bugs work. They seemed evil so I’m just going to assume that they’re plotting to attack me at my most vulnerable. All I could think as I stared down at the bowl was, “Oh God…this isn’t happening. I’m hallucinating. I’m having a bad acid trip…wait, I’ve never done acid. It’s probably a stroke.” I dumped the whole bowl into the sink because I wasn’t sure how to dispose of a whole horde of these flying monstrosities. I immediate turned on the hot water because damn it, if I was going to drown them, I was going to do it with boiling hot water. I wanted to make sure that the remaining flying asshole zombie bugs saw exactly what I was capable of in the hopes that they would decide that it was a better idea to just go ahead and end it all then instead of sticking around to die by my hand. Much to my disappointment, I didn’t hear their tiny terrified screams resonating around my apartment.

I went to Austin for the weekend and had forgotten about them until I went to grab something out of the laundry room when I got home, and I looked up at the ceiling and counted seven or eight of them on the ceiling. I grabbed the closest thing I had to bug spray  and Febreezed the shit out of those motherfuckers. I was hoping to kill them, but thought at the very least, if they were going to be flying around my apartment, they could make it smell nice. It’s all about compromise. Well, apparently they didn’t see it the same way….I guess watching one of your buddies get taken out by Christmas scented Febreeze will cause you to snap. Who knew? Anyway, one day I was walking through my apartment when out of fucking nowhere one of those bastards flew AT. MY. FACE. I’m talking it straight up dive bombed me. Did you guys know moths could do that? Cause I didn’t! Well, being the stoic, completely in control individual that I am, I freaked the fuck out and ended up slapping myself in the face as I did my best impression of an epileptic, mid-seize.  I’m amazed I didn’t swallow my tongue. 

Like this, only with more face slapping.

Seriously, you would have thought the God damned Mothman had snuck up on me. Although if it had been the Mothman, I would have apologized for being in his way and quietly left and not gone chasing him around my apartment trying to kill him by clapping like a retarded seal.  But it wasn’t him; it was just one tiny asshole moth, so I did the latter…I just thought about what all of that must have looked like to anyone who could see into my apartment.

Great…now I’m the retarded, epileptic girl who runs around her apartment applauding empty rooms and then does an “In-Your-Face” victory dance when she’s done. Le sigh...

Yeah, that's about right...