Around midnight, back in 1996, I went down to my friend, Norweiner's, single room in the basement of our dorm at the University of Florida. After hanging out for a little while, she told me she had to turn on the TV, which was strange since Norweiner was the non-tv-watching type. I'd never heard of Conan O'Brien before that night, but watching a giant wagon full of whiny business men being dragged through the studio and around 30 Rockefeller was enough to get me hooked. I've been watching him since.
As so, I pay him the highest honor I can bestow upon someone. I give you, Conan O'Brien as a llama (with doodley background):
You can't see it but he it totally wearing jeggings.
Thank you, to all of you who comment on and share my blarg posts. It means a whole lot to me... more than seems reasonable, actually. For real, it makes my day... which is pretty special because I spend my day doing awesome things all the time.
Someday, when I am super famous and have my own jumbo jet, I'll remember you and let you come look at it, or maybe even take a ride in it if you have racked up enough stalker fan points.
We all know this, but I need to say it for the record:
Printers are ASSHOLES!
Today, I say this because I just spent WAY TOO LONG doing the double crosstic crossword puzzle posted today on Cakewrecks.com on account of my printer. It would not have taken me nearly as long if my printer hadn't decided to trick me by printing out two pages while cutting off two entire clues and multiple letters from six of the numbered answer spaces. I caught the two missing clues about an hour sooner than I caught the missing letters. And of course, there was the migraine in there that slowed me down too, but my brain is less of an asshole than printers, which generally have a shitty attitude and poor work ethic.
This video from College Humor is an exceptional example of what I am talking about:
It's Friday night again, date night. I hear people go to movies and things like that on dates. Here is a scene from one of the greatest 80s movies in a new series I call "Llama Theatre." *whispers* I spell it fancy to make it more special.
Now I can pretend like we are out on a date.
I have to wonder if my nephew has been licking toads. Wait, it's winter... I've not seen any toads. Do toads hibernate? Yes, they do, says google... anyway, maybe he was playing in the snow and found some toads sleeping in a burrow and dug them up and was licking them because he was really weird today.
We went with my mom to the eye doctor today and he was obsessed with the number 1 on the exam room door and kept saying it was at the end of the depth of the universe. And some something I couldn't even understand about black holes and. . . kick ball, maybe?
But the thing above all that must be passed along that he told me at lunch (for no reason whatsoever, that I can surmise) is:
Little boys are NOT beds.
Which they certainly are not.
Maybe he just fits in well in the family. He obviously comes by some of his weirdness honestly... but I am not setting aside my toad theory just yet.
It has come to my attention that many people don't actually know where their stomach is. Most people who complain of having a stomach ache are not at all talking about their stomachs, but are having intestinal pain (see It's a Gas, Gas, Gas!). I happen to be an expert on gut pain, so here is a handy dandy graphic for you, so you can identify what part is involved in case you are having pain in your belly area. Of course I am not a doctor, but I spend enough time googling, and hearing about my guts in doctors' offices, that you can trust my anatomical knowledge:
(All of my pictures are bigafiable by clicking them, if you didn't know- and this has been edited to be less funny and more accurate, in case someone decided to refer to a humor blarg in a real emergency. Note, stomach is cartoonized for cuteness.)
I hope that helps.
But most of all, your guts are not a laughing matter, okay maybe a little bit, but if things start getting weird in there, please see a doctor. And tweet about it, people love hearing about intestinal distress on Twitter.
My family (and I, obviously) lived in Southern California when I was a wee one. Occasionally we would take trips up into the mountains between Oceanside and Ramona. And of course, each trip has a fairly horrific story about me attached to it.
My memory doesn't separate any of the stories, but I have been assured that there were three different occasions, so for now, you only get to hear one of them-- you would have thought that they would have learned to stop taking me up into the damned mountains though.
This story, in particular, occurred on the first trip we made. While driving happily along, as we made our ascent up the mountain, I called out to my parents, begging them to pull over and stop the car. Watching out the window, I had seen a very fluffy rabbit on the side of the road that I desperately wanted as a pet. They very kindly and patiently explained to me that the bunny wasn't sleeping. The very bloated bunny was, in fact, very dead, which meant I really didn't want it.
"But, I want a dead bunny for a pet!" I told them eagerly.
"Why?" They asked with concern.
"Because I can hug it and it won't run away!"
Which makes some sort of sense, I guess, but is a little morbid for a 4 year old. I suppose I didn't quite grasp the concept of decomposition.
Thankfully, they did not allow me to have the dead bunny, but they did get me a rabbit pelt, which was probably the safest alternative to keep me from becoming a serial killer.
Gas-X is one of the best over-the-counter medicines in the history of medicines. I say this mainly because gas pain is one of the most excruciating, yet harmless conditions ever. If you're gonna have that much pain, your entire intestinal tract should be rupturing spectacularly, you shouldn't just need to fart.
Perhaps that should be an ad for their product: Gas-X, it takes away that "gored by a velociraptor" feeling!
I've never actually seen it happen, but I am fairly certain that my husband turns into some sort of a monster when he is excessively hungry. I see the warning signs all the time, and the aftermath, but I've never seen the actual transition. The following is an artist's rendition of the likely transformation:
Daylight Normal Husband- moderately hungry
Late-Night Monster Husband- clearly starving
I've surmised that this must be the case because:
a) he is incapable of remembering directions when hungry, especially of what he is NOT supposed to eat.
b) during the stages between hungry and starving, he becomes incredibly unpleasant to be around, although he is usually pretty nice to be around, otherwise.
c) he keeps blaming disappearing food on "damned kitchen gnomes" so he is clearly blacking out during these times as he would NEVER pass the blame unfairly onto imaginary creatures.
Now, my husband is not a big guy, muscley yet petite, but in the past, I have gone to work and come home to find 2 pounds of chili gone, entire blueberry loaf cakes, full packages of sausages, all the leftover Thanksgiving turkey. There was also the "leftover incident" in which we woke to find that he had eaten the entire box of leftovers from our roommate's family dinner. Turkey, ham, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole-- ate every last bit of it. The monster seems to favor turkey. I also have learned that I either need to hide batches of cookies or face making more when baking for the holidays because the monster likes to get together with the kitchen gnomes and steal them when I leave them on the table to cool before sending them out as presents.
And I've figured out the monster can't read, because leaving notes on things, like "DO NOT EAT THESE, I MEAN IT!!!" doesn't work. The only plan of action that has worked is to make sure that the man is regularly fed so I don't have to go all squirrelly, hiding things so I can have them when I want them. Though, I have found that neither my husband NOR the monster is capable of finding things if I put them behind or underneath something else. It is like an special refrigerator/pantry invisibility cloak.
See, it is tax time, which means that expensive automotive death is bound to happen in my life, and this time it was my husband, in the station wagon,with the fuel pump. Last year it was Eunice, with the timing belt, on the interstate... 50 miles from home.
But the fact that cars don't like me to have money is neither here nor there. What IS is that I think our amazing tow truck driver, Texx with two Xs (and a fancy hat that you likely won't see outside of Montana), either has some sort of magical power, or clearly is some sort of creature with the ability to see out of the back of his head, because the feat of backing up I just saw-- around corners and perfectly into a parking spot, and THEN into a mechanic's garage port that had about 12 inches leeway on each side, with about 30 feet of truck and car in total, was bordering on mythical. I think he might actually be hiding a horn under his hat.
This is going to be an obscenity laden rant regarding something about which I am impassioned. In not so fancy terms, OMG PISSED!
So, I had an argument this morning, it was a petty silly thing but, seriously... I have very little money. It seems that most humor blarggers are in the same rickety boat. So, the argument happened because I became enraged when it was suggested that my household needed a Robostir. If you are unfamiliar with the Robostir, it is a "robot" that you put in a pot, and it stirs it for you.
It stirs a fucking pot... for 17-24 dollars.
But, it is not even a robot. It doesn't have any AI. It doesn't like, use lasers to stir. It isn't connected to Skynet. It is just a motor, with a whisk attached to it, on 3 stupid legs that you plunk into your soup pot. If I'm promised a robot, I want an actual gawddamned robot.
I'm so em-effing tired of gadgets that do things that people don't need help doing. The average person is perfectly able to crack an egg without a gadget, or cut brownies into suitable squares...(if you don't like them being slightly uneven, don't eat one, asshole!)... or OMG, A BUTTER PLUNGER!?!? TWENTY TWO DOLLARS TO MAKE A RIBBON OF BUTTER! ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME!?! Sorry, I was just looking for examples at a website where you can buy all these idiotic gadgets.
And don't get me started on the Topsy Turvy. "Tired of having to bend over to pick up tomatoes that have fallen off the plant?" Why, does the thing come equipped with an anti-gravity force field that keeps the tomatoes from falling? Because it seems to me that if you hang the plant upside down 6 feet from the ground, the tomatoes would be MORE likely to fall (that pesky potential energy and all) and, instead of being happy and whole, they would die a miserable, squashy, death.
But don't get me wrong, I am not against gadgets all together. I had a Ronco Showtime Rotisserie that I absolutely loved (made the best sausage EVAR). I just hate things that assume I'm a blathering idiot who is incapable of gross motor skills.
So, no, I don't want a Robostir because you know what else stirs a pot really well?! Your hand and a wood spoon, and that's like, virtually free. If stirring a pot is such a bloody problem, call me-- I can do it for you for $2.15.
Until I get an honorary diploma from the Starfleet Academy, this is a blarg, not a blog. See, I am highly of the opinion that nothing I write shall ever be a log, as that is a privilege reserved for Sea Captains and Starfleet Commanders and seeing as blog is an abbreviation of weblog, I won't use it. It's just not right. But why a blarg, you ask? I ask you, why not? Saying things with a weird accent is fun and BLARG feels exceptionally nice in the mouth when said particularly silly-like. Try it, out loud, now. Nice, right?
as copied from the pages section so that it can be commented upon. =D
While out today on "Mission: Last Minute Cupid," I saw a vanity plate that I couldn't quite decipher. I decided that the person was either a rodeo clown or did animal husbandry for a dairy farm...
Here in Montana, there seem to be an inordinate amount of vanity plates. Assigning a story to each of them makes for an enjoyable pastime, especially while waiting at train crossings.
A word of advice though, (also from an example found in town) if you are going to get a vanity plate, have a friend look it over for you, just in case.
I went to Muh Donna's last night to get dinner because I was literally starving and wanted to get some calories in me for fairly cheap that I wouldn't feel bad about losing if my food poisoning/stomach flu symptoms continue, as they have been for the past few days.
Being without sustenance for a couple days made me stupidly optimistic, it would seem, because I looked at their menu and saw "OOOH! Fancy strawberry shake! That must be made of the freshest strawberries and organic whole cream ice cream! That sounds great!"
Somewhat unsurprisingly, their new strawberry shake tastes really bad and the faux strawberry syrup with extra red food coloring makes my mouth feel like it is being stung by scorpions.
I've been thinking of taking some scheduled days off until I reach 100 followers... or until I feel less like poop... or maybe not. Don't know. But I do know that there have not been nearly enough whales on this here blarg, so I plan to remedy that.
I should probably complain to this toy company and inform them that humpback whales do not have big honkin' dorsal fins, but alas, I don't speak Chinese. Maybe it is just a growth. I shouldn't make a big deal of it, it might make the whale self-conscious, as if being body-slammed by Hulk Hogan wasn't bad enough.
I slept the majority of the day because I contracted food poisoning (or a 12 hour stomach virus) from what I thought was a delicious lunch from Shmacaroni Shrill, but what turned out to be a illness-inducing, while tasty lunch from said restaurant. I was also kind enough to bring my leftovers home to my husband so he could enjoy the experience with me.
So, uh, I know I have said that I live in Montana, but I have also indicated that I am not originally from here. I am, in fact, from Florida originally. I've lived here in Montana for three years, and as such, driving in snow still scares the holy living hell out of me.
Today, I was coerced into driving to do stupid errands that totally could have waited, in the middle of what should have been labeled a blizzard... and would have been if people without meteorological degrees from Florida were in charge of classifying northern weather.
I missed one turn because this was my view:
And then I hyperventilated as I drove further and further out of town because I couldn't tell where the median lumps broke because everything was covered in snow. Finally about a mile or two later the median lumps disappeared and I then flailed as cars whizzed passed me at 50 mph while I looked for stop sign shapes to try to turn left to get off the road and turn around. Have I mentioned I'm afraid of left turns?
So I managed to turn around and get where I was going and then sent a text while I waited for the first errand to be done, informing my loved ones that I was going to die while driving in crazy snow storm (thankfully I received a reply that was not "K"). And then I promptly experienced the joy of my car pretending to be a Disney ride while trying to enter an intersection as I lost traction and slid at 90 degree angles left and right while begging my car, Eunice, to 'PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! for the love of weasels, go forward,' so that we were not smashed by the people approaching way too quickly.
I managed not to die, as you can probably deduce, but I think I might now need blood pressure medicine, or some sort of anxiety pill as a result of my crazy snow storm adventure.
I've spent my day cooking a ridiculous amount of food for my family for the Super Bowl. We don't follow any teams, especially since our state doesn't have a football team, but I like excuses to cook and be ridiculous, and I like the commercials.
And I wasn't going to post anything, but I wanted to bolster the self-esteem of this poor bowl in my kitchen, the Super Sad Bowl, or I assume it must be because it attempted to jump out of my hands and plummet to its death EVERY time I picked it up. No other kitchen implements did that, so I have to guess it is really unhappy and has given up on life.
But I want it to know that it doesn't have to feel so sad, because I really care about it. Bowl, you were VERY helpful while I was cooking. You did a really good job and I appreciate you a lot. It's not just when you are working though bowl, I appreciate you all the time, even when you are just sitting there on the shelf. So, cheer up little bowl;
I am usually fairly level-headed and logical, silly, yes, but firmly rooted in reality.
However, I have learned that I am not immune from drawing completely ridiculous conclusions when my brain is challenged by information that just doesn't make sense in how it knows the world is supposed to work.
That incident, in this case, was the time that my husband had innocently propped a mirrored tile up against the front of the mirror next to our bed. I had been laying in bed watching a movie and I sat up to go to the bathroom and looked to my left at the mirror, because I always look in mirrors if there is a mirror available, or at my reflection in windows, cars, etc. I'm obsessed with looking at myself. Anyway... I sat up and looked to the left and the mirrored tile just happened to be exactly where my head was and when I looked, instead of seeing my face in the mirror as I expected, I saw only the white reflection of the wall behind me (which was actually the ceiling I was seeing).
And my immediate thought was, "OMG! I'm a vampire!!!" And then in my flailing panic, I realized that when I moved I could see myself around the white patch of mirror, and then I felt dumb... and also relieved that I was not a vampire.
I've mentioned before that I am utterly uncool and play games on Facebook for entertainment.
Growing up, we watched a lot of Family Feud but, while my mom was very good at it, I was never really good at it all, as is evident while playing on Facebook, and I think the reasons for that are multifold.
The first being, I'm uncool. I don't pay attention to the majority of popular culture so I have no chance at all of answer the questions about celebrities. Nor do I have the ability to answer questions pertaining to parties or social activities. My main goal at a party it to get through it without having to interact with anyone I don't already know... I'm too busy avoiding people to notice what other people are doing to enjoy themselves.
If you've ever watched Family Feud, you know that they obtain the answers by surveying 100 random people. I'm fairly certain not all of them are the brightest llamas in the pack, because when asked "Name a way you know your wife is turning into a chimpanzee." you end up with answers like, "She grows a tail," which makes me want to smash my head into my desk until I pass out (for those of you not familiar with the anatomy of chimpanzees, they don't have tails because they are apes, not monkeys, and apes don't have tails... 'cause they're not monkeys).
I also tend to over think the questions. When you have 10 seconds to answer something, it doesn't help to consider the existential ramifications of the question. I often find myself thinking "Oh, yeah... fruitcake is something people don't like receiving as a Christmas gift.. I guess that makes more sense than 'severed pig's head'." When most of the thoughts that go through your head are vastly weirder than your peers, you are going to have problems with getting "most popular answers."
I usually do much better at Fast Money, for what reason I don't know... maybe the questions are more focused since they are in a rapid fire format, but even still, I often times end up sending irritated notes to my friend when I complete their Fast Money saying things like "Oh, apparently dogs don't count as pets now!?!" only with slightly more capitalization to express my true outrage.
The true joy of playing though, comes when you realize that your friend doesn't need your answers to win because they have already exceeded 200 points, so you can go for comedy over score.
Montana, I would like to pay you taxes on all of our income, but you won't give me any information ANYWHERE on your website on where to list OTHER FREAKING INCOME on ANY OF YOUR TAX FORMS!!!!! Or maybe you do, but the fact is that I can not find it anywhere by looking in the booklets of ALL of the different tax forms, or the forms themselves (using ctrl-f), or by searching your website, or by sacrificing virgins on your digital alter in the hopes that maybe you will have some freaking mercy on me. Because we are talking about a $1000 discrepancy. A THOUSAND DOLLARS that is on a 1099-misc which you don't have space for anywhere... so I can just assume you don't want me to count that money, but I am guessing you probably would like the additional 20 bucks of tax money from me on that, and I would REALLY like to avoid being audited or corrected again like last year, or whatever, and I am certainly not paying 30 bucks to have H&R Block do it. . .
I just have to say, the state of Montana is very lucky that I am filing electronically or I would be rubbing the tax forms all over my ass before sending them out!
Fine, damn it, I called and talked to Tax Man Brian and I found out where to put the damned thing, but in this day and age I should not have to interact with actual humans to get information!
I've managed to contract half of a flu, which is to say, I'm not going to a doctor to pay to be told I have "virus syndrome" but I feel like I've been hit by a moving vehicle, for no discernible reason, because I feel fine otherwise, just... beaten and bruised, though I am actually neither of those things.
TL;DR- I feel like crap.
So instead of drawing anything, I am sharing things that have brought me grand amounts of joy lately:
Actually, the whole album makes me all kinds of happy, and only costs a minimum of 69¢ (That is, you can pay more if you like, which I did). You can listen to it all here before buying it! Or just listen to it there and not buy it... some of the lyrics are NSFW, btw.
Seriously, I'm fairly certain she is gonna start being afraid of me soon, because my love for her is so strong that I am now writing about it in my blarg and it's beginning to seem creepy even to me, but she's freakin' funny!
She is a teaching herself the art of cake and I love what she does. The insides are so cool, too, in fact, a picture of her 7 layer rainbow cake was what endeared me to her, and her tattoos. Don't miss her exclusive post on the Santa Claw either!
And lastly, stickers, puffy weird stickers. I found some with narwhals and other lesser celebrated sea creatures, and some with lovey Australian animals recently. Not much that is cuter than kissing duck-billed platypi (which would actually be correctly pluralized as platypodes, but damn it... PLATYPI!).
So yeah, sorry for no art, but feel free to draw me some strange animal hybrids or make me "Get Well" bouquets of bacon to speed my recovery!