Inverse Candlelight

This Is Not An April Fools Post

No really, it isn't. I don't celebrate April Fools', which is kind of pointless, really, since my issue with it is that I don't like to be tricked, and that doesn't stop other people from doing so, right? So it's a moot issue, but my POINT IS, don't try to do anything mean to me today. Seriously. And don't tell me something that my gullible ass will believe, either. Because I will. You know the person who falls for "The word 'gullible' is written on the ceiling?" That's me. I will look. Because I am gullible. Also? An ass. So don't tell me you're pregnant, or that you just realized that you have an undeveloped twin growing inside your pinky finger, or for the LOVE OF LITTLE APPLES send me that goddamn Ghost Car video, because I will cry. I'm sensitive like that. A delicate flower. A fragile snowflake.

And the bodies will hit the floor, let me tell you.

Instead, let's talk about something else. Let's talk about how The Professor is already getting to figure me out, because there's nothing more frightening than being in close contact with a blogger, and dudes? He lives in fear that I will blog about things. Funny things. Okay, things I find funny, but he describes as embarrassing, humiliating, I have a reputation, I'm a PROFESSOR, etc etc etc.

*The Professor says something*
The Prof: Don't blog about that.
Me: Dude, I'm not going to blog about that.
The Prof: Don't Twitter about it.
Me: No blog. No Twitter. Promise.
The Prof: Grrrr.
Me: I'm gonna blog about this conversation.
The Prof: Of course you are.

Because I love to SHARE. Sharing is caring, right? Right. So last night, we were video chatting, and it got to be WICKED late, and so we said our goodnights, and I went straight away, not to bed, but to deal with something regarding MamaPop. Okay, that was a lie. I was looking for Snarky Amber, my heterosexual life partner. She wasn't online, even when I bellowed at the computer "Amber! Come to me, I NEED you!" So I was all set to go to bed, as soon as I checked Facebook, Twitter, my email, and whatever was on Food Network that night. An IM pops up.

The Professor: You're up talking about me to Amber, aren't you?
Me: NO!
The Prof: Liar.
Me: No, absolutely not. I'm dealing with something for work.
The Prof: With Amber.
Me: No, not with Amber.
The Prof: Lies. Queen of lies.
Me: I can't find her.
The Prof: Poor baby. My dignity lives another day.

Sharing is caring, people. And if I overshare? Just remember, I could have sent you "Ghost Car."

Seriously, don't send me "Ghost Car." Bodies. Floor. Hitting.

Happy Wednesday, everyone! And remember, I'm a delicate flower.

Would you April Fool this face? THE ANSWER IS NO.

I Have A Cold, And Therefore My Mind Is Wandering To Odd Places

I'm sick. I won't get into specifics, as that is uncouth and a little gross, but suffice to say, I am a bit under the weather. What in the name of pants does that MEAN, anyway? Aren't we ALL under the weather? Unless we are all in an airplane (are you in an airplane? Turn off your electronic devices and put that tray table up, dude! What were you thinking???) we're all under the weather. Dumb phrase.

Clearly, this cold is rotting my brain. What was that paragraph even about?

ANYway. This cold is making me even more clumsy than ever. I already told y'all that I tripped over an imaginary shoe, right? Because I thought it was there, but it was just a spot on my glasses? That was a shining moment. I've also dumped the computer on the floor trying to arrange my couch cushions, and turned the coffee pot on without any water in it. OUTSTANDING!

So yes, my brain is clearly rotting, and I shall be dead soon. Perhaps it's the galloping consumption! Everyone in Victorian books gets the galloping consumption and swoons into the arms of death so dramatically and beautifully, right? I guess that just sounds a lot better than "choked on her own blood and rotted away from tuberculosis" which is what it REALLY was. Did you know that? Well if you didn't, that's one to grow on. No need to thank me, it's a freebie.

While I have been convalescing, the cats have been badder and more evil than ever. When my Boston girls were here the cats were all "we love! We LOVE, and the human LIES all over the internet, lies like the winds and the seas! We are the BEST cats ever, don't believe her for a second!" Well, don't let them fool you, because it is THEY who are chock full of lies and I have proof, in this little scene that happened last night.

LULU: Sleeps on back of chair, snoring with great gusto.
STEWART: Sits on chair, staring daggers at Lulu.
LULU: Wakes up, feeling someone staring at her. Hisses. Ears flatten. Hisses more.
STEWART: Stares.
LULU: Growls, hisses, ears disappear against head.
STEWART: Stares.
LULU: Loses interest, goes back to sleep.
STEWART: Chomps enormous mouthful out of Lulu's ass, eats clump of fur.

This happens eleventeen times a day. And I can never get the damn camera in time. Hateful beasts.

This post makes no sense, I'm sorry. More tomorrow, hopefully with a plot, or at least a THEME, other than "I am rambling."

Kisses!

Laboring Away on Labor Day

Writing a blog entry! For YOU! Let's run down some of the things that have been clogging my brain lately, shall we?

1. The election/campaign/clusterfuck: Now, I'm not going to get all into this, because I feel like all I ever do is talk about politics these days. However. The whole Palin thing needs a couple of bullet points.

1. I am insulted as a woman that this nomination was made. THIS is supposed to court Hillary voters? This joke of a politician? I'm supposed to support Palin because we both have vaginas? Is that how the Republicans think?
2. She sold out her pregnant teenage daughter to deflect the rumor that her son was actually her grandson. Klassy.
3. The woman stands against gun control, against reproductive rights, has no experience, and in her 20 months in office in Alaska, has already embroiled herself in a scandal. If this is a representation of the shattering of the glass ceiling and the representation of the sisterhood, it is not a sisterhood I want to be associated with. Ever.

Okay, that's enough of that. I thought the DNC was inspiring, and brought me back to the 1992 election, an election I was not even old enough to vote in, but the election that made me believe that politics were vitally important, and that change was possible, and that I could be a part of it. Nuff said. And Democrats? Please ackrite. The Republicans are crashing and burning on their own. Take the high road. For realsies, don't blow this. We need you.

2. I've spent my Labor Day weekend with my face firmly planted in a book. Well, two books. And not just any books. The books of the damned, the books that make women all aflutter even though they are marketed for teenagers and are about teenagers, but ZOMG angsty VAMPIRE teenagers and it totally doesn't count that Edward Cullen is 17 cause he's been a vampire since 1901 which makes him totally legal, so says I, the end.

I have a lot to say about these books, and I promise that it doesn't ALL involve "MISS BANSHEE + EDWARD CULLEN = TROO WUV 4EVA" although some of it does. But that is another post for another day, when I get through the second two books, which, given that I plowed through "Twilight" in an afternoon and "New Moon" in that evening and next morning, should take me approximately 14 minutes to read. (For those doing the math at home, that is approximately 1100 pages of teenage vampire angst in a 24 hour period. I need a meeting of some sort.)

3. I've been thinking ab-oh wait. Stewart has something to say.

 

EHH! TWITTER STEWIE'S NAP! HI INNERNETS! YAY! Zzzzzzzz.

Uh...Moving on.

3. Um, okay, there is no number three. Not much else is going on. I need to stop eating so many Twinkies. I should cut down on the coffee before I actually take flight. I found myself the other day SWIFFERING MY BATHROOM CEILING to mop up the leak it has sprung. I am waiting for fall, and the abatement of constant sweating. I bought a dress that makes me look like I should be hosting a 1970's key party. There's a goddamn fly in here. I dyed my hair and my forehead is still purple. Yeah, I got nothing.

As you were, internets! Hope you had a great holiday weekend!

See No Evil, Hear No Evil, Speak No Evil

Things that have been greatly alarming in the past week:

My neighbors having passionate fights in their underpants.

The talking heads on Fox News.

Blogger vs. Troll Wars.

It's been quite a week. Thanks a trillion to all you lovely people who contacted me about my last post. I promise, I'm doing much better, and we can now return to our regularly scheduled silliness. Y'all are rock stars, and I love ya more than my luggage.

Today's Actual Conversation: Happy Mother's Day!

And she wonders why I blog about her.

Happy Mother's Day, mama. Thank you for this conversation.
Scene: Kitchen. Dad is "making breakfast", which translates to destroying the kitchen like a whirling dervish, using every single pan, plate, and utensil, and almost setting the kitchen ablaze. Mom and I look on in horror. Over the din of crashing flatware, this conversation arises.

Mom: We're supposed to use...chee-a-bata? Cee-a-a bata bread?
Me: Ciabatta.
Mom: C-eye-a-bata? Cia-Obama?
Me: (head in hands) Ciabatta.
Mom: Cymbalta?
Me: That's an antidepressant. Ciabatta. It's Italian.
Mom: Chewy-bacca?
Me: That's a Wookie. CIABATTA. CIABATTA. CIABATTA.
Mom: (triumphant) It's like Star Wars bread!
Me: Mom, why don't you sit down before you hurt yourself.

You have GOT to be kidding me.

Michelle Duggar is pregnant AGAIN.

For the three people who don't know, Michelle and her extremely fertile husband already have seventeen children. SEVENTEEN. They're also Krazy Kookoo Khristians, who wear garb not unlike the (also terrifyingly fertile) polygamy sect that has so recently been inundating the news.

Now, I love kids, don't get me wrong, and people can go and do all the wackadoodle things they want, but COME ON, LADY. I've had the delightful pleasure of seeing the numerous TLC specials on the Duggars and their "parenting" "methods." Basically, the older children raise the younger ones, leaving plenty of time for Michelle and her husband (Lord help me) Jim Bob to read the bible and boink their brains out for Jesus. They have a huge compound in the sticks somewhere that they (read: the kids) built themselves, and if they are finally outed as having an arsenal of automatic weapons covered in needlepointed prayer doilies, well, you can just knock me down with a feather.

These kids don't have a life. They're homeschooled, they only interact with each other; hell, even their "church" is in their house. Someone's going to snap. Hopefully, all of them will. I'd love to see them all grow up and form an 18 member death metal group, entitled "Fuck You, Mom and Dad."

As someone more witty and astute than I once said: "It's a vagina, not a clown car." Close your legs, Michelle, before your whole reproductive tract falls the hell out. GAH.

My big girl blog!

Well, here it is. A real blog. Oh, I've dabbled. A livejournal here, a myspace there. But then I realized that I am not, in fact, fourteen years old, and should get on this whole really real bloggy thing.

I am very sick of the word "blog."

I'll be importing a bunch of my old stuff, but should get up to date fairly soon. Until then, hang tight, my naughty little monkeys. Mama'll be back soon.

Best Movie Poster Ever

Best. Movie Poster. Ever.

Now, everyone knows I am a comic book nerd. I'm one of those people that will hiss "It's a GRAPHIC NOVEL" through gritted teeth. I was very popular in high school.

Now, I'm an X-Men girl all the way, but I do love me some Batman, especially in the Arkham Asylum vein. And I loved "Batman Begins" and not only because I want to do very, very, very dirty things with Christian Bale.

(but that's a factor too.)

Now! "The Dark Knight" is almost upon us. And as sorrowful as I am that this was Heath Ledger's last film before his untimely death, I will soldier on through that and continue to be wicked excited about seeing this movie. This movie poster only makes my little fangirl heart soar all the higher. Witness!



Awesome, right??? I mean, I was excited simply because this was a Joker That Was Not Jack Nicholson, but...zowie. If I was a college freshman again, this poster would totally be on my dorm room wall.

PS: Heath's Joker makeup looks not unlike what I look like in the early stages of washing the makeup off my face at night. Because I am bringing sexy back. Call me, boys!

A Plea to the Masses

A Plea To The Masses!

(I have accidentally erased this THREE TIMES, and yet I persist. This is the magnitude of my plea.)

Internet denizons! I call upon you to answer my plea! A plea based in SCIENCE, chock full of SCIENCE, exploding with SCIENCE so that wee bits of SCIENCE get all over you and that will make you feel very special and smart, and then you can go out and play, for you have done your good deed for the day.

What is this SCIENTIFIC plea? It's very easy. A monkey could do it. In fact, I WISH a monkey could do it, for that would be awesome, and we know that monkeys are very important to SCIENCE.

I want YOU, my interwebby chums, to answer me this:

WHAT IS THE MOST EMBARRASSING SONG ON YOUR IPOD?

What's that, you say? You don't HAVE embarrassing songs on your iPod? I see how you are. Full of LIES. All you do is LIE every moment of the day, and everyone knows that lying makes the baby Jeebus cry, and I hope you are very pleased with yourself. Because EVERYONE has at least one song that they downloaded in the middle of the night in complete secrecy, perhaps under the influence of chemical refreshment, that you SWORE no one would ever ever know about, you will take that song that you secretly love but would ruin your reputation FOREVER to your GRAVE rather than confess it.

I want you to tell me what that song is. And the reason I want to know is that, obviously, it will make me feel better about myself.

(and SCIENCE.)

So before you are all "Pshaw! I only have rare bootlegs from 1974 of bands so obscure, so cool, so UNDERGROUND that you could not even listen to them, because the awesomeness would make your head EXPLODE because you are a pathetic little person with no musical taste at all." Remember that every time you lie, a fairy falls down dead. Splat. And also, lying is not very scientific.

Confess! It will do your heart good. Let that weight off your shoulders! And most importantly, it will make me feel better about myself. And that, of course, is the most vital thing.

Do it now. Do it for science. Do it for you. But mostly, do it for my ego.

PS: and for the loveagod, if you don't have an iPod, don't use that as an excuse. Reference your CDs, your tapes, your vinyl, your 8-tracks, your pan flute. Whatever. There are no loopholes in SCIENCE.

Today's Actual Conversation: Well Played, Mom

Bless her, sometimes she plays along. And the results? COMEDY!

Mom: Can you believe the process it takes to get a freaking box of Sudafed? I had to show my driver's licence!

Me: *withering stare*

Mom: What?

Me: You know, Mom, the cops are only going to give you so many chances.

Mom: What are you talking about?

Me: I've told you a thousand times to move it. Someday you're going to get sloppy and blow up the whole damn house.

Mom: I have no idea what you are talking about.

Me: Stop the denial, Mom. Everyone knows. And using your own product? I can't condone that. You've got a real problem. And I can't bail you out this time.

Mom: Are you running a fever?

Me: Let's focus on you, Mom. I'm only going to say this one more time. Move the meth lab. Seriously. Move it today.

Mom: *small, wounded voice* But...that's how I make my money!