Scenes From A Relationship, Part 6



R: Why is there the pervasive stereotype that girls love ponies and horses?
M: Hell if I know. Why are girls supposed to like pink and purple?
R: Yeah, but I’ve met people who liked colors, I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who loved horses as much as girls are supposed to. And aside from the crazy sexism, the girls like pink and purple thing actually cropping up in real life can be partially explained by the fact that so much stuff “for” girls is pink and purple based on the trope, so it just becomes the color of their stuff, you know? Then they’ll tell you they like those colors, because so much stuff that they have is in those colors. But I don’t think I’ve ever met any girl who was crazy about ponies.
M: You have a point.
R: I mean, if you grabbed an eight year old girl off the street, fuck, I don’t mean if you literally grabbed the girl off the street, I mean, if you took an eight year old girl… I, Christ, that’s also a terrible way to start a sentence, okay, if there were a hypothetical situation in which you could ask an eight year old girl whether or not she liked ponies, she probably wouldn’t care about them. There.
M: Wow. And… Yes?


If Only Jamuel M. Sackson Had Shown Up. I Could Have Used Some Witty Banter.


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When I lived in Florida, I worked at a museum for a while. It was an awesome job and I loved the vast majority of my time spent there,* but it did suffer from the standard problem faced by museums, zoos, and other large public cultural institutions: the building design was about as well-thought-out as a steam-powered sofa, and as it grew anything and everything was co-opted for office space, including broom closets, dark rooms and bathrooms.** A side effect of this poor planning meant that I, instead of being able to flee out a side door like any sensible public servant, had to walk through a bunch of heavily trafficked areas, by the front desk, and past the gift shop to leave the building.

One fateful day, as I was leaving my office and walking to the parking lot, I looked up and saw A Celebrity hanging out in the crowd by the gift shop, minding his own business. You know who this person is, since he’s had several major movies in his career and is a member of a money-grubbing cult so-called religion that’s particularly popular among actors. For the sake of anonymity, let’s just call him Ton Jravolta. As I’m not particularly into celebrities or cult members, after I had my moment of cognitive dissonance*** and dismissed my half-formed fear that a gun-toting Wruce Billis would show up looking for a watch, a toaster would go off and shit would go down in my place of business,**** I walked on by.

As I was walking by, I noticed a gentleman – and by “gentleman” I mean “asshole” – on his cell phone, not three feet from Mr. Jravolta himself, screaming into his phone about OH MY GOD HE IS RIGHT BEHIND ME. TON JRAVOLTA. BEHIND. ME. I KNOW. I KNOW. I CANNOT BELIEVE I AM STANDING THIS CLOSE TO TON JRAVOLTA. DO YOU THINK HE WILL DO THAT THING FROM THE MOVIE I LOVE. TON JRAVOLTAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! Dude was successfully drawing more stares than the guy he was screaming about.***** And here’s where things get weird for me, personally: I was totally, disproportionally appalled by cell phone guy’s behavior. Like, completely ragey that the douche was acting so douchey in a place I worked and pissed that he might potentially add to the already abysmal reputation of Central Floridians everywhere. I was actually surprised by my own ridiculous anger at the situation and immediately booked it out to my car.

The weird part about this is that I like to think I don’t really give a shit about celebrities’ feelings and sense of privacy in public, really. If you earn millions of dollars a year for almost anything and you are not as brilliant and talented as Isaac Newton, Thomas Jefferson and Albert Einstein rolled into one terrifying mass of ability and genius, you can deal with the fact that going out in public is going to be A Situation – and that goes double if you’ve earned that money in part by being recognizable to a hell of a lot of people. And yet, I was pissed off by cell phone asshole’s ridiculous conversation. It’s been a few years since this indecent, and I’ve had time to reflect on why, exactly, I was so repulsed by this behavior. I’ve determined that, given my reaction, one of the following things must be true about me:

1) I care way, way more about the possibility of one of the most recognizable actors in the U.S. feeling awkward and uncomfortable than I had previously realized, or
2) I, like any good Southerner, know that the only polite way to talk about someone is quietly, and behind their back.******

While neither of these options say much about me, I hope like hell it’s number two.

* And it was one of the only workplaces where I could use phrases like “just past the mummified bodies, to the left of the mastodon skeleton” when giving people directions to the bathroom and not prompt a visit from the police inquiring about my after-hours hobbies, but that particular job perk is neither here nor there.
** I worked in a former dark room. It was a dream, let me tell you.
**** Quick test of age: did you first think of 1) heroin and Los Angeles or 2) white suits and the Bee Gees?
***** Remember we’re in rural Central Florida for this story, which means celebrities are apparitions from god as far as most people are concerned. Outshining a celebrity there takes insane amounts of noise, obnoxiousness, or a flat-out shocking physical deformity.
****** Throw in a quick “bless her heart” if you really want to bitch someone out with an iron-clad lack of guilt.

A Collection of Things


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1. Yes, I’ve finally finished Breaking Bad [Edited: what in the hell, WordPress? Italicize properly!] but I’ve also been actually working full-time because I’ve picked up a hell of a lot of shifts at work. Unfortunately this means I’m all over the place because I’ve not had two days in a row off in too long. I frequently think I’m going to get a day off only to be asked to cover a shift. Yes, I know many people have it far worse, and yes, I like working, earning money, and paying bills in full and on time, but the unpredictable nature of my downtime is starting to stress me the fuck out.

2. I’ve been in a complete reading slump lately. I usually clock ten or fifteen books in a month, but I read a grand total of two in March. I’ve finished one this month. Too many books are being returned to the library unfinished. I have been busy with other things (see point number 1), but nevertheless this is annoying because I get antsy when I don’t have a good book around. Does anyone have suggestions? Fiction, please – the last few books I finished were non-fiction and I need to change it up.

3. Speaking of books, can everyone please stop babbling on about The Hunger Games? They’re good books, yes – and infinitely better than fucking Twilight – but that doesn’t change the fact that a) Katniss is really fucked up (in an understandable way, given her situation) and therefore not necessarily an OMG! Great Role Model! for anyone, b) Gale is a complete asshole, c) Peeta is so stereotypically the perfect teenage male nice-guy that he makes my teeth hurt* and d) this is not the second coming of The Chronicles of Narnia in terms of cleverness or lasting power so please chill the fuck out. Also, let’s all shut up about the movie. Thanks in advance.

4. One of the downsides of being allergic to a random assortment of common things is that you actually wind up looking at and purchasing “all-natural”** alternatives to various items. Since the vast majority of my allergies crop up as random skin problems, this means I have spent waaaaay too much time and money on crap like hippie shampoos and soaps. Most of these things are complete failures and I could write entire posts on how ridiculous the entire natural beauty products industry is, but I’m happy to report that you can successfully wash your hair with baking soda and not look like a hobo.

* And he is a baker’s kid named after fucking bread. That’s worse than Katniss being named after an herb (flower?) because her dad was a hunter.
** By all-natural I mean “contains ingredients that I would recognize in a store,” not “avoiding things synthesized by beings from beyond the void, therefore not containing anything occurring in nature.”*** Mainly because I have no clue what chemicals I’m actually allergic to, so avoiding them all is way, way easier.
*** Does anyone else get frustrated at the all-natural label? First of all, the entire fucking universe is natural. Second, there are some really unpleasant things in nature. I certainly don’t want to chow down on a big bowl of arsenic any more than I want poison ivy secretions in my soap, but they’re both all-natural.

I’m Pretty Much An Expert In Freaking Myself Out


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Have you ever prepared a cover letter for a job application, worked on it obsessively for hours, then submitted, only to suddenly panic and convince yourself that you misspelled something simple like the name of the position, the organization, or, for fuck’s sake, your own name* when you know you didn’t?

Yeah, just did that.

*I did actually misspell my own name on a cover letter once. I was still hired at an ungodly high salary rate in spite of this idiocy, which probably says more about the organization I worked at than it does about me.**
** For bonus fuck-up points, I also mistyped my own phone number when forwarding it to my future boss when they wanted to discuss the job offer. This didn’t dissuade them, either. That motherfucking job, I have not the words.

Happy April 8th


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Today is Easter, or, as I like to call it, a Sunday in April. Of course this means that I’d forgotten that about half the places in town are closed and I’d planned on running errands today. Bravo, me. Last night at about 11 pm I realized today was a holiday and figured I’d just put my errands off until Tuesday, but when I woke up this morning I found my router completely dead.*

Now, I’m a world-class procrastinator when it comes to replacing moderately expensive (read: over ten bucks) items. Jeans got a hole in them? Fuck it, wear them for another three months. Broken ten dishes? Looks like I’m just going to have to hand wash the two remaining immediately after using. But go a day without internet? I’ll cut a bitch. So I decided to drive all over town trying to find a damned router. Best Buy and Target were, unfortunately, closed, but I did manage to find a router at my local grocery store. I probably paid about $20 over what I could have paid for it, but whatever.  I have internet again.

However, before the return of internet I had to wait a few hours while R set up the new router, and got passwords and encryption dealt with.  And in those few hours, holy hell, I got so much done. Some IKEA stuff got put together, I cleaned out our hall closet, I reorganized the pantry and got all the bulk goods out of baggies and into jars, made lunch, moved the Christmas tree stand to our basement storage locker,** and I could go on listing all the other household chores I accomplished but the first part of this sentence is so boring I’ll spare you. The point is that it was a hell of a lot of stuff and I’ve come to the conclusion – based entirely on today’s use of time – that if the internet suddenly died, I would probably be able to cure cancer, write the Great American Novel, and discover the secret of cold fusion in, oh, a few weeks.*** Unfortunately for everyone, I have too deep a love of mocking terrible blogs and searching for new .gifs that feature the phrase Like I Give A Fuck to give up the internet voluntarily, so these great achievements will have to wait for a day when my power goes out.

So anyway, happy Easter to those of you who care, and happy April 8th to those of you who don’t.

* Just think, if it had died on Good Friday I could have waited three days and saved myself $70! *rimshot*
** Yes, four months after removing the tree we put the stand away. Our stuffed monkey is also still wearing his Santa hat, so there.
*** And I’m only pretty smart, so just think of all the shit actual intelligent people could accomplish without such wonderful time wasters as #whatshouldwecallme.

I Also Bruise Easily, Which Means I’m a Variety of Interesting Colors


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A short list of the things I’ve walked into this past week:

1. The kitchen counter
2. My bed
3. A piece of shelving by my boss’s desk
4. The coffee table
5. A puzzle rack at work
6. That same piece of shelving by my boss’s desk, again*
7. A bike rack
8. A doorknob
9. A goddamned wall

I need to note that these are all items that I walk by regularly, and have walked by regularly for the past six months. None of them have been moved recently.

I think I need to look into a padded suit and a helmet if I want to see my thirtieth birthday.

*And I hit the same fucking spot on my leg both times, really, really hard. The bruise actually swelled, for fuck’s sake. I didn’t know they could do that.


April Fools’!


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I really don’t like April Fools’ Day. Yes, some of the jokes are fantastically clever, but the good gags are overshadowed by all the un-funny and kind-of-funny people deciding that it will be absolutely hilarious to try some sort of lame, played-out practical joke. In an effort not to have some terrible attempt at a gotcha! post, I’ve instead decided to do this one Mad Libs style. As my parts-of-speech grammar is pretty rusty, this will either go well or fail spectacularly. Let’s begin.

Fill out the following, then replace in the paragraph below. I’ve bolded the numbers in the paragraph for you to make insertion easier. Feel free to post what you’ve come up with in the comments.

1. adjective, 2. adjective, 3. period of time, 4. form of communication, 5. adjective, 6. expletive ending in –ing, 7. adjective describing size, 8. verb describing motion, past tense, 9. expletive ending in –ing, 10. adverb describing speed, 11. Christian denomination, 12. slang word for money, 13. adjective, 14. expletive, 15. alcoholic beverage, 16. name of a country, 17. type of rodent, possessive form, 18. body part, 19. slang term for money, 20. sport, 21. number, 22. emotion, 23. verb, 24. adjective describing size, 25. expletive ending in –ing, in all caps, 26. expletive, in all caps.

Well, [1] readers, I have [2] news! You see, about [3] ago, I received a(n) [4] from a(n) [5] agent at a big publishing house! I can’t tell you which one yet, due to the confidentiality clause, but it’s a(n) [6] [7] one! She liked my posts so much that she decided the only thing to do was offer me a book deal. Naturally, I [8] on that [9] [10]. To make a long story short, I’m going to be a published author! I know, I can’t believe it either. The only downside is this: I need to completely overhaul the content of my blog. Instead of writing somewhat off-color humor, I’ll instead be focusing on my convertsion to [11]. I know, I know, I’m an atheist, but anything for [12], am I right? So expect to see all the content of this blog disappear, because I’ll be replacing it with articles on [13] Christian living. There will, of course, be other changes. I won’t be able to use words like [14] any more, for one, and expect me to stop talking about drinking [15] on this site. I’m also in discussions with my attorney and agent to display photos of child from [16] and claim he’s mine. I’m pretty sure that’s not legal, but who gives a [17] [18] about that when I’m about to make the big [19]? They think it will mesh well with my other new focus: [20] blogging. I know it seems bizarre, but I really think I could convince [21] readers that I’m really into religion, parenthood and exercise. I mean, all I have to do is delete all of my post history and start a new internet identity! Don’t be too [22] about it, I’m sure you’ll just [23] my new style. Also, I have another [24] piece of news for you:


There now. April Fool’s taken care of, audience participation style.