Monthly Archives: November 2012
I showed the boyfriend this comic from Lance + Jeff, and pointed out Jeff and I must be dating the same guy.
The boyfriend did not laugh. Instead, he threw the laptop at me.
And that’s all that matters in a relationship.
(PS – The boyfriend would never throw a laptop at me. I want to make that perfectly clear. Because one day he may read this post and then throw a laptop at me for making him look like an abuser. I like my laptop too much for that.)
I’m not sure if this is a quirk or not, but I don’t buy lottery tickets. When people ask why, my response goes something like this:
Me: “No, I don’t buy lottery tickets.”
Lottery Junkie: “Why not, it’s so much fun!”
Me: “I bought them twice before, and didn’t win.”
Lottery Junkie: “You expect to win after only two tries? Luck could happen at anytime. You must be prepared!!!” (then they usually roar like a lion, I don’t understand why.)
Me: “Well, I just don’t like to throw good money after bad.” And then I give them a big toothy grin to show I was only pulling their chain. Then they stop, because no one trumps a good end joke.
But the truth is, I don’t like the lottery hangover. You know, up all night talking about what you’d do if you won. The dreams of cars, houses, hot men (or women), and no longer having a day/night job. Paris, Milan, Albuquerque – you’re a travelling man of mysterious awesomeness!
But then the next morning, despair, sadness, mucked up energy because the dream fizzled and died. Someone in rural Missouri stole your dreams away with a random stop at a dilapidated gas station. You’ve been scorned by the universe, and now you just want to spend the day curled up in bed.
And today I was discussing this with coworker M, who may allegedly be a lottery junkie. She would probably deny this. Maybe I’m being unfair. But our conversation went something like this.
Coworker M: “But you miss the fun of staying up all night talking about what you would do with the money. The hopes, the dreams, the future. My boyfriend and I did that for hours last night. It was lovely.”
Me: “Oh yeah, my boyfriend tried that conversation and I told him, ‘I’ll figure it out when it happens.'”
Coworker M: “You’re no fun.”
Me: “That’s what the Boyfriend said!”
Coworker M: “And then I asked my boyfriend if we won the lottery, and the next day I died, would he give the all money away.”
Me: <cricket noises>
Coworker M: “You know, because the lottery’s cursed. I told him I would give away the money if he died. Cuz I would want that money as far away from me as possible.”
Me: “You could give it to me.”
Coworker M: “I’ll do that. If I win the lottery, and my boyfriend dies the next day, you can have all the money. No strings attached.”
That Murder She Wrote episode just wrote itself, didn’t it?
As mentioned before, I’m a bit of a quirky individual, and one of the ‘preferences’ I have, much to the enjoyment of my coworkers, is to avoid tapas restaurants.
It would be convenient to blame the Tapas restaurants themselves, forcing people to handle food with their grubby hands and then pass it along to the next person, infecting them with the zombie or Chuck Norris virus, but I repeat myself. (Seriously, you can hit that man with a bat and he just keeps on coming. It’s only if you destroy his brain that he can be stopped.) If Typhoid Mary was transported to the present day, I have not doubt she would find the nearest Tapas restaurant and get to work.
Nor is my issue the size of their plates. I liked the munchkins from the Wizard of OZ, they didn’t terrify my, unlike some little brothers that shall remain nameless (AHEM). It’s completely legitimate to be terrified of the Alien from the Sigourney Weaver movie of the same name, and that fear is not equatable to the representatives of the esteemed lollipop guild. Now if the tapas plates had alien mouthcocks with teeth, then I would be disturbed; but I think that’s fair.
My issue with tapas is the sharing, because everyone acts like a thin girl on a first date at a tapas restaurant. They all sit around saying, “What, more? No, I possibly couldn’t, I’m dainty and satisfied with the seven peas and four slices of bread that I’ve already consumed. Also, I’ll have ice cubes for dessert.” But meanwhile they’re thinking, “God, just get me home so I can eat a box of Oreos, a 16 oz steak, and a gallon of milk – Mama’s gotta eat!”
So I, like my compatriots, nibble at wonderfully delicious morsels, all the while evaluating how much everyone else has eaten and whether or not I can grab that last bacon wrapped date from communal plate. And then when the bill comes, there’s always at least one asshole that has to point out that I had three more coconut shrimps than everyone else, so being a Beluga whale, I should probably pony up a few extra dollars.
Sorry for mixing animals in that last sentence, but the Beluga whale is known as “the pony of the seas.” (It’s not, but you should teach your kids that, it’ll be funny in 12th grade animalology class, when their teacher calls them a “numb nut” – that’s building character!)
My coworkers think this is hilarious and suggested tapas for lunch once every two months. Until two months ago, when they suggested it and the new guy said, “Ugg. I hate tapas. There’s never enough food and people always get ornery about the check.”
Moral of the story:
A) You’re never really alone.
B) The new guy is obviously the second most awesome person to ever live.
c) You need to spend more time reading about Beluga whales, since you’re a numb nut and had no idea what one was.
I am not above admitting, I would piss myself if I was one of the unsuspecting victims in this elevator gag.
Of course pissing yourself is a natural defense mechanism, the smell turns off would-be predators, and cheek pinching aunts. I learned that last one at the young age of 5 and am happy to report, it still worked at this most recent Thanksgiving.
Thank god the sense of smell is the last thing to go – amirite?
Picked up from Joe.My.God
While the data is from 2010, it sad that they’re so high for a first world nation. We’re obviously not doing enough in certain demographics to either educated, provide assistance, or undo atmospheres of secrecy and shame.
I de-friended a cousin on Facebook because he wouldn’t stop posting those damn planking pictures. I didn’t get it, it was idiotic, and I spit on anyone who tries to plank in my presence – except for those hot naked sushi guys, where you eat the sushi right off their bodies.
Thank god it’s over. (The planking, not the hot naked sushi guys, so don’t start fretting. This is a fret-free zone.)
But I’m happy to report that there is a new, awesome, fucking hilarious new trend called “Milking.”
I’m serious, I’ve watched this twenty times and I always laugh. It’s just so lovably ridiculous.
And what about that guy at the 1:30 mark, the one in the shower. It’s disgusting and sexy all at the same time; which I’m afraid is how kinks are born.
A shoutout to Towleroad for sharing this awesomeness.
This causes me to thing two things:
1) Hamlet must’ve been the inspiration for this dream sequence. Observe…
To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
You know, if Hamlet had puppets that sang to him and he wasn’t a whiny, pussy-assed bitch.
2) OMGOMGOMGOMG looks more like “Om Gomg Gomg Gomg” – so I apologize for that.
Watch the debut episode below:
And remember, regardless of the dream you have, whether it be to have a Sunday to yourself or become a major league badass like Chris Kluwe, it end with: “Your insides will be outsides by the end of this dream.”
(I’m thinking I need new categories specifically for Chris Kluwe and Neil Patrick Harris. But they can rest assured, I’m not a stalker. Mostly because I’m lazy and they live really far away.)
For those not in the know, Uganda is in the midst of passing Anti-Homosexual legislation. The provision that’s getting the most attention involves the death penalty for the lavender set, but even without that, the bill is incredibly disturbing. Here’s a breakdown from Box Turtle Bulletin:
Clause By Clause With Uganda’s Anti-Homosexuality Bill:
Clauses 1 and 2:Anybody Can Be Gay Under the Law. The definition of what constitutes “homosexual act” is so broad that just about anyone can be convicted.
Clause 3: Anyone Can Be “Liable To Suffer Death”. And you don’t even have to be gay to be sent to the gallows.
Clause 4:Anyone Can “Attempt to Commit Homosexuality”. All you have to do is “attempt” to “touch” “any part of of the body” “with anything else” “through anything” in an act that does “not necessarily culminate in intercourse.”
Clauses 5, 6, 8, 9, and 10:How To Get Out Of Jail Free. The bill is written to openly encourage — and even pay — one partner to turn state’s evidence against another.
Clauses 7, 11, and 14:Straight People In The Crosshairs. Did you think they only wanted to jail gay people? They’re also targeting family members, doctors, lawyers, and even landlords.
Clause 12: Till Life Imprisonment Do You Part. And if you officiate a same-sex wedding, you’ll be imprisoned for up to three years. So much for religious freedom.
Clause 13:The Silencing of the Lambs. All advocacy — including suggesting that the law might be repealed — will land you in jail. With this clause, there will be no one left to defend anyone.
Clause 14:The Requirement Isn’t To Report Just Gay People To Police. It’s To Report Everyone. Look closely: the requirement is to report anyone who has violated any the bill’s clauses.
Clauses 16 and 17:The Extra-Territorially Long Arm of Ugandan Law. Think you’re safe if you leave the country? Think again.
Clause 18:We Don’t Need No Stinking Treaties. The bill not only violates several international treaties, it also turns the Ugandan constitution on its head.
Clauses 15 and 19: The Establishment Clauses For The Ugandan Inquisition. These clauses empower the Ethics and Integrity Minister to enforce all of the bill’s provisions. He’s already gotten a head start.
What does this remind you of?
Yep, that’s right! A third grader’s rules for freeze tag – an open ended set of rules that can be re-interpreted in anyway that benefits the cool kids and punishes the nerds, their friends, or anyone who you just feel like screwing with that afternoon.
There are things in the US that we need to work on to achieve equality for all, but it’s important to remember the circumstances human beings in other parts of the world are trapped in. So far the UN, the US, and plenty of other governments have told the Ugandan government to knock it the fuck off. But like petulant children on the playground they continue to move ahead.
Of course, I could be wrong, since we have esteemed Americans, supporters of the right to life, supporting this law.
Thanks to Towleroad for bringing this to my attention.
And now that I’ve done my public service for the day, I think I’ll have a margarita and not plan a trip to Kampala.
(Kampala is the capital of Uganda, dipshit. Seriously, what do you do all day? Watch re-runs of Two and Half Men?)
Today’s the day when the first webisode of Neil’s Puppet Dreams launches.
I’m pretty sure this is what NPH and David Burtka are doing today.
I’m 100% sure I’d rather be hanging with them.
Except I probably couldn’t partake in the wine, since I’d be too busy drooling.
Over the holiday weekend, we had some significant drive times between Chicago and southern Indiana. If you use Google Maps, you’ll find that the drive time is approximately 5 hours. If you use Apple Maps, you’ll find that you need to cross Montana to get there, but it’s only a 3 hour drive. In reality though, time is immeasurable when you drive through central Indiana.
It’s the land that time forgot.
Now most couples, having to drive through infinity, would have developed little ways to pass the time: sing-a-longs, license plate games, or VW punch bug with baseball bats. The boyfriend and I never quite got there. We started off trying, but somehow these games always ended in conversations about judicial restraint, a topic upon which we vehemently disagree.
Or more accurately, he disagrees, because he thinks it’s funny when I start ranting about activist judges who sentence teenage murderers to 7 years of weekly church services.
How funny is it when I don’t pass the sweet potatoes during Thanksgiving, Bucko? Yeah, that’s right, no awesome marshmallow melt for you and your judicial activist supporting ways.
But I digress, because I’m afraid this is starting to make me look petty and vindictive.
For this trip, I downloaded several new podcasts for our listening entertainment. Two of the podcasts were a bust, but the third was the podcast equivalent of having that special someone tug gently on your balls while doing what they do best.
What, I hear you ask, is this audio equivalent of oral congress?
Well, Mr(s) Olde Tyme, it’s The Nerdist podcast, hosted by Chris Hardwick, Jonah Ray, and Matt Mira. Most weeks they have a celebrity guest on the show and the crew cracks wise, while sharing insights about the entertainment industry, nerd awesomeness, and all manner of things that make you think, “Ahhh… I’m not alone in this universe.”
Even the boyfriend, Mr Anti-Entertainment Judicial Activism Rules, loved the p-cast. After ten hours of The Nerdist, we’re devotees.
But that’s not all!
These awesome people have combined awesomeness with the reigning Sultans of Awesome – NPH and DB themselves. Now I’m pretty sure the Doctor warned us about this in an episode last season where Rory (*sniff, sad*) said something silly. If I remember correctly, the Doctor said, “Having too much awesomeness in one spot creates a paradox in a universe set to mediocrity. When that happens, *poof*.”
So I realize this post is getting a bit long, so I’ll cut to the chase, Mr(s) Olde Tyme and provide this in a format you might understand. Commence excited blog post, Telegram Style.
Web series stars NPH Cast mates are puppets, David Burtka, and men in shiny underwear NPH has shirtless scenes Hilarity ensues
But don’t take my word for it – watch this little video to see all the AWESOMENESS that is about to be unleashed on your unsuspecting mediocre ass. You’re gonna need to change the sheets my friend, cuz that wet spot isn’t gonna dry itself.