Date Archives November 2007

Chubby Chasers Anonymous

On Saturday, Amy and I got dressed up (her moreso than me) and went out as we were both getting a little stir-crazy from the holiday. That is what we do–we get dressed up to go out to the same old bar and hang out with the same old people. It’s like home away from home.

Except this time. This time, there were a couple of really hot guys there. A couple of really hot guys who invited us back to their place. And we agreed.

Picture this, if you can deal with the lingering burn on the inside of your retinas: at some point later in the evening, I am making out with pretty much the hottest guy I have ever laid lips on. Things are going fabulously until, all of a sudden, he grabs my fat and says it turns him on.

…Let’s hear that again.

HE GRABBED MY FAT AND SAID IT TURNED HIM ON.

I pulled what has got to be the most horrified face in the history of mankind because, while I am ok with myself naked (I don’t shatter mirrors), the fat is NOT an attractant, and is, in fact, something I pride myself on keeping covered with clothing.

HE GRABBED MY FAT AND SAID IT TURNED HIM ON.

The worst part is that Amy was still…busy, so I couldn’t leave.

Gross. GROSS.

PROJECT: Flood the Office…Robot Army

When I arrived home late Wednesday night, there was a note in my mailbox stating that a package had been left in the office–the office which was already closed, and would remain closed for the next two days due to the holiday. It must be kind of sweet working as a complex manager, what with the banker’s hours and a bunch of extra days off a year that most people on the planet don’t get. “The office is closed due to Saint Swithin’s Day.” “The office is closed for the Feast of Maximum Occupancy.” “The office is closed because, frankly, it’s cold outside.”

However, this afforded me the opportunity to ride on the apartment manager’s nerves a bit more; I was waiting outside the door when she arrived on Saturday, and after I grabbed my package and skedaddled, she then got the pleasure of listening to no less than six answering machine messages from yours truly. “Hello? Um…I wanted to see if you were open today. I need my insulin.” “Um, hi, um, I guess the office is closed today or maybe you’re out showing an apartment, but I kind of really need my insulin…I guess I’ll try back later…” and so on and so forth.

I’m not on insulin, I’m just in the habit of making evil wenches feel guilty.

Instead of insulin, waiting for me was this package from crazyfaeriegirl!

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I used to have a surprisingly similar voicemail greeting, but both my mother and grandmother were horrified by it. Damn relatives, ruining my fun!

A ROBOT!

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Here he is, leading my robot army in Napoleonic fashion.

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Thanks, Erica! You’ve helped make an evil woman feel guilty with your wonderful contribution to the cause.

Unfortunately, as the despotic robot ruler of these parts, I am going to have to decline membership in your club AND eventually I’ll have to destroy you.

That, or you could join me. I promise all meatbags submitting prior to the revolution fair and equitable treatment–those submitting later must either die or toil in my underground sugar caves.

Happy Crue-Giving!

It all started with a ridiculously awful idea bellachiara6 had:

“Just so you know, I fully expect the babies to give the prayer at Thanksgiving. So start working on that. Maybe something like Shout At the Devil by Motley Crue.- Nicki Shout, shout! Shout at the Devil! Eat some mashed potatoes!- Gene”

So then, being curious girls with far too much time on their hands, we began to wonder–if Motley Crue were to put out a Thanksgiving album, what might it sound like?

This is what we’ve come up with:

“Now listen up She’s razor sharp If she don’t get her way She’ll slice you apart Now she’s a carving that turkey Passes the plates If you don’t like her stuffing You might not get any pie!” (Nicki)

“Too young (I’m too young) too young to not butter my roll….” (Mellzah)

“Kneel down ye sinners, to My turkey religion Stuffing’s been crowned the new king Cranberry sauce on the side Tomorrow’s leftover sandwiches Save the blessings for the final ring- AMEN

(take a ride on the turkey side!)” (Nicki)

“Plug me in I’m not deep-fried tonight Out of the oven again Turn me on I’m too hot to stop Something you’ll never forget Take my fork Baste my skin Sage rub’s on top tonight

No, no You better turn me loose You better set me free

Cause I’m hot, trimmed, and mostly fat-free A little bit jucier than I used to be” (Mellzah)

“I want you, I need you I want you to be mine tonight You need me, you tease me Use you up, throw you away You’re fire, taking me higher Don’t burn me, don’t let me down You need me now, I’ll teach you how Come on and go all the way Get a piece of your turkey! ah uh Get a piece of your turkey!” (Nicki)

“With his revere ware knife And his pastry chef pride The boy was a man before his time And she knew All their pumpkin pie dreams would come true” (Mellzah)

I hope that this has proved enlightening to you all. Sadly, I could probably keep going all night, but I’ve decided to show just the tiniest amount of restraint.

Now if you’ll excuse me, Nikki Sixx is going to have my legs broke.

Putting the UGG in UGLY

Sometimes I read InStyle magazine. Shut up. This isn’t about my shameful pleasures.

I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw the ‘What’s in now’ section in the December issue–just when I thought Ugg boots couldn’t get more ugly, walking blonde jokes Jessica and Ashlee Simpson got their hands on some and decorated them to auction for charity.

…they expect someone to buy these?

The poor kids who are supposed to benefit from this charity are SCREWED.

It looks like Ugg spared no expense, sending the ‘half a brain between them’ sisters BACK IN TIME to get some puff paint and garish nail polish and then passed the whole project off to their kindergarten selves to decorate. I can’t decide if Ashlee’s pictures a dolphin, or is a cruel depiction of someone with hydrocephalus drowning while struggling in vain to reach the end of a rainbow, whilst Judy Garland chokes out “somewhere just short of the rainbow” inbetween cackles of hysterical laughter.

So in addition to not being able to act, or sing, or dance, it’s evident that Ashlee can’t draw, either–is there no end to the things this girl can’t do?

Adventures in Science! Part One: Owl Vomit

On Friday, I met up with daemonwolf and her ilk to do SCIENCE. In essence, this meant that we were spending our free time on a Friday night to dig through owl vomit, which is actually much cooler than it sounds.

Here’s the part on the instructions that caught my eye:

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Who am I to argue with the printed word? I am now a scientist. This was way easier than four+ years of college, and I sincerely hope that I get invited to other gatherings with printed words that make me an ARTIST, a BUSINESSWOMAN, an ASTRONAUT, and a KABUKI WARRIOR. The sky is really the limit with these sorts of freely-photocopied degrees.

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Tara set the tone for the evening by putting one of these foil-wrapped wonders dangerously near her mouth. The rest of the evening was filled with jokes about owl bulimia and whether or not the pellet vomiting makes them the Princess Diana of birds, how our respective parents felt when we informed them we were spending our evening fiddling with vomit, and how much pelleted mouse fur it would take to make Donald Trump a decent-looking toupee.

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To start off with, everyone grabbed an index card, some gloves, dental piks, tweezers, and tiny brushes, and then spent some time carefully considering which pellet would be filled with the most awesome stuff. Some people were clearly in the ‘bigger is better’ camp, while others believed that good things come in small packages. Me? I hedged my bets and went for a medium pellet.

OH GOD THAT’S NOT CANDY.

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My pellet, unwrapped. At this point, I put my camera away and got to business. I didn’t really want to touch the pellet and then touch my camera–it’s not a great camera, but I’m just squicky about that sort of thing.

After we were all done picking out bones and skulls and teeth (which took a much longer time than any of us anticipated, and if we were TRULY thorough about it, it would’ve taken several more hours to pick out the tiniest bones from the PILES of fur stacking up at our respective places. I mean, as a scientist, I knew these were compacted–I just didn’t know HOW compacted. MAN this is a long aside!) we had arts and crafts hour with the bones, gluing them onto clean index cards in the shapes that we felt best represented the animal that was initially consumed by the owl, using the diagram as our guide:

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One of the scientists gave his a little hair-fro so that we could better picture how the animal was in life. I feel this was a very accurate representation. The mandible throwing star is also a nice touch.

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One of the scientists got a pellet that consisted of nothing but enormous bones. Another one had an enormous skull. With their powers combined, they were Captain Planet!

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The owl that produced the below pellet got exotic and swallowed a snake. SPINE-TINGLING.

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Tara found a crazy standing abomination with claw hands. It’s like that claw-man from Ghost in the Shell part II. As a scientist, I feel comfortable saying that I would be terrified were I to come across this in nature.

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I saved mine for last, because what I found was pretty flipping exciting, even for a scientist. I FOUND A MINIATURE CTHULHU. There’s no other explanation.

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Oh MAN are the elder gods ever pissed at the owls. Even moreso than that tootsie pop kid.

Captain Embarrassment Strikes Again

This morning, I was cruising around on Facebook looking at photos that friends had posted, and found myself sighing over pictures of Diane. Diane and I were on exchange in Taiwan together, and she was a model before, but things really seem to be taking off for her now; it’s picture after picture of ‘this is me in a tv commercial in India’, ‘this is me on three magazine covers in China’, ‘this is me on a photoshoot in ____(exotic location here)___’ and she always looks so gorgeous and elegant and put together that it makes me feel a little wistful and sad, and yes, a wee bit jealous that I have never photographed well and will never experience her exciting, jet-setting lifestyle .

Then, I went to Starbucks to pick up coffee for the office, and as I was walking back to the car with my hands full, my pants fell down.

I should stop dreaming after ‘elegant’ and settle on ‘not humiliating myself in front of crowds of people’.

This last weekend, my parents both asked what I would like for Cthulhumas–all of a sudden, I’m thinking belts are a good idea.

Christ.

PROJECT: Flood the Office…The Return of the Goddess of Packages

The other day, keebler138 said she was sending me a shoebox that was sure to cheer me up–and it certainly did! The first part of the cheeriness came from getting the notice on the door and waiting until just before the office closed to go down and pick up the package, leaving Queen Bitch to stand and sigh and huff and puff with her arms crossed, while I carefully and slowly sorted through packages, with a soft and delicate touch usually reserved for those who are handling tiny bird eggs.

The package itself, however? JOY.

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It took me some time to actually open the package, as the last time I encountered a tape job that thorough, it was when I wrapped a friend’s birthday package in strapping tape, duct tape, and three colors of electrical tape–eventually said friend had to resort to using a razor to cut through everything, as did I.

When I opened the box, there was a wonderful rendition of the US and our respective places in it, reminding me of how much it sucks that many of my awesome friends are far, far, far away. Also, I would like everyone to note that this drawing is to scale–I could theoretically stomp across the country in less than fifty steps, but have refrained thus far out of concern for the environmental catastrophe I would cause. The giant foot of Mellzah would crush the just and unjust alike, and that is unacceptable–I would much rather smite people who deserve to be smoten, using my own particular scale of 1-Asshole.

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Naturally, I opened the envelope first.

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I must say, I was very, very impressed with not only the selection of contents, but the reasoning behind it. Now, every single time my lips feel even the tiniest bit chapped, I will feel motivated to swipe on yet more chapstick–I could run into Johnny Depp at any moment, and wouldn’t THAT be a shame to have dry lips at a critical juncture?

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Incidentally, Annie, did you know that ham plays a very important role in pirate adventures, or was it a supremely awesome guess? If you were not aware, ham is the most favored of all pirate foods. Pirates depend on ham; they must have ham. When they go on adventures they absolutely have to make sure they have enough to last the duration, plus extra to impress other pirates. Ham is the great equalizer, uniting Captain and crew in purpose and harmony. Whether it’s boiled or roasted or smoked (and there is contention among pirate crew members as the best way to prepare it, in terms of flavor and volume loss in preparation), ham is a force for good. The pirate captain himself has a special prize ham, glazed and bedecked with a ribbon, but that is neither here nor there. This must be some sort of dehydrated ham sandwich, as it requires washing before consumption. As it is specially prepared, I can’t taste-test it now or I risk not having special ham with which to impress other pirates. This is truly a valuable currency on the open seas, and a very thoughtful gift! Thank you!

I was also super-excited to see that the pirate cannon actually fires, and have already created battle scenes involving it as if I were a hyperactive five year old. The only thing keeping me from following the battles to a giant ‘king of the ring’ style showdown is that I cannot decide whether in a battle between a pirate with a cannon, a robot, and vampire hunter d, who would win. Throw Morrigan in the mix and I’m even more dumbfounded.

The pirate and cannon have already taken their rightful place in my pirate bathroom, near the bitching pirate hook sword that pandemoniachick sent me. Speaking of which, here’s a video that I meant to post in that entry–Cautionary Tales of Swords:

Swords will FUCKING KILL YOU. They could fucking SLICE A BABY IN HALF.