Oh, we've all been there: you're working a job you hate and earning way less money than you think you deserve. Your job is hard and they're barely paying you minimum wage. But what to do? How to cope with this situation??
Simple! Get a new career!!
Here are some great ideas to get you on your way, with some advice on how to achieve success at these particular career ideas. Some of them involve a little out-of-the-box thinking, but if you really want to succeed, sometimes you have to be willing to bend/break a law here and there. Especially the laws of space-time, as you'll see.
Also, you'll probably have to be okay with murdering people.
You can do it.
Idea 1: Become a celebrity chef like Gordon Ramsey
Dudes, do you know how much money Gordon Ramsey makes? It's a lot! And he gets to do what he loves! How awesome does that sound?!?!
If you want to be successful like Gordon Ramsey, here's how you do it:
Step 1: Become an amazing chef. This part shouldn't be too hard. You can probably read some recipes online or something, I don't know. I imagine it will take about a month to master your chef skills.
Step 2: Develop an incredibly abrasive personality and shout curses at everyone you meet. Oh come on, who are you kidding -- this has already been your personality for years.
Step 3: Send a video of you cooking your amazing food and shouting curses at strangers to the Food Network. They will probably hire you immediately, but if not you can also try taking some hostages until they give you a show.
Step 4: Profit!
Idea 2: Become a Disney Channel star!
Did you see Miley Cyrus on the VMAs the other day? I didn't, but I saw some pictures and read about it and it sounds horrible! So following this particular career is pretty fraught with danger. Just try your best to remember your humble roots, and don't get all caught up in the riches and the fame or next thing you know the internet will be plastered with photos of you with a latex wedgie sticking your tongue out like a rabid chihuahua.
Here's how to become a Disney Channel star. Note that this one is a little harder than becoming a celebrity chef, but there's more money in it.
Step 1: Acquire a time machine and travel back to when you were like 13 years old.
Step 2: Become adorable and learn how to sing and dance. This will probably cost some money since you were a f**king ugly 13-year-old. Make sure you bring lots of money with you from the present when you go into your time machine.
Step 3: Send video of you singing and dancing adorably to the Disney Channel. They will probably hire you immediately, but if not you can also try taking some hostages until they give you a show.
Step 4: Profit!
Idea 3: Invent Microsoft
I don't even need to tell you why this is a good idea. Bill Gates is the richest man in the world. Clearly he's done something right!
Step 1: Get out the time machine you used for Idea 2 and use it to travel back to the early 1980s.
Step 2: Kill Bill Gates and dispose of the body somewhere nobody will ever think to look.
Step 3: Become Bill Gates and take over his life, inventing Microsoft or whatever (by the way, make sure you practice his mannerisms and get his look down before you travel back in time)
Step 4: Profit!
Idea 4: Inherit a bunch of money
Now, I know what you're thinking -- you can't just inherit a bunch of money if your parents/family members aren't already rich. Not even a time machine can make that happen for you. But hang on! Hear me out!!
Step 1: Pick a rich family with a child roughly your age. Preferably a family that you think you could handle being part of without getting too annoyed.
Step 2: Get out your time machine and travel back to when you were about 8 years old (I have figured out that this is the ideal time to put this plan into action. Don't ask how I figured it out -- just accept it.)
Step 3: When the rich family's kid goes away to summer camp, break into the summer camp and kill the kid.
Step 4: Take the kid's place. By the time you get back from summer camp, even if you look and act totally different, nobody in the rich family will notice because 1) they haven't seen the kid in months, and 2) rich families don't pay attention to their kids. Everyone knows this from watching movies.
Step 5: Profit!
Idea 5: Become a professional athlete
Okay, okay, how about an idea that DOESN'T require a time machine, right?? I mean those are pretty expensive and the whole point of this exercise is that you're NOT making enough money now!
So here's an idea that's a little easier to put into action:
Step 1: Kill Kobe Bryant
Step 2: Take Kobe Bryant's place and play in the NBA
Step 3: Profit!
See, this one is only three steps! Can't get much easier than that!!!
Following the same steps as above, you can also pursue a lucrative career as a United States Senator, a world-renowned cardiologist (those guys make HELLA money!), an inventor, or even a breeder of champion racehorses!
The life you want is right there at your fingertips!
What are you waiting for?
Go out there and BECOME SOMETHING GREAT!!!!
Friday, August 30, 2013
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
Household whodunnit -- the amazing mysteries of living with someone!
When you live by yourself, you always know who got poop on the bathroom wall. It was you. You got poop on the bathroom wall. I don't know how, but you managed it. Good job.
But when you live with another person, mysteries can run a little deeper. I mean, you still always know WHO committed the crime (if it wasn't me, then -- spoiler alert -- it was probably you), but there are still unanswered questions as to just exactly how they managed it. Questions that are sometimes worth asking, and sometimes better suited to wild speculation. Naturally, I'm sticking with wild speculation in this post.
Here are a few of the mysteries that I've had to put on my thinking cap to get to the bottom of around our house:
In our downstairs bathroom, there is a lovely bath mat that matches the towels. It sits in front of the cabinet with the sink, flush against the bottom of it.
Somehow, almost every time I looked into that bathroom, the mat was no longer flush against the bottom of the cabinet and was instead crooked and misplaced. So I would go in there and fix it, because my anal retentiveness requires that the mat be flush against the motherf**king cabinet. (and if it's not at right angles with the wall I'm going to lose my f**king mind).
And then I would look into the bathroom again later, and lo and behold, the damn mat would be crooked again. What gives??
I mean, think about it: how would the mat become crooked? You go into the bathroom, use the toilet, wash your hands, leave. Standing on it, even walking on it, would not cause it to move like that. It's got that sticky crap on the bottom to help it grip the floor. No part of using the bathroom should involve shaking your bon-bon forcefully enough to move the bath mat. And yet the bath mat was continuously getting moved.
My theory? Jesse likes to practice twerking in the mirror in that bathroom, and his violent gyrating causes the mat to move. Open and shut case.
When we got married, we received a set of flatware as a wedding present. Service for eight.
That means we started out with eight spoons.
So imagine my surprise when one day I opened the silverware drawer and found that there were only five spoons remaining? What happened to the other three spoons? Where could they have vanished to?
Uh, I think we all know the answer to that: Jesse melted them all chasing the dragon in the garage. He told me he was "brewing beer." I should have known something was up when there was never any beer.
Jesse's socks go into the wash inside-out 100% of the time. He is incapable of taking off any sock without turning it inside-out. Now, ankle socks I can understand -- you grab the heel and peel them off your foot and they turn inside-out.
But knee socks???? You see, Jesse wears knee socks as part of his uniform every day, and it is truly a mystery to me as to how these manage to turn inside out every time. The easiest way to remove a knee sock is to first push the top of the sock down to your ankle, and then to grab the toe and pull off the sock.
What kind of back-asswards sock-removal technique is Jesse employing that manages to turn all his knee socks inside-out?!
Well, it sure as shit wasn't me.
Oh goddammit. That motherf**ker. I should have known.
(And if you haven't met our ghost, please introduce yourselves via this post. He's kind of a dick.)
But when you live with another person, mysteries can run a little deeper. I mean, you still always know WHO committed the crime (if it wasn't me, then -- spoiler alert -- it was probably you), but there are still unanswered questions as to just exactly how they managed it. Questions that are sometimes worth asking, and sometimes better suited to wild speculation. Naturally, I'm sticking with wild speculation in this post.
Here are a few of the mysteries that I've had to put on my thinking cap to get to the bottom of around our house:
The Case of the Crooked Bath Mat
In our downstairs bathroom, there is a lovely bath mat that matches the towels. It sits in front of the cabinet with the sink, flush against the bottom of it.
Somehow, almost every time I looked into that bathroom, the mat was no longer flush against the bottom of the cabinet and was instead crooked and misplaced. So I would go in there and fix it, because my anal retentiveness requires that the mat be flush against the motherf**king cabinet. (and if it's not at right angles with the wall I'm going to lose my f**king mind).
And then I would look into the bathroom again later, and lo and behold, the damn mat would be crooked again. What gives??
I mean, think about it: how would the mat become crooked? You go into the bathroom, use the toilet, wash your hands, leave. Standing on it, even walking on it, would not cause it to move like that. It's got that sticky crap on the bottom to help it grip the floor. No part of using the bathroom should involve shaking your bon-bon forcefully enough to move the bath mat. And yet the bath mat was continuously getting moved.
My theory? Jesse likes to practice twerking in the mirror in that bathroom, and his violent gyrating causes the mat to move. Open and shut case.
Unfortunately, my hidden camera hasn't caught anything you'd want to watch, so please enjoy this gif instead.
The Mystery of the Missing Spoons
When we got married, we received a set of flatware as a wedding present. Service for eight.
That means we started out with eight spoons.
So imagine my surprise when one day I opened the silverware drawer and found that there were only five spoons remaining? What happened to the other three spoons? Where could they have vanished to?
Uh, I think we all know the answer to that: Jesse melted them all chasing the dragon in the garage. He told me he was "brewing beer." I should have known something was up when there was never any beer.
Point taken.
The Inside-out Sock Enigma
Jesse's socks go into the wash inside-out 100% of the time. He is incapable of taking off any sock without turning it inside-out. Now, ankle socks I can understand -- you grab the heel and peel them off your foot and they turn inside-out.
But knee socks???? You see, Jesse wears knee socks as part of his uniform every day, and it is truly a mystery to me as to how these manage to turn inside out every time. The easiest way to remove a knee sock is to first push the top of the sock down to your ankle, and then to grab the toe and pull off the sock.
What kind of back-asswards sock-removal technique is Jesse employing that manages to turn all his knee socks inside-out?!
Ah, atop a flaming semi racing down the freeway at top speed. An excellent choice.
Who Squeezed the Toothpaste from the Middle?
Well, it sure as shit wasn't me.
Oh goddammit. That motherf**ker. I should have known.
(And if you haven't met our ghost, please introduce yourselves via this post. He's kind of a dick.)
Monday, August 26, 2013
I made some memes for you
I don't have much to post today, because it's Monday and I rarely have much to say on Mondays. So instead I made my own version of some classic memes for you. I think you'll find them to be pretty great.
The Most Interesting Man in the World:
Philosoraptor:
Futurama Fry:
Grumpy Cat:
One Does Not Simply:
ERMAGERD:
Condescending Wonka:
Also, I don't really understand memes.
The Most Interesting Man in the World:
It's good to have a balance.
Philosoraptor:
Those things just get lost so easily, don't they!
Futurama Fry:
Oh, we've all been there, Fry. I mean not me though because I have perfect vision.
Grumpy Cat:
Katy Perry is just the best.
One Does Not Simply:
Maybe try to be a little more understanding.
ERMAGERD:
The whole thing was really just a big misunderstanding.
Condescending Wonka:
Such a great book, right?
Also, I don't really understand memes.
Friday, August 23, 2013
Friday Poundings: the baby has learned how to irritate me
Man oh man, I knew it would happen eventually but here we are: the baby has finally reached a level where she has figured out how to push my buttons and annoy me on the regular.
Prior to this, she was the perfect tenant: quiet, clean, always paid the rent on time. I really couldn't complain about her a bit.
But now she's all big. Like, if she were born tomorrow, she's be considered "pre-term" as opposed to "premature" and probably wouldn't even need to go to the neonatal intensive care ward. In three weeks she'll be considered full term (though I'm not due for another six). She's pushing five pounds of spindly arms and legs in there. That's like ... an actual baby, almost.
And she likes to use those arms and legs. To annoy me. I'm certain she does it on purpose, too.
She enjoys ...
Prior to this week, the baby and I had a tacit understanding. At least, I thought we did. The understanding was that when I'm working out, she has to be quiet. And then when I'm being quiet, she can work out all she wants. But we can't work out at the same time, because the gym is too small and we get all up in each other's business, like the guy who tries to use the same machine you're using, suggesting you alternate sets so you have to wipe it off between sets which is just ridiculous.
The baby has broken this understanding.
Whenever I ride my recumbent exercise bike (with my legs splayed out to the sides, as I've mentioned), she mistakenly thinks that I am a horse or perhaps a mule and will thus be motivated to push harder if she delivers a few good kicks to the ribs.
Being kicked in the ribs is not very fun. I mean, right now go ahead and completely relax your stomach and chest. Poke your finger in right underneath your bottom rib, and then reach up and try to grab your rib like your skin is just a big oven mitt. When you reach the back side of the rib, you may find that it does not feel good. It's like a pressure point that makes you jump in discomfort.
I do not like being kicked there while I am trying to ride an exercise bike.
That is literally the only time she kicks me in the ribs like that. I think she can't usually reach because I am quite tall and could probably gestate a toddler if I wanted to (though I can't imagine a situation that would call for such an ability). But sitting on that bike and pumping my legs to the sides like an idiot? That's rib-smash time. Hell yeah.
I spent a good ten minutes of my ride the other day trying to push down on the spot she was kicking so that she'd maybe try kicking somewhere else. But as soon as I took my hands away, the blows returned.
HYAWWWW!
I don't like being tickled. It makes me furiously angry. One time, an ex-boyfriend decided to pin me down and tickle me, and I basically had a rage-blackout where I achieved superhuman strength, pulled one arm free and punched him in the head. I don't even remember doing it. But I did.
I really don't like being tickled.
The baby has been doing a great deal of position shifting over the past few days, and for a time yesterday she was apparently lying side to side, with her legs at one end of my waist and her hands at the other.
And she was tickling me at the most ticklish place of all: right where my waist would be if I still had one.
Little tiny goblin hands reaching up and going "coochie coochie coo!" while scratching at my waist from the inside. NOT COOL, BABY.
Baby takes up a lot of space inside me, which means there is less room for all my digestin' organs. Many women have problems with this much earlier in their pregnancies, but for me the problems have just started. Basically, I can't eat a whole lot in one sitting because I get kind of achey as all the food tries to do its digestion thing while a giant troll monster runs interference.
Okay, no problem -- just eat smaller quantities, more often. I need extra calories to feed the troll monster, too, so make that smaller quantities, a LOT more often.
But here's the problem: Small dinner --> go to bed --> wake up starving at midnight --> sneak into the bathroom with a bag of fruit snacks and sit on the toilet in the dark feverishly shoving them into my mouth and hoping Jesse doesn't wake up.
Also, fun fact -- there are only two foods I eat like a prison inmate: fruit snacks and grapes. Everything else, I'm one of those one-at-a-time savor-the-flavor types. I can make a fun size bag of potato chips last an hour. But if I'm eating grapes or fruit snacks, I will shove them into my mouth by the fistful, adding more before I'm even done chewing the first round. My mouth will get so full I have a hard time swallowing all the grapes and fruit snacks I've jammed in there. I have no idea why I do this.
Let's say you were sitting at your desk at work, reading something on the computer, utterly silent and concentrating on your task.
Someone sneaks up behind you ... making not a sound ...
and then BAM -- punches you in the back of the head.
How would you feel about this? Would you be:
A) Startled
B) Angry
C) Startled, and then angry
If you chose Option C, then congratulations, you and I have a lot in common!
I don't know what the f**k kind of troll monster business is going on in there, but the baby will seriously go from dead sleep to SUDDEN JUMP-FLAIL in the space of one instant. I can only assume that she has woken up from another bad dream and wanted to share her startledness with me. By punching.
THANKS BABY I APPRECIATE IT.
NOW THERE IS TEA EVERYWHERE BECAUSE YOU F**KING BOO-GOTCHA'D ME WHILE I WAS SITTING HERE MINDING MY OWN BUSINESS.
blah blah blah, pregnancy is a blessing, it's all worth it in the end, so on and so forth. I am truly thrilled to be in this condition and these minor complaints are but a drop of feces in the ocean of happiness I feel most of the time.
Just knock it off with the tickling, baby, before I have another rage-blackout.
It's not as funny as you seem to think it is.
Prior to this, she was the perfect tenant: quiet, clean, always paid the rent on time. I really couldn't complain about her a bit.
But now she's all big. Like, if she were born tomorrow, she's be considered "pre-term" as opposed to "premature" and probably wouldn't even need to go to the neonatal intensive care ward. In three weeks she'll be considered full term (though I'm not due for another six). She's pushing five pounds of spindly arms and legs in there. That's like ... an actual baby, almost.
And she likes to use those arms and legs. To annoy me. I'm certain she does it on purpose, too.
She enjoys ...
1
Shouting "HYAWWWW!" and kicking me in the ribs when I'm trying to ride my exercise bike
Prior to this week, the baby and I had a tacit understanding. At least, I thought we did. The understanding was that when I'm working out, she has to be quiet. And then when I'm being quiet, she can work out all she wants. But we can't work out at the same time, because the gym is too small and we get all up in each other's business, like the guy who tries to use the same machine you're using, suggesting you alternate sets so you have to wipe it off between sets which is just ridiculous.
The baby has broken this understanding.
Whenever I ride my recumbent exercise bike (with my legs splayed out to the sides, as I've mentioned), she mistakenly thinks that I am a horse or perhaps a mule and will thus be motivated to push harder if she delivers a few good kicks to the ribs.
IT DOESN'T WORK THAT WAY, CHILD.
Being kicked in the ribs is not very fun. I mean, right now go ahead and completely relax your stomach and chest. Poke your finger in right underneath your bottom rib, and then reach up and try to grab your rib like your skin is just a big oven mitt. When you reach the back side of the rib, you may find that it does not feel good. It's like a pressure point that makes you jump in discomfort.
I do not like being kicked there while I am trying to ride an exercise bike.
That is literally the only time she kicks me in the ribs like that. I think she can't usually reach because I am quite tall and could probably gestate a toddler if I wanted to (though I can't imagine a situation that would call for such an ability). But sitting on that bike and pumping my legs to the sides like an idiot? That's rib-smash time. Hell yeah.
I spent a good ten minutes of my ride the other day trying to push down on the spot she was kicking so that she'd maybe try kicking somewhere else. But as soon as I took my hands away, the blows returned.
HYAWWWW!
2
She has the ability to tickle me from the inside
I don't like being tickled. It makes me furiously angry. One time, an ex-boyfriend decided to pin me down and tickle me, and I basically had a rage-blackout where I achieved superhuman strength, pulled one arm free and punched him in the head. I don't even remember doing it. But I did.
I really don't like being tickled.
The baby has been doing a great deal of position shifting over the past few days, and for a time yesterday she was apparently lying side to side, with her legs at one end of my waist and her hands at the other.
And she was tickling me at the most ticklish place of all: right where my waist would be if I still had one.
Little tiny goblin hands reaching up and going "coochie coochie coo!" while scratching at my waist from the inside. NOT COOL, BABY.
3
I eat midnight fruit snacks in the bathroom
Baby takes up a lot of space inside me, which means there is less room for all my digestin' organs. Many women have problems with this much earlier in their pregnancies, but for me the problems have just started. Basically, I can't eat a whole lot in one sitting because I get kind of achey as all the food tries to do its digestion thing while a giant troll monster runs interference.
Okay, no problem -- just eat smaller quantities, more often. I need extra calories to feed the troll monster, too, so make that smaller quantities, a LOT more often.
But here's the problem: Small dinner --> go to bed --> wake up starving at midnight --> sneak into the bathroom with a bag of fruit snacks and sit on the toilet in the dark feverishly shoving them into my mouth and hoping Jesse doesn't wake up.
Also, fun fact -- there are only two foods I eat like a prison inmate: fruit snacks and grapes. Everything else, I'm one of those one-at-a-time savor-the-flavor types. I can make a fun size bag of potato chips last an hour. But if I'm eating grapes or fruit snacks, I will shove them into my mouth by the fistful, adding more before I'm even done chewing the first round. My mouth will get so full I have a hard time swallowing all the grapes and fruit snacks I've jammed in there. I have no idea why I do this.
4
She scares the shit out of me sometimes
Let's say you were sitting at your desk at work, reading something on the computer, utterly silent and concentrating on your task.
Someone sneaks up behind you ... making not a sound ...
and then BAM -- punches you in the back of the head.
How would you feel about this? Would you be:
A) Startled
B) Angry
C) Startled, and then angry
If you chose Option C, then congratulations, you and I have a lot in common!
I don't know what the f**k kind of troll monster business is going on in there, but the baby will seriously go from dead sleep to SUDDEN JUMP-FLAIL in the space of one instant. I can only assume that she has woken up from another bad dream and wanted to share her startledness with me. By punching.
THANKS BABY I APPRECIATE IT.
NOW THERE IS TEA EVERYWHERE BECAUSE YOU F**KING BOO-GOTCHA'D ME WHILE I WAS SITTING HERE MINDING MY OWN BUSINESS.
blah blah blah, pregnancy is a blessing, it's all worth it in the end, so on and so forth. I am truly thrilled to be in this condition and these minor complaints are but a drop of feces in the ocean of happiness I feel most of the time.
Just knock it off with the tickling, baby, before I have another rage-blackout.
It's not as funny as you seem to think it is.
Wednesday, August 21, 2013
One-upping people: you're doing it wrong.
Those people are annoying.
But even worse are the people who don't really seem to understand how One-Upping works. And those are the folks we're here to talk about today.
You see, for One-Upping to be effective, there are two crucial criteria that must be met:
1. The original storyteller must be talking about something good that happened, something good that they bought, etc. In other words, it must be a positive story.
2. The One-Upper must offer a story about an EVEN BETTER event or material good.
Here is an example:
I mean, is there something you can do with ten lawnmowers that you can't do with one? Am I missing something?
Now, here is an example of an exchange that doesn't meet one of the above criteria:
Consider yourself One-Upped, black hair. Errrhhh ... wait ...
And here is the most egregious (and common) example of all: an interaction that meets neither of the criteria:
Your move, buddy. Your move.
I call Person B in this situation a One-Downer. They aren't here to outdo your accomplishments; they're here to outdo your sufferings and failures. They can play the misery game all day, good sir, and they will win because when it comes to being miserable, honey, you ain't got shit.
Here are a few situations where the One-Downers most like to make themselves heard:
1
Illness
No matter how sick you are, someone has always been sicker, or at least will claim to have been. One-Downers think that serious illnesses are like badges of honor to be proudly displayed any time someone mentions their own health. Any disease you can do, they can do better.
I once had MRSA, you guys. That's like a Full House -- it's not a hand you'll definitely win with, but it's pretty solid. Give me your worst. Oh, you had mono? Give me a break. We all had mono. Go to Africa for a while, come back with some rare fungal infection, and then we'll talk.
2
Quantity of Sleep
When someone doesn't get enough sleep, they feel tired and crappy. That's pretty much the long and short of it. You pointing out that you got even less sleep than they did isn't going to suddenly make make them feel spry and energetic -- it's just going to make you look like a One-Downing dick.
Are you Facebook friends with any new parents? Those f**kers LOVE to one-down anyone who mentions that they are tired or that they didn't get enough sleep last night. "Oh, your dog kept you up last night? TRY HAVING A BABY THAT SCREAMS ALL NIGHT LONG LOL LMAO MY LIFE SUCKS I AM SO UNHAPPY."
And if you catch yourself doing this, please just stop it right now. There's this thing called "empathy" that works a lot better than One-Downing in situations like this. Empathy would be "I'm sorry to hear that. I've had my fair share of sleepless nights too so I know how much they suck! Hope you sleep better tonight."
See, now everyone likes you. Was that so hard??
3
Amount of Free Time
Ha ha! You don't even deserve a weekend anyway, because you suck.
What I don't get about the One-Downers is, why the hell are you bragging about how much your life sucks? Are you trying to make other people feel jealous of how you don't have time to do anything except work, or feel guilty that they didn't stay up all night puking, or perhaps feel pity for you and your myriad physical ailments? Are you trying to make a point about how people shouldn't complain because there are always those who have it worse?
I don't think so. I think the One-Downers just honestly have it all backwards and have forgotten what sorts of things are impressive to people. So that brings us to the second part of today's post: understanding how to defeat a One-Downer.
Defeating a One-Downer is pretty simple. There are a few basic ways to go about it.
1
Call attention to the One-Downing in progress:
This is for when you are the one being One-Downed. If the delivery is right, you can really make the other person feel like a dumbass.
I mean, a full year? Come on. I once went like four months doing nothing at all about a torn muscle in my leg, but I don't brag about it. Because it was f**king stupid of me to do that. It hurt for four months. That is a long time.
2
One-Down them again with something really ridiculous, and keep going until they realize you're being a dick and making fun of them
This is my absolute favorite. See their lost toenail and raise them a lost toe. See their lethargic dog and raise them a koala with explosive diarrhea. The sky's the limit.
100% true, guys. 100% true.
3
One-Up their One-Down and make them feel bad
This is best when two One-Downers are in full One-Downmanship mode. Bust in and break the cycle. Remind them of what kinds of things we should actually feel pride over. Assert your dominance. Urinate on them a little.
Bow before me. BOW BEFORE ME AND MY SUFFICIENT QUANTITY OF SLEEP.
And the most important piece of advice I can offer is this: don't One-Down me. I find it really annoying, and now that you've been warned, I'm going to open fire on you if you do it. Full auto. You will end up looking like a moron.
Kisses and hugs,
Me
Monday, August 19, 2013
The indignities of pregnancy 3: The emotions are REAL
I'm kind of a hard-ass. This is a fact.
I really don't get emotional about things. Like, ever. I don't think I cried at all on my wedding day, and you should have heard my vows, man. They were epic. I had to tell my Maid of Honor to be quiet because she was sobbing during them. But me? I was cool as a cucumber.
I also don't really believe in PMS. That is, I don't subscribe to the belief that once a month women are allowed to behave like hideous monsters because "hormones" and "PMS." The physical symptoms like cramps and headaches, sure. But the whole nebulous "being a bitch" thing? I don't buy it and I never let myself get caught up in it.
So now I'm all pregnant. And pregnancy fills your body with all kinds of crazy hormones.
And holy hell, you guys ... the emotions that accompany those hormones are REAL. AND I HATE IT.
Here is a list of things that have made me cry in the last few months. (I am sharing this against my better judgment because I don't want it to color your perception of me as a total hard-ass. But I feel like I need to be honest here, for the sake of pregnant women everywhere. Plus, it's pretty funny. I cried at some seriously dumb shit.)
1. Any love song I hear on the radio, if I think about the baby while I listen to it
I've been in love here and there in my life, and I guess you could say I'm in love now too even though I had to take the garbage cans to the curb this morning (I mean, I didn't HAVE to; I just beat Jesse to it and now I want to make myself sound like some kind of hero). But listening to love songs while thinking about the object of my affection never really did anything for me. I might feel a swell of emotion, to be sure, but to CRY? Good lord no. What's next, wandering the streets of downtown shouting "HAVE YOU SEEN MY BUNNY RABBIT?" at strangers?!
Now, whenever Christina Perri's "Thousand Years" comes on, or Philip Philips's "Home," or even "Lightning Crashes" (it talks about a new mother, guys. A new mother. Right there in the song), I get all teary and weepy. Because I listen to the lyrics, written for lovers to share with each other, and I think about the wee little baby squirming around in my belly, and then the hormones kick in and my eyes fill with tears.
To be honest, it's f**king embarrassing and there's a reason I only listen to music like that in the car by myself. Nobody needs to see me all worked up into a state over the line "I have died every day waiting for you" like some kind of teenage Twi-tard with a crush on some sparkly vampires.
But it happens. It happens way too often.
2. Subaru commercials
Omigod you guys I drive a Subaru now. And have you seen that Subaru commercial where it's a guy with a chocolate lab puppy, and then he has a wife and the dog is grown, and then they have a baby and the dog is all old and gray and then the commercial says "Love: it's what makes a Subaru a Subaru"? DID IT TOTALLY MAKE YOU CRY??
DID READING MY DESCRIPTION OF IT JUST NOW BRING TEARS TO YOUR EYES?
NO?
THAT'S JUST ME???
COOL.
Watch the commercial here. I just watched it with the sound off and there's a big lump in my throat now.
3. I cried because my coworkers forgot to include my email address on an invitation to a birthday party
There was a little birthday party here in the office for someone, and my email address is not on the office staff roster so they forgot to send me the invitation. I could hear them singing "Happy Birthday" down the hallway, and I knew that they had meant to invite me but it was just an oversight. I knew they'd feel really bad when they realized I missed the party because they didn't send me the email.
I didn't go to the party, even though I totally knew I was invited.
I closed my office door.
I cried.
Then later I told Jesse about what happened and I cried again just reliving it.
Here is a picture of me shooting a bunny rabbit with TWO (2) Desert Eagle .50 pistols, because I'm still a badass even though I cried twice in one day over not getting invited to a coworker's office birthday party:
4. I cried because Jesse wanted to go to a bar but I was too tired to go
There is a bar across the street from our neighborhood. It was a Friday night at around 8 or 9PM. Jesse said he wanted to go to the bar for a bit, and asked if I wanted to go as well.
But I was so tired and all I wanted to do was sit on the couch and watch crap television, even though Friday night at 8-9PM should be prime partying hours. I was so disgusted with myself for being so old and weak and boring that I started to cry. Jesse couldn't even begin to understand why I was upset -- I mean, how does "wanna check out Wayne's for a bit?" make someone cry?!?!? But there I was, crying.
Here is a picture of me ripping a My Little Pony in half with my bare hands, because I have no soul:
5. I cried reading a technical description of the second phase of labor
The second phase is the phase where the baby actually comes out. I was reading what is essentially a dumbed-down medical textbook on the subject -- so, no flowery language or feelings-talk or anything like that. Just a cold, factual description of the urge to push and the best positions in which to push (did you know lying on your back shrinks your pelvic opening as much as 30%??) and the way the baby rotates as it comes out.
Yeah, I cried.
Here is a picture of me eating a huge steak without a knife:
So, in conclusion, even the hardest of asses among us can be susceptible to those crazy ol' hormones of pregnancy. If you ever catch a pregnant woman crying over some dumb shit, just ignore it. If she's anything like me, then she's probably totally embarrassed and would prefer it if nobody spoke of the incident ever again.
And the worst part is, you never know when it's going to strike. I never got emotional at the expected times, like during ultrasounds or while listening to baby's heartbeat with the Doppler.
Nope. It was those f**king Subaru commercials.
And the time I didn't get invited to that birthday party.
That stings, man.
It stings.
Oh great, here come the waterworks again.
(Read the first installment of The Indignities of Pregnancy here and the second installment here)
I really don't get emotional about things. Like, ever. I don't think I cried at all on my wedding day, and you should have heard my vows, man. They were epic. I had to tell my Maid of Honor to be quiet because she was sobbing during them. But me? I was cool as a cucumber.
I also don't really believe in PMS. That is, I don't subscribe to the belief that once a month women are allowed to behave like hideous monsters because "hormones" and "PMS." The physical symptoms like cramps and headaches, sure. But the whole nebulous "being a bitch" thing? I don't buy it and I never let myself get caught up in it.
So now I'm all pregnant. And pregnancy fills your body with all kinds of crazy hormones.
And holy hell, you guys ... the emotions that accompany those hormones are REAL. AND I HATE IT.
Here is a list of things that have made me cry in the last few months. (I am sharing this against my better judgment because I don't want it to color your perception of me as a total hard-ass. But I feel like I need to be honest here, for the sake of pregnant women everywhere. Plus, it's pretty funny. I cried at some seriously dumb shit.)
1. Any love song I hear on the radio, if I think about the baby while I listen to it
I've been in love here and there in my life, and I guess you could say I'm in love now too even though I had to take the garbage cans to the curb this morning (I mean, I didn't HAVE to; I just beat Jesse to it and now I want to make myself sound like some kind of hero). But listening to love songs while thinking about the object of my affection never really did anything for me. I might feel a swell of emotion, to be sure, but to CRY? Good lord no. What's next, wandering the streets of downtown shouting "HAVE YOU SEEN MY BUNNY RABBIT?" at strangers?!
Bitches be crazy.
Now, whenever Christina Perri's "Thousand Years" comes on, or Philip Philips's "Home," or even "Lightning Crashes" (it talks about a new mother, guys. A new mother. Right there in the song), I get all teary and weepy. Because I listen to the lyrics, written for lovers to share with each other, and I think about the wee little baby squirming around in my belly, and then the hormones kick in and my eyes fill with tears.
To be honest, it's f**king embarrassing and there's a reason I only listen to music like that in the car by myself. Nobody needs to see me all worked up into a state over the line "I have died every day waiting for you" like some kind of teenage Twi-tard with a crush on some sparkly vampires.
But it happens. It happens way too often.
2. Subaru commercials
Omigod you guys I drive a Subaru now. And have you seen that Subaru commercial where it's a guy with a chocolate lab puppy, and then he has a wife and the dog is grown, and then they have a baby and the dog is all old and gray and then the commercial says "Love: it's what makes a Subaru a Subaru"? DID IT TOTALLY MAKE YOU CRY??
DID READING MY DESCRIPTION OF IT JUST NOW BRING TEARS TO YOUR EYES?
NO?
THAT'S JUST ME???
COOL.
Watch the commercial here. I just watched it with the sound off and there's a big lump in my throat now.
You see because the dog is old now? The dog is all old!
3. I cried because my coworkers forgot to include my email address on an invitation to a birthday party
There was a little birthday party here in the office for someone, and my email address is not on the office staff roster so they forgot to send me the invitation. I could hear them singing "Happy Birthday" down the hallway, and I knew that they had meant to invite me but it was just an oversight. I knew they'd feel really bad when they realized I missed the party because they didn't send me the email.
I didn't go to the party, even though I totally knew I was invited.
I closed my office door.
I cried.
Then later I told Jesse about what happened and I cried again just reliving it.
Here is a picture of me shooting a bunny rabbit with TWO (2) Desert Eagle .50 pistols, because I'm still a badass even though I cried twice in one day over not getting invited to a coworker's office birthday party:
Oh he looks innocent but trust me, he deserves it.
4. I cried because Jesse wanted to go to a bar but I was too tired to go
There is a bar across the street from our neighborhood. It was a Friday night at around 8 or 9PM. Jesse said he wanted to go to the bar for a bit, and asked if I wanted to go as well.
But I was so tired and all I wanted to do was sit on the couch and watch crap television, even though Friday night at 8-9PM should be prime partying hours. I was so disgusted with myself for being so old and weak and boring that I started to cry. Jesse couldn't even begin to understand why I was upset -- I mean, how does "wanna check out Wayne's for a bit?" make someone cry?!?!? But there I was, crying.
Here is a picture of me ripping a My Little Pony in half with my bare hands, because I have no soul:
5. I cried reading a technical description of the second phase of labor
The second phase is the phase where the baby actually comes out. I was reading what is essentially a dumbed-down medical textbook on the subject -- so, no flowery language or feelings-talk or anything like that. Just a cold, factual description of the urge to push and the best positions in which to push (did you know lying on your back shrinks your pelvic opening as much as 30%??) and the way the baby rotates as it comes out.
Yeah, I cried.
Here is a picture of me eating a huge steak without a knife:
I kill for the sheer joy of it.
So, in conclusion, even the hardest of asses among us can be susceptible to those crazy ol' hormones of pregnancy. If you ever catch a pregnant woman crying over some dumb shit, just ignore it. If she's anything like me, then she's probably totally embarrassed and would prefer it if nobody spoke of the incident ever again.
And the worst part is, you never know when it's going to strike. I never got emotional at the expected times, like during ultrasounds or while listening to baby's heartbeat with the Doppler.
Haha I drew my baby as a mummy though and I'm still pretty pleased with myself for it.
Nope. It was those f**king Subaru commercials.
And the time I didn't get invited to that birthday party.
That stings, man.
It stings.
Oh great, here come the waterworks again.
(Read the first installment of The Indignities of Pregnancy here and the second installment here)
Friday, August 16, 2013
My iPhone Solitaire game is a Facebook over-sharer
I love playing Solitaire. I just love it. It's so relaxing and lovely and I always play a few games at night before going to sleep.
But Solitaire on the iPhone is weird. It always wants me to post things on Facebook, and one wrong click by me would probably make that happen. I have to always be careful to click "NO FOR GOD'S SAKE NO" when it asks me if I'd like to 'tell my friends' about how many games I've won in a row, or how I just beat my personal best time, or how I have now won ten games without any hints, or any other meaningless and unimpressive feats I accomplish within the game.
Solitaire, in short, is an over-sharer. In fact, Solitaire is the worst kind of over-sharer: the really, really dull over-sharer.
You know Solitaire would totally bombard your news feed with things like:
Solitaire would post pictures of a bowl of oatmeal or a Subway sandwich
I've already ranted about how it irritates me when people post food pictures, mostly because your food looks gross and food is for eating not photographing ... but I get especially testy when people post pictures of food that isn't even remotely interesting. You're having bran flakes for breakfast? Oh my god, who gives a shit. You perfectly cooked your oatmeal? I can't describe how little I care. You got a sandwich at Subway that looks just like every other Subway sandwich anyone has ever gotten in the history of the world? NOT PHOTO-WORTHY.
You know Solitaire would be all over that shit though. All over it.
Solitaire would "check in" at Safeway with a status like "Doing some grocery shopping!"
Ugh. Solitaire, if you're going to use the "check in" function, at least check in places that are modestly interesting. Check in at famous landmarks and restaurants and mention why you're there. Check in at the airport when you're about to leave for a trip, so everyone can wish you bon voyage. Check in at the restaurant you're taking your wife to for your anniversary.
Don't check in at Safeway. That's just stupid.
Solitaire would update you on how its to-do list for the day is coming along
Did Solitaire get up extra early today, vacuum the living room, make breakfast, eat breakfast, and is now doing some laundry before going to the store later?
YOU BETTER BELIEVE SOLITAIRE IS GOING TO TELL YOU ALL ABOUT IT!
Solitaire would have constant game updates
You know Solitaire is going to be playing other games on its phone. And you know it's going to connect all those games to Facebook and set them all to update every time it beats another level.
Solitaire would post the details of every single workout
Did Solitaire just run 2 miles? Hell yeah Solitaire did!
Did Solitaire just walk another half mile? YOU BET YOUR ASS.
Solitaire, this is why nobody wants to be Facebook friends with you. Because you suck at it. Just stick with being a card game, and let ME make the decisions on what my Facebook friends do and don't need to know. I'm much better at it than you.
But Solitaire on the iPhone is weird. It always wants me to post things on Facebook, and one wrong click by me would probably make that happen. I have to always be careful to click "NO FOR GOD'S SAKE NO" when it asks me if I'd like to 'tell my friends' about how many games I've won in a row, or how I just beat my personal best time, or how I have now won ten games without any hints, or any other meaningless and unimpressive feats I accomplish within the game.
Solitaire, in short, is an over-sharer. In fact, Solitaire is the worst kind of over-sharer: the really, really dull over-sharer.
You know Solitaire would totally bombard your news feed with things like:
Solitaire would post pictures of a bowl of oatmeal or a Subway sandwich
I've already ranted about how it irritates me when people post food pictures, mostly because your food looks gross and food is for eating not photographing ... but I get especially testy when people post pictures of food that isn't even remotely interesting. You're having bran flakes for breakfast? Oh my god, who gives a shit. You perfectly cooked your oatmeal? I can't describe how little I care. You got a sandwich at Subway that looks just like every other Subway sandwich anyone has ever gotten in the history of the world? NOT PHOTO-WORTHY.
"Time for some lunch!" is probably what the caption would say. Oh my god Solitaire I already want to punch you.
"About to eat some oatmeal" f**king kill yourself Solitaire.
You know Solitaire would be all over that shit though. All over it.
Solitaire would "check in" at Safeway with a status like "Doing some grocery shopping!"
Ugh. Solitaire, if you're going to use the "check in" function, at least check in places that are modestly interesting. Check in at famous landmarks and restaurants and mention why you're there. Check in at the airport when you're about to leave for a trip, so everyone can wish you bon voyage. Check in at the restaurant you're taking your wife to for your anniversary.
Don't check in at Safeway. That's just stupid.
"Need to get some groceries LOL"
"LOL"?? Really? How is going to Safeway funny I don't even.
Solitaire would update you on how its to-do list for the day is coming along
Did Solitaire get up extra early today, vacuum the living room, make breakfast, eat breakfast, and is now doing some laundry before going to the store later?
YOU BETTER BELIEVE SOLITAIRE IS GOING TO TELL YOU ALL ABOUT IT!
"An hour ago this sink was full of dirty dishes! Plus I mowed the lawn and went to the gym and now I'm about to watch some episodes of Breaking Bad before I go to Kmart to return a sweater!"
I wanna unfriend you so f**king hard, Solitaire. Your life makes me want to quit Facebook forever.
Solitaire would have constant game updates
You know Solitaire is going to be playing other games on its phone. And you know it's going to connect all those games to Facebook and set them all to update every time it beats another level.
"Solitaire won $2.51 playing Texas Hold 'Em!"
And then you'd get updates on Solitaire's game-winning Solitaire streak.
Solitaire would post the details of every single workout
Did Solitaire just run 2 miles? Hell yeah Solitaire did!
Did Solitaire just walk another half mile? YOU BET YOUR ASS.
"Solitaire just ran .32 miles in 90 minutes."
Christ, Solitaire, my grandmother can skateboard faster than that. And she's hella old and doesn't know how to skateboard.
Solitaire, this is why nobody wants to be Facebook friends with you. Because you suck at it. Just stick with being a card game, and let ME make the decisions on what my Facebook friends do and don't need to know. I'm much better at it than you.
You f**king idiot.
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
Wait, what the hell do fetuses dream ABOUT??!??!
I was reading my 32-week pregnancy update thingamajig online the other day and it informed me that at this point, baby is able to dream while she sleeps. And I was like, aww, that's so cute! I was sort of picturing like when a dog dreams and they try to run and make little yipping noises in their sleep. How could anyone not think that's adorable!
But then I thought about it some more and I got really confused. She dreams? WHAT THE ALMIGHTY F*** DOES SHE DREAM ABOUT? SHE HAS NO EXPERIENCES TO FORM INTO DREAMS!
I mean, even the DOG can dream about running and chasing things because that's what the dog experiences on a daily basis. What does the fetus experience? Well, let's take a look:
First, there's this:
This is what roughly eight hours of her day consists of.
The internet also informs me that she is able to tell the difference between light and dark at this point, so large parts of her day also go a little something like this:
And then let us not forget about the times she gets to deal with this:
And the rides in the car back and forth to work, in which she either gets to listen to Roy Dotrice reading "A Game of Thrones", or she gets to listen to loud music:
She also gets to hear extended ridiculous arguments between Jesse and myself:
So, based on those particular experiences that literally make up the entirety of the material upon which she has to base her dreams, if I had to guess what she dreamed about, I'd go with something like this:
But then I thought about it some more and I got really confused. She dreams? WHAT THE ALMIGHTY F*** DOES SHE DREAM ABOUT? SHE HAS NO EXPERIENCES TO FORM INTO DREAMS!
I mean, even the DOG can dream about running and chasing things because that's what the dog experiences on a daily basis. What does the fetus experience? Well, let's take a look:
First, there's this:
This is what roughly eight hours of her day consists of.
The internet also informs me that she is able to tell the difference between light and dark at this point, so large parts of her day also go a little something like this:
And then let us not forget about the times she gets to deal with this:
This would be during my amazing power-walk workouts, and various other walkin-around activities.
And the rides in the car back and forth to work, in which she either gets to listen to Roy Dotrice reading "A Game of Thrones", or she gets to listen to loud music:
She also gets to hear extended ridiculous arguments between Jesse and myself:
Even though Jesse's speaking volume is a good 10x mine, I have the proximity advantage so I imagine my voice still comes through louder.
So, based on those particular experiences that literally make up the entirety of the material upon which she has to base her dreams, if I had to guess what she dreamed about, I'd go with something like this:
I mean, I know there's no way to know for sure, but ... I've gotta be pretty close, right?
Oh god why is the Catopus's eye leaking??
Jesus f*** I'm not playing anymore this shit is terrifying.
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