You know what I really hate these days? If you answered "everything"
then, thank you, you've clearly been paying attention. If you answered
"life-sized dolls" then you're partially right. If you answered "frito
pie" then you're clearly a fucking moron.
No, but, really--you
know what I really fucking hate these days? All these
pseudoscientific doctor shows that have popped up in the past year or
two, peddling an infuriating pastiche of vague, bullshit statistics,
scare tactic proclamations, and retarded-ass computer
simulations/graphics which serve no purpose other than to provide
something at which visual stimuli-addicted Americans can goggle. And by
"all these" shows, I really mean two: The Doctors and The Dr.
Oz Show. There are probably more out there, but we don't have
cable--so my universe only encompasses the choices available on six
channels. Whatever. As far as I'm concerned, two are more than enough.
So,
the first (and really the main) point that I take issue with is all the
pseudoscientific malarkey that's going on here. It brings to mind my brief,
glorious tirade against Tresemme's Hydrology haircare line. Fucking
idiots. It also reminds me of an article from The Onion, my
most trusted news source in these troubled times. (Personally, I would
welcome the addition of Extreme Gravity to the Science Channel's
lineup, but I'm a fucking nerd. Apparently.)
But back to my point:
I hate pseudoscience. It's just so...demeaning. To real science, I
mean. And to those of us who actually value things like evidence and the
scientific method and putting Mentos into Diet Coke and seeing if it
explodes. But seriously--dumbed down pseudoscience makes actual science
seem so much lamer and more easily accessible than it actually is. Not
that science shouldn't be accessible or anything. But there's a
difference between communicating complex scientific ideas and
information in a way which facilitates its understanding...and
simplifying shit to a point where it becomes meaningless and boring. And
hellshitdamnfuckasstitties!--science ain't meaningless and boring! I
think Einstein said that.
More importantly, I take issue with people invoking the ideas of
"science" and "medicine"--or even just using "science-y" sounding words,
as in the case of Tresemme's Hydrology line--in order to establish a
(false) sense of authority. The automatic ceding of authority to
doctors--something which both patients and doctors consciously and
unconsciously participate in--is a cultural tendency I take issue with
as it is. It's a complex interplay that involves ideas about power,
knowledge, bodies, gender, class, race, and a plethora of other annoying
liberal arts college vocabulary words. So it pisses me off that shows
like Dr. Oz and The Doctors not only enthusiastically
perpetuate this kind of shit, but actually make it so much worse by
doing such an embarrassingly bad job of presenting medical
information--like they're airhead anchors on some celebrity gossip show.
The
ultimate problem here is that with this self-generated authority, the
authoritative person (or institution) is granted undeserved legitimacy,
potentially aiding in the justification of ridiculous or harmful ideas.
In other words, people will be more likely to believe some stupid
bullshit The Doctors say (even when it's beyond their scope
within the medical field) simply because they are Doctors,and
also because they are invoking Scientific Statisticsto (weakly)
support their claims.
************
Stay tuned for the exciting second half of this boringass tirade, because I'm too lazy to finish writing it right now!
I purchased, documented, and consumed the motherfucking KFC Double Down on its release day. All in the name of science/journalism/public education/social justice/etc., naturally.
"But, Sarah," you say between bites of Double Down, Colonel's Sauce dribbling down your shiny double chin, "if you sampled KFC's new abomination/masterpiece (one could call it, perhaps, an "abominasterpiece"?) over three weeks ago, why has it taken you so long to share the Good News with us, your loyal readers/creepy stalkers/random people who come to your blog via searches for weird shit like 'college teachers boobz' and 'enormous snatch'*?"
The answer is simple, my friends: after consuming an abominasterpiece of such epic proportions, my Fried Chicken Shame Spiral (FCSS) tailspinned my ass into a state of altered consciousness, causing me to wander in a Carlos Castaneda-esque state for several weeks. When I finally came to my senses, I was cramming used band-aids into my mouth whilst squatting in the ruins of the Beach Waterpark. In Mason, Ohio. It was kind of weird.
But all that's behind us now. Let's just put that silliness out of our minds and forge ahead with the task at hand: my consumption of the KFC Double Down.
First, let's view the photographic evidence:
Ta-daaaaa!
Wow. That was totally like a classy photo essay that one would see, perhaps, hung in some sort of high-end museum or shitty cafe. Or perhaps a shitty museum and a high-end cafe. Either way, I wouldn't be caught dead there, as I hate all varieties of museums and cafes. Because they're for pretentious assholes. "Oh, look at me! I'm in a café! I drink fancy coffee drinks and most certainly don't eat peon-oriented things like the KFC Double Down! Let's go to that múséúm and look at árt! La dee dah!" You know?
Whatever.
Let's get down to the nitty-gritty: the taste test.
So, basically the Double Down was what you would expect from any standard fast food establishment: kind of good, kind of gross. The end.
What? You want a more in-depth description? Fine, I'll break it down:
Contributing factors to "good": fried; bacon; cheese; mayonnaise (apparently, "Colonel's Sauce" equals a mildly spicy mayonnaise).
Contributing factors to "gross": fried; bacon; cheese; mayonnaise.
The thing is, food like this is scientifically calibrated to taste relatively good. They make sure all the right taste chemicals are present to hit all the right spots: salt, fat, sweet, bacon. So it would be pretty much impossible for the Double Down to be a total flop.
The other thing is, food like this is fucking gross. Greasy, heavy, simultaneously weirdly bland and yet overly flavored...Plus, seriously, there's just too much fucking chicken involved in the Double Down. The Mister and I split one between us (because, really, we would have felt so incredibly dirty to actually eat one apiece) and I could barely choke down my entire half. I like chicken and all, but Jesus Christ on Roller Skates--that's a lot of goddamn chicken!
Overall, I would rate the Double Down as a decided "meh." Did I enjoy it? Kind of, but mostly on an anthropological level. Would I order it again? Hellz no. On top of making me feel fairly gross and giving me a case of chickenbellyitis, them shit's expensive! Just the sandwich by itself cost nearly $6. And I would so much rather spend that kind of money on something both tasty and good for me--like a Five Guys bacon cheeseburger with everything on it.
Hellz yeah.
*These are, indeed, actual searches that brought people to this site. I feel simultaneously proud and horrified: prourrified.
Dear Anyone Under the Age of, Oh, 55 and Who is of No Relation to Me/Isn't Sanctioned to Stick Anything in My Hooha:
How R U? Isn't it fun being under the age of 55 and of no relation to me/not sanctioned to stick anything in my hooha? I totes agree, for shizzle! OMG, LOL, etc.
However, here's the deally, yo: Don't call me "Hon." Or "Darlin'." Or "Dear." Or "Babe." Or "Sweetie." Or whatever the fuck else annoying, patronizing term of familiarity you choose to unnecessarily tack on to the end of your sentence which is directed at me. Or I will punch you in the fucking throat.
I'm not exactly sure what you feel you are accomplishing by doing this, but it needs to stop. It's not cute; it's condescending.
Take special heed of this warning if you are a young woman who is
approximately in my age bracket, and take doubleplus heed if you are obviously
younger than me. I realize that I have a fresh-faced, youthful appearance*, but I'm clearly not 8-fucking-years-old and you are clearly not a frazzled, middle-aged Jersey diner waitress named Flo.
Fuck off.
Love,
Sarah
*The other day a drunk homeless dude told me that I don't look a day over eighteen. Then he asked if I was married. Everything's coming up Milhouse!
But, hey, guess what? It's your lucky day: that KFC-based non-memory about my hatred of ridiculous fast food gimmicks can now be replaced with a KFC-based real-memory about my hatred of ridiculous fast food gimmicks. Don't say I never do anything for you. Or to you. But maybe we shouldn't get into that right now.
Ahem.
And now, without further ado, I would like to present for your mocking/secret, shameful eating in your car before you get home from work...
The KFC Double Down!!!*
Yes, that's right. A sandwich composed of meat, meat, cheese, and sauce. No bun. Oh, but wait. There is a bun. And it's made out of motherfucking fried chicken, bitches!
Here's what the KFC website has to say:
This one-of-a-kind sandwich features two thick and juicy boneless white
meat chicken filets (Original Recipe® or Grilled), two pieces of bacon,
two melted slices of Monterey Jack and pepper jack cheese and Colonel's
Sauce. This product is so meaty, there’s no room for a bun!
There's really so much I could say about that paragraph, I don't even know where to begin. Oh, but how about this: what the fuck is "Colonel's Sauce"? And, really, could they have used a less appetizing/more sexually suggestive phrase than "this product is so meaty"? Also, if you're going to abandon your last, tattered shred of dignity and actually order this pile of ridiculousness, why in the good Lord's name would you puss out and get it with grilled chicken? I mean, come on. Don't be a weenis. Also, don't be a wenis.
So. The Double Down is hitting America's collective sweaty thighs on April 12th. "But Sarah," you say, "I have a busy work/school/fast food schedule. I don't have time to remember what days new and ridiculous sandwiches are released to the public!" Well, never fear, you busy beavers: there's a handy countdown clock.
If you follow the above link you can also watch the official commercial for the Double Down, which pretty much makes it clear that this is a MAN SANDWICH, and not some sort of faggy, Atkins Diet-type thing. Thank god.
Now, I understand that the knee-jerk reaction to the Double Down (following the pre-knee-jerk reaction of "I want to eat that," of course) is some amalgamation of horror/disgust/bewilderment caused by America's ever expanding capacity for grossness. However, because I have such stringent standards for this blog, and because I am so totally fucking scientific, but really, mostly, because I care about you so very much, dear reader, I did some extremely rigorous caloric comparison research**. And, amazingly enough, it turns out it's not so bad. If you don't believe me, just examine the following Scientific Food Chart of Science (SFCS):
KFC Double Down: 540 calories, 32 grams of fat
Carl's Jr.
Original Six Dollar Burger: 890 calories, 54 grams of fat
McDonald's
Big Mac: 540 calories, 29 grams of fat
As you can see thanks to the fabulous SFCS above, the Double Down is comparable to a Big Mac and actually comes out way ahead of the Six Dollar Burger. Surprising, no? See, that's what happens when you let your jerky knees do all your thinking for you: you potentially miss out on an awesome, ridiculous, horrible, über-gimmicky sandwich.
If you need further convincing of the Double Down's not-quite-as-horrible-as-you-thought-it-was-ness, you can feel somewhat comforted by something a friend pointed out earlier today: "It's the American [Chicken] Cordon Bleu." Fair enough. And classy. Eat this potentially delicious abomination and feel classy, America!
Wait, WTF?? When did this post morph from a rant into me trying to convince you to eat the Double Down? Oh, yeah. I know. It was when I decided that I definitely have to try this at least once, way back at the beginning of the post***.
I will drag you into my Fried Chicken Shame Spiral (FCSS).
FCSS for life!
* You know I'm serious about this, because I used three goddamn exclamation points.
** I went to three websites.
*** Remember that whole "shameful eating in your car before you get home
from work" thing? That will undoubtedly prove to be autobiographical. Sigh.
Usually my family does some sort of secular-type activity involving food, like breakfast or brunch or second breakfast or elevenses. But this year, perhaps in keeping with their New Year's resolution to be crappy parents, my Mom and Dad totally ditched us to go hang out with their friends who have a hot tub. Oh yeah? Well, two can play at that game, progenitors. If you need me, I'll be sitting alone in my shitty little bathtub that's incapable of filling to a satisfying water level, shoving cold ham into my mouth and crying. Jealous? Too bad. You can't come.
Anyhoo. Yesterday was actually a very enjoyable day for me, despite any rumors you may have heard about crying in bathtubs. I had a very satisfying workout sesh (that's what we call them in The Business), followed by a very pleasant afternoon spent sitting on a bar patio, drinking my drank and reading a book. Did I mention that the weather was fucking fantastic? Well, it was. And we all know how I feel about pleasant weather: it's pleasant. After I was nice and liquored up, I went for a leisurely drive around town with all the car windows down, singing along to The Rolling Stones. Just kidding about that last sentence--I would never be so irresponsible. It was The Beatles.
After careening home, I took a brief nap on the couch (a feat of which I'm rarely capable) and then it was off for a walk around my various neighborhood parks, complete with the continuing perfect weather.
Oh, but wait--you thought Easter was over, didn't you? Or maybe you were just hoping that I was done with my mundane blabberings? Well, as Zombie Jesus would say (and in keeping with the spirit of the day): "Fuck you, I'm still talking."
So. After I got home from my fabulous walk (which, I'm proud to say, only involved one random car honking at my hott azzz), The Mister and I went over to a newly opened establishment, the ABQ Brew Pub, in order to watch the first Sox/Yankees game of the season and eat some schmancy, expensive appetizers (which were actually pretty good--we were just feeling a little cheap at that moment). It was a great game (for those of you who can actually pay attention to baseball on TV--I am not counted among you, however) and a very pleasant way to end a long, hard day of Easter worship.
Oh, wait! I almost forgot the most important part of the whole day: I was able to wear my hair in Heidi braids (what I like to call "milkmaid braids") for the very first time! This is a most exciting development, my friends, as this hairstyle was the original inspiration for growing my hair long. So, from now on, you can expect to see me with a glorious hair-crown atop my head at all times. Or at least until I get too lazy and/or hot once the summer hits and then chop off my ridiculously thick hair.
And for this, I thank you, Zombie Jesus. Great weather, relaxing activities, and awesome hairdos: you made the day of Your resurrection a truly glorious experience.
Alright, back to business. I promised you some epic tales of nerdery and I shall not disappoint.
However, on a side note, I have to say that I'm not entirely confident in my ability to properly convey the ridiculousness in all its glory. The thing that's both awesome and frustrating about being a keen observer (or, you know, at least a ruthless judger) of human interactions is that there are so many weird subtleties--from tone of voice to minute changes in facial expression to the general feeling the interaction creates--that are hard to communicate and that are also an integral part of the scene.
I frequently think (as I'm bumbling through a mangled explanation of some awferful [awful + wonderful] situation), "Why can't you just be inside my brain!?" Because then I wouldn't have to explain all this shit--you could just know--and then also you could experience firsthand the wonder that is Bored Sarah's Magical Food Dance Party Imagination Time--everyone wins! (Sometimes referred to as a win-win-win style of conflict resolution.)
But back to the point of all this: nerds in class.
Obviously, being exposed to the extremely nerdy is to be expected when one is going to school for computer stuff (and yes, that's a technical term); I labor under no illusions to the contrary. Somehow, however, I'm experiencing a heretofore unimaginable level of nerdom in my Flash class. The first few days of exposure I surprised myself by actually enjoying the nerdly goings on. "Perhaps," I thought, "I'm turning over a new leaf! Maybe I'm maturing and learning to appreciate the wonderful variety of human expression!" A few days later, of course, things were back to their normal, immediately-get-annoyed-and-yet-find-myself-compelled-to-observe state. No need to worry.
So. Let me just tell you. Nerds.
There are most definitely nerds scattered throughout the classroom, but I think I've somehow managed to seat myself in some kind of Nerdmuda Triangle; I'm hemmed in on all sides. (But, actually, I'm glad that I'm not on the other side of the room, as, apparently, it's home to a small cadre of crazy alterna-xTiAnS who somehow manage to work Jesus into all of their animation projects. And talk about how Ben Stein/creationism are awesome. And how Obama is a commie. And how global warming isn't real, because "come on; the climate existed before people!" [How many days before? Like, four, by their extremely accurate Biblical reckoning? Maybe I should ask...])
Okay, so, there are three dudes that sit behind me who comprise a kind of nerd variety pack. There's the wispy mustachioed, anime-obsessed "ethnic" one; the "slightly less ethnic" comic book fatty, complete with constant, overly loud comments/jokes (which are immediately punctuated with his own awkward laughter); and the white, trying-to-look-normie-but-isn't-quite-succeeding general variety of nerd guy. The conversations back there generally consist of swapping various nerd-related suggestions (video game tips, pocket protector recommendations, etc.), spiked with a healthy dose of that weird one-upmanship (concerning things that no one should be proud of) of which nerds seem so fond.
A typical interaction goes like this:
Variety Pack Nerd #1: ...blahblahblah, something about how I like to eat ramen.
VPN #2: Well, have you ever had REAL ramen??
VPN #1: [said immediately, in a defensive/trying-to-sound-cool voice] Yes!
VPN #2: Well, my friend TOSHIKO, who's JAPANESE blahblahblah...
(This continues on for a good while, all the dudes attempting to establish their Dominance of Lame.)
Then there's the girl that sits next to me. I'm guessing she's all of 18 and has no idea what to do with the gigantic boobz with which she's been blessed. Pasty skin, stringy hair, and bad glasses (as distinguished from good glasses--which I, of course, wear); spends the whole time the teacher is lecturing drawing crappy anime pictures/fine tuning random, poorly spelled "sassy" statements (like the kind you see on t-shirts worn by annoying 12-year-olds) such as "To cute to care!" and "I stoped listening a hour ago." She is also responsible for one of my favorite animations thus far produced in the class: a scorpion blasting off in a rocket ship, followed by the words "Black Scorpion Cop. [I think she's trying to abbreviate "corporation"]: To the stars and beond!" Awesome.
Although she's not generally a part of the Variety Pack's conversations, sometimes she just can't help herself and has to turn around and insert her own proclamations of (her perceived) awesomeness:
Variety Pack Nerd #1: ...blahblahblah something about a videogame...
Nerd Girl with Big Boobz: [not actually a part of the conversation, but has obviously been listening, and so must swivel around to face the back row] I've beaten almost all the levels!
VPN #2: Yeahhhh [spoken in a drawn-out, obviously contrived "casual" tone], I've gotten 7,498 level-4 griffin-mage points [or something] already.
VPN #1: [again, said super "casually"] Oh, really? I'm up to 9,000.
NGBB: I would have 9,000, except that I don't want to have that many [or something equally ridiculous and defensive]...
The thing is, I have infinitely more respect for the Variety Pack than for NGBB--based solely on their higher level of intelligence (and not, as you might suspect, for their ability to shittily reproduce images of hot Japanese monster-girls getting violated by tentacles). Although my strong preference for intelligent people is broadly applied to the general population (and therefore isn't nerd-specific), there's definitely a special element of outrage (or at least bafflement) when I encounter an unintelligent nerd (UN).
Whatever your particular understanding of nerdiness is, I would bet that intelligence is one of the major defining factors. (I, of course, take issue with the fact that intelligence is considered a negative [read: nerdy] attribute. Then again, I'm, like, the reincarnation of Einstein and shit--so I might be slightly biased.) And when you (meaning I) encounter a UN--who isn't just not functioning at an above-average level of intelligence, but who is actually incredibly stupid...wow. It just throws my whole world view out of whack. And makes me kind of annoyed--what right do they have being a nerd if they're not smart?? And, mostly actually, just makes me feel incredibly sorry for them. Because, really, they have nothing going for them--no looks, social skills, or brains...how depressing.
Of course, there are many other little nerdlings in the class who I'm not describing (due to my lack of memory/stamina), so you'll just have to take my word that they're there. Oh, but briefly? One of the xTiAnS presented an animation for her photography business (which, supposedly, actually exists): Pazazz Designs [or something]! Pazazz! Unbelievable.
There's also a very pasty, lanky dude with long blond hair and glasses who wears (un-ironic) wolf shirts and makes animations involving swords/coats of arms. I kind of want to become friends with him. And then get him to design me a coat of arms--because you know I'm all about that medieval shit. [Note: I actually am all about that medieval shit.]
And now, very abruptly,
The End
PS: So, upon reflection, I'm pretty sure I did a shitty job of explaining things here...But I
warned you at the beginning, didn't I? Why can't all of you (two) just
be inside my brain? Mmmm, brain-meld.
PPS: I found this when I did an image search for "dancing food":
The origin of the nerd stereotype is something that has fascinated me for a long time. It's part of another totally fascinating (to me, at least) topic: the crisis of masculinity that emerged in the U.S. and Britain (and maybe some other places that I don't know about) among the middle- and upper-middle classes in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. This "crisis" stemmed from a wealth of factors, but had a lot to do with modernism and its related changing ideas/practices/social identities. During this time, the work landscape (at least for the middle class) was shifting to a more bureaucratic/corporate/office jobby-type situation (read: less manual labor and therefore less "masculine"), as well as the entrance of more women into the work world, and specifically into the field of education (read: our children are being feminized by all these lady teachers, being all ladyish and crap). Which led to the appearance of all these hyper-masculine (and, rather ironically, pretty homoerotic) things--like the Boy Scouts and competitive bodybuilding and Teddy Roosevelt's whole manly-outdoorsy bag...
But that's really not the point of this. So let's just move on:
All in all, I have nothing against nerds. Generally speaking, I find them to be much better people than the majority of douchebags out there--you know, the ones who eat at Applebee's Neighborhood Grill and Bar, listen to Puddle of Muddddd, and generally do despicable, "normal" things. Yes, I realize that there are probably plenty of nerds out there who engage in these deplorable activities (and plenty of non-nerds who don't), but I'm trying to make a sweeping generalization here, people--cut me some slack.
But actually, to get a little less sweepy, I'll be the first person to point out that there are many flavors of nerd out there. Of course there are the traditional, stereotypical nerds with pocket protectors, bow ties, and the tendency to snort snow off a top hat. No, wait. That's a different movie.
...But there are also a million other varieties of nerd out there, and plenty of cool or "normie" people who have their little (or big) nerdy indulgences.
Take me, for example. I definitely consider myself to be a nerd--but I'm a cool nerd. And not just because my Mom said so, thank you very much*. Yes, I love me some 50¢ words and book learnin' and obscure cartoons and snorting snow off a top hat. But I'm also capable of normal (and, dare I say it, awesome) social interaction--to the point that most people wouldn't necessarily classify me as a nerd. Until they get to know me a little better and I start lecturing them about the awesomeness of parasitic wasps. At a keg party. And, yes, I've actually done this before.
[Note: According to my sources, Kids These Days (KTD) (at least at UC Santa Barbara) don't say "kegger" (or even "keg party"--why the fuck did I say that?), but instead "kickback." As in, "Hey, are you going to that kickback in Brayden's room? I hear it's going to be 'off da hook,' for shizzle!"]
[Note: The use of the name "Brayden" in the above note was not accidental. KTD (or perhaps, to be more accurate in this instance, their parents) are disgusting.]
[Note: The use of the clearly outdated slang in the above note was also not accidental. That's called "comedy."]
So what was the point of all this? Uh...Oh, right. Nerds.
Actually, my original intention for this post was to talk about the ridiculous level of nerdery going on in my Flash animation class--but, as usual, I got off on a sociological/historical/blabbering tangent.
Because I'm a cool nerd. Ahem.
...Okay, so I'm totally not trying to be all cocktease-y with you ("Oh yeaaaah; I'll definitely tell you all about my Flash class! ...Actually, I'm kind of tired now. I'll call you...sometime."), but I'm going to save my actual tale of woe/amusement for the next installment.
But I am totally planning on calling you later. I swear.
PS: For further reading, please see Wikipedia's entry on nerds, which I find endlessly entertaining. A reference toFreakazoid!? Excellent.
Rather than starting out this post by actually making a hilarious
pop culture reference, I'm going to merely list the three pop
culture references that have been jockeying for position in my brain. I'm notorious (in some circles) for deciding not to actually say whatever terribly vulgar/delightfully witty joke I've just thought of and instead going into a rambling explanation of "well, I was going to say something about [insert basic components of terribly vulgar/delightfully witty joke without said components actually being assembled into actual joke format, thus decreasing the hilarity quotient by a significant degree], but then I decided not to." It goes over really well, typically.
So. Anyhoo*.
I was going to begin this post by inserting some sort of reference to:
1) Lionel Richie. Specifically, the song "Hello." Oh, wait. I just did it in the title. Forget about this one.
2) Milhouse. Specifically, "Everything's coming up Milhouse!" And, yes, there is a website.
3) Mac from It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia. Specifically, "What's up bitches!?" That's pretty much the only thing he contributes to the show. Everyone knows that Charlie and Dee are the truly important people. Then again, I haven't watched it in awhile...
...But then I decided not to. See, wasn't that significantly less funny than it would have been if I had actually just made the reference(s)? Awesome!
Okay, so let's get down to the nitty-gritty folks: I've been absent a long-ass time. I never call, I never write, I drank all your mom's "special" wine and then tried to fill the bottle up with grape juice...In short, I've been a bad friend. But you know what? Whatever. I'm back now, and you should just stop all your moaning and bitching and appreciate me for the special flower that I am.
Plus, I have so many exciting things complain about. And I know that's the only reason why you're here. That, and the fact that the only thing on the Olympic coverage right now is the biathlon, and that's some boring ass shit. (Wow, all these classes at CNM are finally paying off! I'm some kind of fucking Photoshop genius.)
So. I'm still going to CNM (for web design and development, for those of you who don't actually pay attention to what I talk about...Mom. [But, seriously, do you think I'd tell my Mom about this blog? A) She's afraid to even touch a computer, and B) I talk waaaay too much about my vagina on here.]) This term is awesome, as I got all the stupid bullshit classes out of the way and now I'm only taking stuff that I actually want to learn about--huzzah!
Which reminds me: I have sooooo many things to tell you about a bullshit class I had last term. I can't even believe it. But that will have to wait.
Back to the present.
...Wow, I'm actually having a hard time deciding which ridiculous community college-related anecdote to share first...It's an embarrassment of depressing, infuriating, hilarious riches!
How about this: I'll save the actual sharing of anecdotes for next time. Watching that clip of Charlie and Dee (above) sent me into a fit of shrieking/crying laughter and now I'm totally distracted from the cause...
Until next time, gentle reader.
*Can we just talk about "anyhoo for a minute? Thanks. So, for some reason I feel compelled to use "anyhoo" when I'm writing, but it is something that I never actually say out loud, because, jesus, it just sounds stupid. I apologize for its proliferation in my posts (and can only assume its presence has something to do with all the...um...opium? Is that what the kids are doing these days?).
Last night as I was driving home I saw a bumper sticker festooned with crucifixes and praying hands that said, "Want our troops home? THEN PRAY!" Now, I don't even feel the need to mention that this logic is, as the French say, retarded. However, I do take issue with the fact that the person driving that SUV clearly thinks that you and I are not doing enough in this bringing-the-troops-home endeavor, and, moreover, is telling us what we should be doing.
Well, guess what? I thought of some other bumper stickers that this person could put on their car:
Want a glass of water? Then put a pencil under your bed and wait for two weeks!
Want to get married? Then throw hotdogs in your bathtub!
Want a college degree? Then write a letter to a squirrel and eat some marmalade!
Want to stop smoking? Then take a shit on a napkin and buy a hat!
Want to make a phone call? Then vomit!
To the Worldwide Consortium of Bumper Sticker Manufacturers: call me!
9 Things That I Wish I Liked, Because, God, It Would Just Make My Life Easier, But, No, I Just Can't Seem to Make Myself Like Them
1) Shorts. I'm not against other people wearing them (well, sometimes I am--like when people's thighs rub together and then their shorts get all angled up towards their collective crotch). They just look fucking disgusting on me...like the denim-wrapped sausages that you have to eat every time you go to the fair. Mmmmm, denimdawgs.
2) Raw Tomatoes. Okay, let's get this clear: I like cooked tomatoes; I like sun dried tomatoes; I like ketchup and tomato sauce and tomato soup. I just find raw tomatoes disgusting in both form and taste. I cannot tell you how many minutes of my life have been wasted picking little tomato leavin's out of my food, as They are always putting raw tomatoes on goddamned everything, everywhere you go. Plus, like 99% of the time, they aren't even quality tomatoes. Why, even if I liked them, would I want washed-out, rotten-water-tasting, unripe tomatoes on anything? I ask you.
3) Dogs. We've been here before. But the thing is--I really want to like dogs. Because, jesus, they are goddamned everywhere, always sniffing your parts and jumping on you and barking and shit like they're King Dog of Dog Mountain. Fucking dogs.
4) The Sun. Sure, the sun does lots of nice things like aid in photosynthesis, help people see things, and creepily smile down on the land with the face of giant baby. But it also does some not so nice things, like burn me, give me skin cancer (someday--I'll bet you an abnormally-bordered mole!), and burn me again. I have to wear a ridiculous amount of high SPF sunscreen, and I still manage to turn a nice shade of dogboner-red within, like, 5 minutes. Bah!
5) Hiking. Most people get all weird when I say that I hate hiking, probably because they love it or some shit. Well, guess what? I hate it. It makes me hot and sweaty and tired. As a former fat kid bookworm, physical exertion has never been something I can actually enjoy. And even worse than that, I just don't get the point of it. You spend the whole time looking down at your feet so you don't trip over an improperly placed nature fragment, and then you get home and you're like, "Wow, I just went on a hike! Boring!" On top of all this, it is always practiced in conjunction with number 4; frequently with number 1; and occasionally with number 3 (see above). I really wish I liked going on hikes, because then people wouldn't know I'm a lazy, out of shape asshole.
6) Cilantro. Like tomatoes, this shit is in goddamned everything. You can't escape it. And it's gross. 'Nuff said.
7) Shitty Radio Music. This one is fairly straightforward, I think. Wouldn't it be nice to be able to turn on the radio and not feel the overwhelming urge to vomit/go on a diatribe/put on NPR? Yes. Yes, it would. This reminds me of a conversation I had with a crazy coworker, whose car I was forced to be in all damn day as I was being trained:
Crazy Coworker: [turning up the radio which was playing some shitty, totally unmemorable song]I love this song! Don't you?
Me: Um, I don't really know it.
CC: Really??How do you not know this song? They play it on the radio all the time!
Me: I don't really listen to the radio.
CC: You don't!? Do you just hate music or something?
Me: No, I like music. I just don't listen to the radio.
CC: Well, how do you find out what's good if you don't listen to the radio!?
(I'm pretty sure after this she thought of me as the weird "vegetarian" who hated music.)
8) Getting Visibly, Overly Excited About Things. If I got visibly excited about shit then maybe people would stop saying things like "Smile! It's not so bad!" or "Sarah just doesn't get excited about anything!" or "What are you, a Cylon agent!?" Please note the exclamation marks; they are not accidental.
9) People. This is really the most basic one. Sometimes I think of all the joy that I could be feeling, basking in the warm embrace of humanity (or at least, you know, not dreading basic social interactions). But then I watch Daisy of Love and I'm like "Oh, yeah."
