The Day I Stopped Smoking Cloves.

A (n unfortunately true) Cautionary Tale

And in case you can't read my chicken scratch:

Remember that time in high school that I went to Dick Clark's American Bandstand 

to hit on my adult neighbor who was DJing there? And I was smoking clove cigarettes? 

And then I threw up in my hair? And  on the dance floor... and in their bathroom sink

because all the bathroom stalls were taken? 

Good times...good times.

My Bad Summer of Eating Date with @Bing and @Klout

I took my husband out on a date today because I tried to take him on a date yesterday only to find the restaurant we wanted to go to didn't open at normal hours on Sunday, and now that my husband is working again, we can only do things on Sundays and Mondays because those are his days off.

I also took him out because I got a perk from Klout.com and Bing.com (because I am super popular), where I was given a wine set and a $10 Visa giftcard to celebrate their Summer of Eating promotion.
I even told our awesome waitron why we were there and she wrote down Klout.com in her order taking thingy, because she likes free things as much as everyone else likes free things, and as much as I like free things, which is an awesome reason to sign up for Klout.com-- because I have gotten quite a few great free things from them.

Only, when it came time to pay, I pulled out my super duper Visa giftcard, and IT DIDN'T FREAKING WORK.

It was like  one of those moments when you go on a date with some guy who picked you up on the internet and then after you have eaten delicious food that you THOUGHT he was gonna pay for, he is all, "Oh, sorry, I guess my card isn't working..." and you're all "FINE, the waitron has swiped your card three times and you need to know that I am SO NOT PUTTING OUT NOW, but fucking fuck, I'll pay for it. Asshole!"

That's how Klout/Bing made me feel.  They were the bad date that screws you over and makes you pay for the food they promised you, because THEY sure as hell aren't going to wash dishes to pay for this meal. Not that I would really expect them to, because websites and water don't really mix, but yeah, I was pretty damned disappointed.

That doesn't mean that I won't get free stuff from them again if its available, and that I didn't appreciate what they were TRYING to give me.  It was exciting to get such a cool perk.  And hey, I have this awesome wine set (though I don't drink wine, or anything I could use a wine set with). I'm sure I can find a use for it and as always, suggestions are welcome and illustrations are worth extra points.

It totally looks like a fancy murdering kit to me, but my parents bought me an Infamous Murderers book for Hanukkah when I was a teenager, so that probably explains that line of thought.


I just wish that after touting how awesome Klout and Bing were on twitter and in the restaurant, the friggen card worked so I didn't look like one of those girls...



And I think this kinda goes without saying, because of the content of this "review" but:

Influencer disclosure

I was given a free product or sample because I'm a Klout influencer. I was under no obligation to receive the sample or talk about this company. I get no additional benefits for talking about the product or company.

One-Uppers and Grief Shamers

While writing my post about Suffering Magnets, I came to the realization that I may be a One-Upper.

You know, those people who tell you something of equal or greater horror when you tell them something bad that happened to you?


I don't mean to be a One-Upper, it is just that people tell me something has happened to them and then, in an effort to relate, I tell a story about something similar that has happened to me, which usually tends to be a bit more terrible because, as we have established, things are always bafflingly fucked up in my life. So I hear the words just flowing out of my head and I think, 'SHUT UP, JUST SHUT UP. They think you are playing the Grief Olympics.. they think you are an asshole, just shut the hell up'... but OMG it just feels so good to share grief, to remove it from your stupid jerk head and let it out into the world like a little grief dragon, to let it stretch and spread its wings after keeping it cooped up in your belfry of a brain ALL THE TIME.

I'd like to quietly listen and say, "Oh jeepers! That is just so awful, you poor person, what can I do?" but it is rarely what ends up happening. Even though I try... really really hard.

 But in no way am I trying to be a Grief Shamer.

Grief Shamers are the type of people who won't let you have a second of complaining without reminding you that no matter what you are are upset about, other people have it 7 billion times worse so you should just STFU and be glad your grandpa was eaten by a tiger because your ENTIRE FAMILY could have been eaten by A STREAK OF TIGERS EQUIPPED WITH LASERS!

I don't even believe in shaming "First World Problems."  I think sharing suffering make it suck less and there is no shame in that. So, if people wanna complain to me about Bravo's Twitter team spoiling the winner of Top Chef for every time zone other than Eastern, like a bunch of assholes, or finding that their bag of chips is lacking in delicious powdered flavor, I have no problem with that. I just have a problem if you don't want to hear about the time my Chili Cheese Fritos were kinda flavorless, too, and were full of bees that stung my throat and I had to go to the emergency room, but I couldn't get in because it was full of wolves... with lasers.

Suffering Magnets

Does everyone have these people?

The ones who pop up when you are really upset and end up making everything SO MUCH WORSE?

Inevitably, every time you're really upset there they are, like some sort of suffering magnet, ready to beat you down until you are quivering jelly on the floor with their special misery boot-imprint stamped right on your globby forehead.

It should be legal to set those people on fire.

Just sayin'.

To My Doctor...

So... okay, my colonoscopy was awful, and it was an anomaly*, I know, because I have a super liver (still) that filters medications out of my body at high speeds, so uh, I may have traumatized some people.

They also might not have taken me completely seriously when I told them that I ALWAYS wake up during the procedure. So, I woke up during the procedure...

And I feel it necessary, now, to make this card for my doctor because I am going to have to continue to see him, and I am fairly embarrassed that in my semi-unconscious state I couldn't stop myself my screaming like a crazed weasel and crying hysterically, like someone had just been cutting chunks out of my intestines while filling them full of air.

All I really know about my doctor is that he REALLY likes working out. And he seems not to be a serial killer, so I can safely assume that he likes kittens and rainbows and unicorns and mini Godzilla.

So, yeah. Sorry 'bout that.



*Please don't let this scare you off from getting life-saving diagnostic tests. Most people don't have this problem, and a few minutes of screaming while they run off to get you more meds is worth making sure your guts are okay, believe me. This is my fifth and it won't be my last, no matter how many times it traumatizes me.

Operation: Mother May I?

Here I go being political again. If you think that we would be better off if the government controlled the lives of women, reading this will likely piss you right the hell off and your time would be better off spent elsewhere pretending I am just PMSing.





After reading more on proposed contraception bans and comments about how women should be at home taking care of children instead of working so we don't need things like Head Start, the following occurred to me:

I wonder how grating it would be to Republican politicians if hoards of women tweeted them every time we wanted to use our vaginas to see if it was okay with them.

Perhaps having to hear about tampons, and douches, and discharges, and masturbation, and kinky sex, or even conventional vanilla sex within church sanctioned marriages, 24 hours a day, would make them less interested in controlling our junk.

Think this might make a difference? Want to help make a point? Tweet your daily vaginal activities to your favorite Republican on twitter with the hashtag #MotherMayIGOP 

Don't have a republican in mind? 

You can start here:
@Senate_GOPs
@RoyBlunt
@RickSantorum
or do a search for your local GOP representative on the Google.

Don't have a vagina?

Be sure to share this post with your favorite vagina owner.

Disclaimer- One should never wait for a reply from someone to use their vagina. At this point, your vagina is yours and yours alone (unless you have figured some clever way to rent it out or are a conjoined twin)... take advantage of it while you still can!

Super (Nom) Bowl

This is REALLY how I view the Super Bowl every year.  I don't hate football, but I do love eating ridiculous foods that I only feel justified in making a few times a year, as well as watching funny commercials. I am more than willing to put up with the football part of the event to reap the joy of these two SUPER bonuses.

Each year I look forward to finding out who is in the Super Bowl, though I don't watch any other games, JUST so I can figure out what kind of food I will get to make (as I make my spread match the cities of the playing teams).  This year it is pizza dip (as well as a few other New Yorkish Dips from the same site) and Lobster Rolls (made with 2 sad little lobster tails 'cause they were on sale and we needed to budget for the month) and Shrimp Skewers.

And now I am going to finish cooking it all and then eat it, while watching commercials to see which company wins this year.

Ice, Ice, Baby!

Yesterday, after 4 years of being in Montana, I broke my falling on ice virginity. It was almost as traumatic as losing the other virginity... only less bruises this time (I kid).

I had a series of falling incidents in college where I would just be walking along, my ankle would twist, and next thing I knew, I would find myself on the floor while my friends walked on, not even noticing I was no longer next to them.

A slipping fall is much more traumatic, I think, because your brain has the time to register that you will be falling soon. It seems to happen almost in slow motion. The most damaging part for me, since I am well padded, is that it seems I pulled about every muscle in my body trying to recover my balance instead of just going with the fall.


That is why I think people should ALWAYS be drunk while walking on ice.

GERD is No Joke.

The ghost of a tuna fish tried to kill me last night while I slept.

Most people think of acid reflux as a minor annoyance, and while you are awake, I would tend to agree.  Having heartburn sucks, but at least you are awake, and aware of having it, and are most likely not lying down, and so you're slightly uncomfortable and can go take an acid reducer of some sort.  But when you are asleep, acid reflux tries to murder the shit out of you.

Last night, I was happily dreaming about magical spit when all of a sudden, I was awake and terribly aware that I was dying. I sat straight up, flailing, as one will do when they are jolted awake by choking to death, and tried to breathe but my lungs just gave me a big "FUUUUUUUUUUUUUU" and would not inflate.

The following conversation was then had with my lungs:
Me: "Please, I need to breathe!!!"
My Lungs: "You should have thought about that before you filled us with stomach acid, you asshole!"
Me: "Yeah, I wasn't trying to. I'm not enjoying this any more than you are."
My Lungs: "Stop eating tuna fish for dinner."
Me: "Yeah, I'm right on top of that, Rose.  In the mean time, could you let me get some fucking oxygen because I am dying here."
My Lungs: "Fine, if we must, but we're not kidding about the tuna."

And so, after probably only a few seconds that felt like way longer of desperately trying to breathe, my lungs began working again, and the ghost tuna was exorcised through a ritual of burping and puking that sounded like I had eaten a live velociraptor.

In case you are worried, I'm fine now, other than some slight lung-area pain and a major case of tuna-related PTSD.

Why the long face?

Sometimes, really cheerful people say really inanely stupid things when they should probably not talk.

OMFGNOTBBQ!

I came to a terrible realization today.

Hanging out at my friend's house, we keep lamenting that the neighbors are ALWAYS barbecuing and it smells so delicious. We've even joked about showing up at their door with a plate for dinner. Then, this morning I walked out in the backyard and saw this over the fence:

I'm so sorry, Mr. Fluffypants. I'm so sorry.

I do have a magnetic personality!

I have a lot of problems with those fuzzy captchas that are quite popular on website these days. It is so difficult for me to read them, every time I encounter one, I become anxious and worried that I might actually be a spam robot without being aware.

Isla de la Comida Robada

I'd like to talk for a moment about one of the most terrifyingly unsettling members of our society.  As usual, it is a commercial that reminds me, because I watch a lot of commercials while I am not paying attention to the TV, whilst screwing around online, but I digress.

While I am a peace-loving, Pollyanna, give-everyone-the-benefit-of-the-doubt type of girl, I think that people who habitually and purposely steal other peoples' lunches in the work place are bad bad people.

Seriously, and I am not talking about, "starving, come in off the street, just need something to eat."  I'm talking about the kind of sociopath who has a job, money, and a lunch hour where they could go purchase their own food, or order take out, and yet, there they are, stalking through the lunches of their coworkers, stealing food for the sheer thrill of doing so.  These people are untrustworthy douchebags and should be shunned from society.

I mean, what has to be going through their heads?  They work with their victims.  They are committing their crime in a public area.  People look forward to lunch.  They know what they brought to eat. It is just unconscionable.

The best (and most logical) punishment, in my estimation, is a Lord of the Flies/ LOST sort of scenario in which discovered lunch thieves are placed on a desert island and all forced to make elaborate, delicious lunches each day, which they then put in a refrigerator that is routinely raided by crazed monkeys or possibly genetically-engineered dinosaurs, leaving them having to eat grubs and coconut milk for eternity.

They should also be fired.

If you thought I was a freak before...

I, now, am both afraid of telling you guys things about me that are "controversial," since I lost at least 6 followers for revealing that I don't want to procreate, and I, alternatively, want to tell you things to weed out the people who just can't read things by people who _______________ (fill in the blank).  That being said, I have a terrible secret to share with you all, and if you have to go, I understand (actually, no I don't.... but, whatever) so here goes:

I... I don't drink coffee OR alcohol.

I know, start throwing crap at me now, but not literally, that is super gross.

For the record, I like coffee, it tastes hella delicious, mostly-- when heavily diluted with cream and sugar, but drinking it makes my stomach and/or intestines wage war on me.
Alcohol, on the other hand, does exactly the same thing to me but also makes me feel like I am completely drunk from the moment it touches my lips and though I have only been actually drunk one time in my life for real, a time when I threatened my friend with a knife while doing dishes because he tried to convince me to be logical when I was having a total emotional freakout, which is what brought on the drinking of Chambord and cream in the first place (see, I can't even make logical decisions of what kinds of alcohol to drink), I decided I probably didn't need to test my ability to act not completely insane while drunk, ever again.

I found out, recently, that both aversions are actually the result of a food intolerance, but that doesn't make up for the fact that not drinking coffee or alcohol really cuts down on your ability to socialize.  Nobody asks people out to go get a glass of bacon (and if they did, I assure you I would be totally up for it) it's always chatting over a cup of joe, or a glass of wine, or a fifth of whiskey.

But really, if  you're still reading this and haven't decided that I am so untrustworthy that you can't bear to ever read my blarg again, ask me to hang out and chat over a hot cup of bacon. I'm totally there.

Offer for social engagements of bacon consumption are subject to terms and conditions. May not be available in your area. Candy can be substituted for bacon in some situations.

Mothra

Sometimes, I get the feeling that I am part moth.  I usually get this feeling when my retinas are being burned because there is an uncovered light bulb somewhere and I am repeatedly staring at it despite my desire not to do so.

Survey Says!

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.

He was all hopped up on juice boxes!

My mom received a phone call at seven this morning.
"Hello, Grandma [name redacted]?" and he proceeded to tell her that he and his friends drove over to Toronto last night and that they were speeding and got pulled over and they had a little pot in the car and... he was really sorry, but he needed money to get out of jail.

I suppose this is a good scam, and I know friends' grandparents who have fallen for it unfortunately, but it doesn't really work when your only grandson is a preschooler.

I suggested that she should have said, after listening to his whole story, "Well, sweetheart, you have to expect to be arrested.  It IS illegal to drive when you're four years old..."

Especially when it is a 2000 mile overnight trip with drugs in the car, I would imagine.

Happy New Year!

It's been brought to my attention that saying "See you next year!" when parting with someone over the New Year's weekend is utterly uncool. To that I say thanks for reading and: