I'm so excited.
Do you know why?
Because my Wu Tang Clan name* would be Crazy Menace.
I know, right? AWESOME.
Actually, I'm excited because I actually updated my Facebook page today. WOW.
Maybe tomorrow, I'll go on Google + and then Klout!
Honestly, I get such anxiety from this whole social media thing - when I got that email from Klout telling me they were on 10 platforms [or something. There was the number 10, but I'm not sure what else. I think I ended up with transitory hysterical blindness from looking at it.], I kind of hyperventilated a little because what the fuck? I CAN'T KEEP UP WITH THE FOUR THINGS I'VE SORT OF GOT GOING ON NOW.
I like blogs. They're a nice way to talk and listen and read and get to know people. I like Twitter, because it's like a quick make-out session with people you already like or want to get to know [and isn't the best make-out session with someone you are just getting to know? That frisson of excitement, that newness! That's never going to happen to me again. Fuck.] and it's really fun and fast and I don't feel like I have to commit to a huge emotional rollercoaster. Google + and Facebook and LinkedIn all kind of exhaust me. I feel like I don't have anything witty enough for Google + or warm and fuzzy enough for Facebook or braggy enough for LinkedIn. You know? They're the goody two shoes of the internet and I'm standing in the back, smoking and drinking vodka and cranberry out of a margarine cup.
I have no idea where this post was supposed to go.
Sorry.
Instead, let me ask you a couple of questions:
1. Who is your least favorite member of the Brady Bunch?
2. If you had a nickle, would you throw it in a fountain and make a wish or flick it at the head of that annoying coworker and then feign surprise?
3. Bonus question: Does the fact that someone has had sex with Karl Rove leave you feeling sick to your stomach? Me, too.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
* If you're interested in getting your own Wu Tang Clan name, and why the fuck wouldn't you be?, click here. And then tell me what it is in the comments. Because Wu Tang Clan ain't nothing to fuck with. Diversify your bonds, bitches.
Showing posts with label Query. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Query. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Pop Quiz - It's hot and I'm tired and still have family over edition
1. Does sending a Hallmark card actually mean you cared enough to send the very best? Conversely, if you don't send a Hallmark card, does that mean that you just don't give a shit about the person? At that point, should you just save your money and not send anything?
2. Did you ever watch BJ & the Bear? So did I! Why?
3. If a person keeps humming, is it acceptable to start hating them for doing so? What if they are a child? Show your work.
4. If you had to drink only one beverage for the rest of your life, what would it be?
5. Do you ever dress your pets up in your kids' clothes? Neither do I.
6. Would you rather watch someone clip their toenails and smell them or pick their nose and wipe it on the wall?
7. Which do you hate more, Twilight or the devil?
2. Did you ever watch BJ & the Bear? So did I! Why?
3. If a person keeps humming, is it acceptable to start hating them for doing so? What if they are a child? Show your work.
4. If you had to drink only one beverage for the rest of your life, what would it be?
5. Do you ever dress your pets up in your kids' clothes? Neither do I.
6. Would you rather watch someone clip their toenails and smell them or pick their nose and wipe it on the wall?
7. Which do you hate more, Twilight or the devil?
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
If it's Tuesday, it must be my day to unleash the randomness of my mind. Enjoy.
Let's just get to it, shall we?
************
I have a UFO tweeter following me! JEALOUS? YES, YOU ARE! When the mother ship lands, I'll put in a good word for you. Provided I'm not cowering under the bed. [Historical aside: When I was much younger and freer, I was in Santa Fe, which is a weird place, and some friends and I were talking one evening about what we would do if a UFO did, in fact, show up. Trust me when I tell you that when you are in Santa Fe, at night, this kind of thing seems more likely to happen than not. Anyway, we pretty much all agreed that shitting our pants would be Job One if an alien showed up at the side of the bed. What do you think?]
************
We are having an ass-ton of family over on July 4th. Which is great, I love having parties. It's just that it's dawning on me that we don't have a pool, nor do we live on lake, and I'm pretty sure we don't even have a sprinkler. I need fun warm weather activities for age ranges 8 - 70. STAT.
************
I have a tendency to be uber-competitive about somethings - especially things that have nothing to do with me. Also, I do not take kindly to perceived slights [and a slight can be perceived as being pretty much anything some days]. Yesterday I was speaking to the Academic Dean at the girl's new school, and we were going over the girl's course schedule [they want you to fill out a tentative 4 year plan at high schools now, did you know this? Weird, right?] and we got to the math portion.
Math, this year, has been sticky. The girl is fucking brilliant at math, but had a complete crisis of confidence and felt she was the dumbest kid in the history of kids who ever added or subtracted, which obviously affected her ability to deal with math and ultimately her final grade.
The Dean and I discussed this, and she suggested that rather than taking the more rigorous, advanced class in the fall, the girl take the regular, more sedately paced math class so that she could get her bearings back.
Great, right?
WRONG. I had to stifle - seriously, clam down like a motherfucker - this urge to make sure that the girl was in the advanced class, because goddamnit, she's smart. She doesn't need the slower paced class. That's bullshit.
Which is completely wrong. I know that. It's not as if the Dean said she'd have to go to remedial math or repeat a class, which in any case would have been fine if she needed it. Except I'm a fucking lunatic, and would have seen it as MY inability to have the girl function well in math class.
Which is even more wrong. And crazy. And what's worse is that I was getting bent about the girl not taking Algebra II & Trig and instead taking Algebra II. Which is a class that is still 2 fucking years ahead of her grade level.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Am I the only crazy like this? Please tell me I'm not.
************
Over at Circle of Moms, I've given my advice to new or soon-to-be moms, and evidently you can read my answer and vote for me [or just vote for me - trust me, I'm chock full of excellent advice on parenting, just reference above to my excellent parenting ability re: my daughter and math] so that I can be elected . . . Most Awesome in the Universe? I'm not sure. Anyway, vote here. [I have no idea why the formatting sucks. Sorry about that.]
************
O.k., so not only was this post full of randomness, but evidently full of questions I need you to answer. So here's one more:
If you had to make out with either Hall or Oates, which one would it be? Be honest.
************
I have a UFO tweeter following me! JEALOUS? YES, YOU ARE! When the mother ship lands, I'll put in a good word for you. Provided I'm not cowering under the bed. [Historical aside: When I was much younger and freer, I was in Santa Fe, which is a weird place, and some friends and I were talking one evening about what we would do if a UFO did, in fact, show up. Trust me when I tell you that when you are in Santa Fe, at night, this kind of thing seems more likely to happen than not. Anyway, we pretty much all agreed that shitting our pants would be Job One if an alien showed up at the side of the bed. What do you think?]
************
We are having an ass-ton of family over on July 4th. Which is great, I love having parties. It's just that it's dawning on me that we don't have a pool, nor do we live on lake, and I'm pretty sure we don't even have a sprinkler. I need fun warm weather activities for age ranges 8 - 70. STAT.
************
I have a tendency to be uber-competitive about somethings - especially things that have nothing to do with me. Also, I do not take kindly to perceived slights [and a slight can be perceived as being pretty much anything some days]. Yesterday I was speaking to the Academic Dean at the girl's new school, and we were going over the girl's course schedule [they want you to fill out a tentative 4 year plan at high schools now, did you know this? Weird, right?] and we got to the math portion.
Math, this year, has been sticky. The girl is fucking brilliant at math, but had a complete crisis of confidence and felt she was the dumbest kid in the history of kids who ever added or subtracted, which obviously affected her ability to deal with math and ultimately her final grade.
The Dean and I discussed this, and she suggested that rather than taking the more rigorous, advanced class in the fall, the girl take the regular, more sedately paced math class so that she could get her bearings back.
Great, right?
WRONG. I had to stifle - seriously, clam down like a motherfucker - this urge to make sure that the girl was in the advanced class, because goddamnit, she's smart. She doesn't need the slower paced class. That's bullshit.
Which is completely wrong. I know that. It's not as if the Dean said she'd have to go to remedial math or repeat a class, which in any case would have been fine if she needed it. Except I'm a fucking lunatic, and would have seen it as MY inability to have the girl function well in math class.
Which is even more wrong. And crazy. And what's worse is that I was getting bent about the girl not taking Algebra II & Trig and instead taking Algebra II. Which is a class that is still 2 fucking years ahead of her grade level.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Am I the only crazy like this? Please tell me I'm not.
************
Over at Circle of Moms, I've given my advice to new or soon-to-be moms, and evidently you can read my answer and vote for me [or just vote for me - trust me, I'm chock full of excellent advice on parenting, just reference above to my excellent parenting ability re: my daughter and math] so that I can be elected . . . Most Awesome in the Universe? I'm not sure. Anyway, vote here. [I have no idea why the formatting sucks. Sorry about that.]
************
O.k., so not only was this post full of randomness, but evidently full of questions I need you to answer. So here's one more:
If you had to make out with either Hall or Oates, which one would it be? Be honest.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
An Area for Concern . . . Or Maybe . . . What Now?
I'm a little worried about myself.
I know, when AREN'T I worried about myself?
But.
The past few days I've gotten a little . . . forgetful. More forgetful than usual.
I spent several minutes wandering around the parking lot the other day, trying to find my car.
I keep mistyping things.
I'm always forgetting words. The ones I'm trying to say. You know, "Hey, can you give me the . . . thing . . . you know, that thing . . . that I need," which usually ends up being something as esoteric as the remote control or a napkin.
Plus, there's the usual stumbling and bumping into the walls that I do. Which I wouldn't worry about too much, except it seems like it's getting worse. Whereas I used to just walk into the corner of the wall on my way into the bathroom, now it seems like the coffee table is out to get me, as is the dishwasher and, frankly, the side of the car.
I'm fervently hoping that the Alzheimers gene floating in my paternal pool isn't making a spectacularly early entrance. I realize that I've got a lot on my plate right now, and I'm sure you're all forgetful, too, right? RIGHT? PLEASE SAY YES!!! It's probably just a passing thing, one that will disappear when I get a few minutes to just focus on one thing at a time.
Except - I actually worried the other day that I wasn't getting dressed completely before I left the house. You know? You're in a rush and you think, o.k., I'm good to go and then I ended up in the car thinking, "Did I put on underwear?" And then I checked under the waistband and found I did, but that moment of not knowing? TERRIFIED ME. Because I'm sure it's only a matter of time before I head out in just my bra, and not a cute one.
Also, I find that I'm tempted to start staying things like, "You're motherfucking goddamn right," or "Hiya, Cuntface."
Actually, I'm kind of o.k. with that.
I know, when AREN'T I worried about myself?
But.
The past few days I've gotten a little . . . forgetful. More forgetful than usual.
I spent several minutes wandering around the parking lot the other day, trying to find my car.
I keep mistyping things.
I'm always forgetting words. The ones I'm trying to say. You know, "Hey, can you give me the . . . thing . . . you know, that thing . . . that I need," which usually ends up being something as esoteric as the remote control or a napkin.
Plus, there's the usual stumbling and bumping into the walls that I do. Which I wouldn't worry about too much, except it seems like it's getting worse. Whereas I used to just walk into the corner of the wall on my way into the bathroom, now it seems like the coffee table is out to get me, as is the dishwasher and, frankly, the side of the car.
I'm fervently hoping that the Alzheimers gene floating in my paternal pool isn't making a spectacularly early entrance. I realize that I've got a lot on my plate right now, and I'm sure you're all forgetful, too, right? RIGHT? PLEASE SAY YES!!! It's probably just a passing thing, one that will disappear when I get a few minutes to just focus on one thing at a time.
Except - I actually worried the other day that I wasn't getting dressed completely before I left the house. You know? You're in a rush and you think, o.k., I'm good to go and then I ended up in the car thinking, "Did I put on underwear?" And then I checked under the waistband and found I did, but that moment of not knowing? TERRIFIED ME. Because I'm sure it's only a matter of time before I head out in just my bra, and not a cute one.
Also, I find that I'm tempted to start staying things like, "You're motherfucking goddamn right," or "Hiya, Cuntface."
Actually, I'm kind of o.k. with that.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Sharing is caring, in a way that staring never could be.
I feel like I've gotten to know you, my lovely readers & fellow bloggers & friends on Twitter. But I want to know more about you. Your thoughts, your hopes, your dreams. Your propensity toward becoming a deranged serial killer. I want you to share deep thoughts and amazing revelations with me. I want to know what your answers are to this highly scientific psychological profile:
1. If, say, you had to pee and you were in a chlorinated public pool, or at the beach, would you trudge back to your room or the locker room, or would you pee in the pool? Be honest. Even if you're wearing a Depends laden swimsuit. Would it make a difference if you were alone?
2. What's your favorite popcorn flavor? Is it something good, like butter or caramel? Or something only a person who hears fish talk [and then answers them, in fish language] would like, like cheese?
3. Is it wrong to wish ill upon someone who you feel has wronged you? What if that person is a jackass? What if that jackass makes you want to punch them? What then, Mother Theresa? HUH?
4. Speaking of hating, if you got to make someone you hate listen to one song, over and over, on repeat, what would that song be?
5. Coke or Pepsi?
6. Clueless is the best adaptation of Jane Austen's Emma, True or False.
Ok, friends, share!
1. If, say, you had to pee and you were in a chlorinated public pool, or at the beach, would you trudge back to your room or the locker room, or would you pee in the pool? Be honest. Even if you're wearing a Depends laden swimsuit. Would it make a difference if you were alone?
2. What's your favorite popcorn flavor? Is it something good, like butter or caramel? Or something only a person who hears fish talk [and then answers them, in fish language] would like, like cheese?
3. Is it wrong to wish ill upon someone who you feel has wronged you? What if that person is a jackass? What if that jackass makes you want to punch them? What then, Mother Theresa? HUH?
4. Speaking of hating, if you got to make someone you hate listen to one song, over and over, on repeat, what would that song be?
5. Coke or Pepsi?
6. Clueless is the best adaptation of Jane Austen's Emma, True or False.
 | |||
| Looks like we're going to have to make a cameo at the Val party. Source. |
Monday, May 9, 2011
Your Anger May Be a Gift - My Anger is a Righteous Fury
I am a pretty easy person to get along with.
Stop laughing.
I'm pretty easy to get along with because I am a pretty friendly person - I mean, I'm not in love with people or humanity in general, but I am very polite [to your face] and a big believer in doing the right thing and behaving properly when out in public. If I happen to go home and bitch about what a shitty driver you are or tweet things about how fucking stupid boys are, that in no way negates the fact that I will follow every protocol and treat you with respect.
I will make small talk.
I will act like your idiocy doesn't appall me.
I will nod and agree when you complain about kids these days and their rock music.
I will go out of my way to include you, particularly if your inclusion is the right thing to do.
That being said, don't ever, ever fucking cross me.
Ever.
There are two things that make me insane with anger* and which will make you dead to me:
1. Being called a liar**
2. Being called out for not being polite.
When those things are combined?
Oh.
My.
Fucking.
God.
I will end you.
It turns out that this weekend I found out that this situation occurred.
I'm not going to get into the who/what/when/where of it all, but I will say that the WHY is because some people are complete fucking narcissistic idiots.
And so I found myself on the horns of a dilemma:
A. Correct the record, explain the truth, drop some motherfucking knowledge on people in an explosion of fact and fury
OR
B. Just let it go
I'm having a REALLY, REALLY hard time letting it go, even though I know that option A is NOT really an option.
So I've been seething and bitching and then remembering that I need to set and example and then getting pissed off even more, because the husband is not a satisfactory person to bitch to.
So here is my query, friends:
What do you do when you find yourself impugned? Chemical warfare or the high road?
--------------
* Recognize that quote? It's Mel Gibson's character in Signs. Excellent movie - wtf, Mel? WHY SUCH A RACIST, CRAZYBAG TOOL?
** A subtopic is being told I'm wrong when I KNOW and empirical evidence WILL SHOW that I am right. I am still pissed that this guy I was dating over 20 years ago thought that Eberhard Faber was a silent film star and not a pencil. IT'S A PENCIL!!!
Maybe I'm pissed because that guy was an idiot.
Stop laughing.
I'm pretty easy to get along with because I am a pretty friendly person - I mean, I'm not in love with people or humanity in general, but I am very polite [to your face] and a big believer in doing the right thing and behaving properly when out in public. If I happen to go home and bitch about what a shitty driver you are or tweet things about how fucking stupid boys are, that in no way negates the fact that I will follow every protocol and treat you with respect.
I will make small talk.
I will act like your idiocy doesn't appall me.
I will nod and agree when you complain about kids these days and their rock music.
I will go out of my way to include you, particularly if your inclusion is the right thing to do.
That being said, don't ever, ever fucking cross me.
Ever.
There are two things that make me insane with anger* and which will make you dead to me:
1. Being called a liar**
2. Being called out for not being polite.
When those things are combined?
Oh.
My.
Fucking.
God.
I will end you.
It turns out that this weekend I found out that this situation occurred.
I'm not going to get into the who/what/when/where of it all, but I will say that the WHY is because some people are complete fucking narcissistic idiots.
And so I found myself on the horns of a dilemma:
A. Correct the record, explain the truth, drop some motherfucking knowledge on people in an explosion of fact and fury
OR
B. Just let it go
I'm having a REALLY, REALLY hard time letting it go, even though I know that option A is NOT really an option.
So I've been seething and bitching and then remembering that I need to set and example and then getting pissed off even more, because the husband is not a satisfactory person to bitch to.
So here is my query, friends:
What do you do when you find yourself impugned? Chemical warfare or the high road?
--------------
* Recognize that quote? It's Mel Gibson's character in Signs. Excellent movie - wtf, Mel? WHY SUCH A RACIST, CRAZYBAG TOOL?
** A subtopic is being told I'm wrong when I KNOW and empirical evidence WILL SHOW that I am right. I am still pissed that this guy I was dating over 20 years ago thought that Eberhard Faber was a silent film star and not a pencil. IT'S A PENCIL!!!
 |
| SEE? JACKASS! Source. |
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