Stop This Nonsense

Wednesday, February 15th, 2012 - Sunny.  The world IS ending. Veg is bitter.

Know what I'm hating today?  I'm going to tell you anyway.  I hate when you go to a website with juicy pictures of something in a gallery that you think might be interesting (or scandalous) to look at and the damn thing makes you click on fifteen different pages to see them.  STOP THAT.  Put them all on one long, blog-like layout and let me scroll, you fuckers.  I don't want to click through 319 photos to see something I didn't care that much about to begin with and then have to navigate my way back to where I started.  I'm not interested in that sort of commitment.  Stop it!

It's these little things that boil my blood.

Know what else I hate?  Chicks posing half naked in mirrors with their camera phones because they want the entire internet to tell them they look hot. I mean I get that dudes might disagree here, because what's not to like, it's half naked chicks showing off their real estate.  But honestly, if you need validation that badly, do something worthwhile, idiots, or just say 'fuck it!' and go straight into porn.

And don't pull the duckface.  Really.  That isn't sexy or cute, it's atrocious and you look like you've had your brain sucked out through your nose with a straw and replaced by sawdust.  Also, don't do that thing where you post a close up of yourself in full eyeliner, emo haircut styled just so, porcelain skin and go 'Oh here's one of me taken right now, LOL I look awful, you guys, I just woke up!'

No.  No you didn't.  You've been up for hours doing your hair and make up and taking 400 pics so you could pick out the cutest one and post it so that everyone would tell you how gorgeous and awesome you are, because OMG you look so perfect.  And you just got up!!!

NO one believes that shit, really!  STOP.

Whoa, that got a bit out of hand, hey?

Why You Should Never Trust Woodland Creatures

Monday, February 14th, 2012 - The Insanity is strong

You guys who've been around here for a while, know of my great, all encompassing talent for talking to the animals, right?  Well it seems, I've made a new friend.  Often when I’m taking trash out at night, I find a fox skulking around in the yard, waiting to surprise me behind the car or a bush or some other dark spot.  He’s a big, red fox with a bushy tale and a shifty look in his eye and we have recently become better acquainted, due to the fact I'm desperate he likes me, rather than spend his evenings conjuring up ways to murder and eat me.   It was going so well until last night’s encounter, when things took a slight turn for the disturbing.

Me: Well hey there.  How YOU doing?

Fox: Not bad thanks.  Yes. Not bad at all. Hungry though.  What's in that bag, if you don't mind me asking?  Is it a baby?

Me: What?  No!  It's just paper stuff.  Recycling, that kind of thing. 

Fox: I see.  I see...  I don’t suppose you have anything more....scandalous and meaty, in there?  Like a tin of spam?  Or a small, ripe, illegally slaughtered mammal?

Me: I beg your pardon?

Fox: You know, I just thought you might have some...bacon scraps, cat food cans, the carcass of a small but beefy, recently deceased humanoid? That kind of thing? Something meaty.  I am VERY hungry.

Me: Um.  Nooooooo...

Fox: That’s okay.  Really.  Don’t worry about it.  I’m just trying to feed my family and scraps are hard to come by, lately.  We don’t normally venture this far out of the woods you see but hard times and all that...   Say, you're a lady.  Do you perhaps have a baby upstairs?

Me:  What the fuck, dude? I don't have any babies.  No.

Fox:  Oh wait, no!  No, no, I see what you're thinking, oh God no.  It’s just that I love babies you see, they're so entirely cute, it's not at all that they’re packed with delicious nutrients, I hadn't even noticed that part.  Dear goodness no.  Forget I said it.

Me:  Oh.  Well.  I have to go now, but if I have any leftovers from dinner or anything tomorrow maybe I could leave them here for you?

Fox: Would you?  That would be much appreciated.  Anytime after 8pm works for me. 

Me: Got it.  I have to get back now I have a really awful belly ache.

Fox: Sorry to hear that.  Might you be pregnant?

Me: What??? No, I just ate some ice cream too fast!

Fox: Well, that's too bad.  Too bad.  But you know, incidentally, if you should ever be pregnant, I know a guy...

Me: A guy?

Fox: Yes, you know.  A guy who will help you if you’re pregnant but aren’t looking to raise any tiny, meaty, delicious children, yourself.

Me: ..............

Fox: ..............

Me: The guy is YOU isn't it?

Fox: What if I said 'yes'?

Me: I’m going inside now.

Fox: Quite right.  I'm off to hang out in a crawl space at the kindergarten.  See you tomorrow!

Did You Hear, It's A New Year!

Monday, January 9th, 2012 - where is my flying car?

Happy new year, blog buds!  I trust you all welcomed 2012 with open arms and equally open bottles of tasty drinks and related debauchery?   Sorry for my lack of presence of late, but I will be back to annoy you soon.  And yes, I will fix the goddamn comments section that I royally fucked up a while back during some template maintenance.  Sheesh, you people need to get off my back! Ha!

You all take it easy now, you hear?

May your 2012's be groovy.

And may they be full of funny.

And less rainy than mine has been so far.

And may they be crammed to the brim with [insert good, tasty thing you like here]

And may it be Kardashian free and if it isn't Kardashian free, can it become legal to just shoot Kardashians with tranquilizer darts and remove them to an isolated desert island somewhere, like the island on "Lost", then send it back to 1950 or something and can they perhaps get eaten by tigers?

Thanks!

I've Got Your Holidays Right Here

Tuesday, November 1st, 2011 - Las Dias de los Muertos, cerveza por favor!


I've come to realize that the main holidays I like tend to be the evil ones like Halloween or Day of the Dead, where you have a valid excuse to drink liquor like it's going out of style and scare the everloving crap out of little kids without seeming like a mean, crotchety, old sourpuss.  But I ask you this.  When else can you chase an eight year old crybaby in a pink tutu off your lawn, while swathed in black robes, wielding a scythe and hissing, "I am coming for your soul, girl child!" and not have an angry mob with burning torches on your doorstep, demanding you "step outside"?  Huh?

Not that I did that of course.  Not lately anyway.

In a public service announcement may I suggest to you that people don't like on Halloween when you have no candy and offer them pickled onions instead.

So I carved me a couple of pumpkins for Halloween, as I was having some people who are related to me round for dinner and I thought evil, glowing demon-faces would make great table decor.  Am I the only one who finds pumpkin lanterns soothing?  No?  Yes?  I love them.  And okay, maybe it's a LITTLE sad that I spent my Saturday night sitting on my floor carving pumpkins, watching "X-Factor" and drinking wine all on my own, but you know what?  Go ahead and sue me.  I had a stinking good time. 

I did carve a second pumpkin but he went hideously, horribly wrong in an atrocity of Kardashian proportions and ended up looking more mentally challenged than actually scary so sorry...no photos of him.  I want you people to sleep tonight.

Also, people keep suggesting (okay, two people, shut up) I should think about participating in Na No Wri Mo, however, I've successfully avoided it for years now and don't see any sign of me changing this year.  I mean why would you want to write a novel in a month?  What kind of novel would that even BE?  Surely novels deserve quality?  Editing?  Rewrites and reworkings and scene changes and character development and...I don't know...a modicum of SENSE?  Can you do that in a month? I don't know.  I have problems doing that in a two minute blog entry.  Can you imagine 50,000 words of the nonsense in this blog?  Because if I did Na No Wri Mo, guess what?  That's what you'd get.

Good luck though, if you're attempting it.  Me, I'll just continue spewing out sporadic nonsense like someone with Tourette's.

In other news, I require some good smells. Someone recommend me some.

Me, Myself and I

Sunday, October 30th, 2011 - An introspective random rant


I used to think maybe I was a bit odd, however, lately I've revised my over critical analysis to read, "Veg is the epitome of normal and it is the rest of the world that is out of sync".  Because the biggest barometer a person has for what constitutes "normal" is themselves, no?  Everything else you decide is based on that assumption and is rated by comparison.  I may not think like you, but that's okay.  I may be exceptionally compassionate, I may be nice, or have moments of insanity, or fuck things up spectacularly, or be an evil monster, or just be all of the above.  Every one of us is a composite of ideas.  It's really okay.

I read a lot of blogs.  Theoretically, at least.  In actuality, I read a lot of blogs when time permits or general apathy hasn't rendered me a totally useless dullard.  I read all sorts of blogs too.  Some of you I've known a long time and I consider you actual friends.  I enjoy keeping up with your doings because your doings have a place in my life, they amuse or interest me or keep me sane when things are far from it and they complement a good cup of coffee well.

Some of you are interesting because you're not like me at all.  For example, you might be a corporate executive or gay or religious or a Republican or a serial killer or a mom or a nun or the anti-Christ or someone who embraces push-ups like an old friend.  It makes you interesting, your not being like me.  Because if you were all like me, well holy hell that would be boring.  I'm boring.  I see me every day.  I know how I operate.  You?  Not so much.  I don't mind difference.  I only mind intolerance.

I'm a very liberal person.  I'm not fond of rules.  Now, I didn't say I don't follow them - hell I've lived long enough to know that in these first world lands of the free, you are anything BUT.  But I'm liberal IN MY THINKING to a great degree. If I want to build a liveable tree house in the woods and exist there, I should be able to without anyone's PERMISSION.  I think the tax system is fucked up and that we all pay far too much of it, but it doesn't mean I don't do it.  I think gay marriage should be legal everywhere.  I think prostitution should also be legal.  I don't think I should have to pay taxes for things like schools when I don't have kids.  I think all people should be entitled to health care they can afford.  I should never have to account for myself to anyone unless I've committed a heinous crime.  Other than that, leave me alone to do my thing and I won't get in your way.

I don't like kids either.  I tolerate them. I have severe indifference towards them. They don't make me gooey with adoration or concerned or happy in any way, at least until they get to a respectable age.  They just exist much like I do.  You can't have a decent philosophical discussion with them about the meaning of life or the zombie apocalypse or why we seem so damn afraid of letting them see anything sexual, yet will happily allow them to watch car chases and madmen and bloody gun battles on screen.  Plus you can't send a kid to the store to buy you gin or tequila. They just seem like expensive, hard work.  I like sleeping late when time permits and drinking coffee in a leisurely manner and drinking wine on Friday nights and not driving small people all over the city to sports events.

But I will happily read about you doing it.  Because I don't mind if YOU like kids an awful lot.  I respect that.  Kind of like gratuitous body piercing.  It's not for me, but I certainly support your right to stick a pin through whichever orifice or fleshy part you want in order for you to be "you".

So basically you can be whoever you are and I will most likely approve, regardless of your beliefs.  Unless you are intolerant of people who are not like yourself, then I probably have no time for you, or, for that matter, you for me. If you hate people who are different from you purely because they ARE different from you, then we have a problem.

Them's The Rules

Monday, October 24th, 2011 - What is this early darkness and late lightness thing?  

Quick question:  What does it mean when you wake up singing a Nolan Sisters song from the 1970s, inside your head, in a really exuberant manner?  Because that's happening to me altogether too much lately.  If it's not them it's goddamn Tony Orlando.  I sort of get that though.  I actually LISTEN to Tony Orlando.  Tony Orlando is a smooth, '70s' Casanova of a dude, with muchas body hair and who croons unbelievably cheesy ditties that I like to pretend I'm singing on a giant, velvetty stage in a dark, questionably sleazy lounge bar in Tijuana, surrounded by people with non-ironic moustaches and a glint of deviance in their eyes, instead of in a sweaty heap on the treadmill as I continuously rearrange my bra and make attractive sweat rings on my t-shirt while trying not to die of exhaustion.

What am I talking about?  Who the hell knows?

Anyway, it's almost Halloween and believe me when I say, I like Halloween!  I do.  It's fun in a "I don't do anything particularly for Halloween but I light candles and carve a pumpkin and maybe drink some extra wine" type of way. I like the IDEA of Halloween, I guess you could say.

Also, on the subject of Halloween, I just have to say here, that I enjoy the dress up aspect.  HOWEVER, please people, if you are going to a Halloween party where you're supposed to go in costume, please go as a gnarly old witch or a grim reaper or some chainsaw wielding, in-bred, red-eyed idiot dripping blood or a dark, terrifying demon.  I love that kind of stuff. That's what Halloween is about. Scaring the shit out of people in a controlled manner.  Grossness.  Unease.

Do NOT (if you do not want a kick in the ging gang goolies from me) - and I'm aiming this at the ladies here, in particular - do NOT, go as a sexy school girl, or something "scary" that involves wearing an eye-covering cat mask and an ultra short skirt because I am sick to death of this nonsense. That's NOT Halloween. Here's an easy key for you to remember:

Halloween is about gross and scary.
Halloween is NOT about dressing like a slut

See?  There are no tits on Halloween unless they are zombie tits, all decomposing and nasty.  Dressing as a porn star nurse?  Sexy? Maybe. Scary? NO, NO, NO.  So please stop that.  No matter what boys tell you.

There, those are the rules, now follow them.

Wow, turns out I'm a bit grouchy today, who knew?

Blogging While Intoxicated–Don’t Do It Kids

Friday night – September 30th 2011 – there is a Gnome in my head


I always say, “People, even if you may think it is the awesomest © of all awesome ideas, do not blog while under the influence of narcotics or alcohol!” and I totally stand by that 100%, even though I don’t really always say that, in fact I’ve maybe only said that twice before and both times I TOTALLY lied. 

Like now.  Because…I’m doing it anyway.  And I have faith in my “blogging while a touch smashed” abilities, thank you very much.

Hi!  Several strong gin and tonics and some fizzy white wine and I feel a little like someone disconnected my tongue and my toes and maybe my fingers a little bit and they’re all now working independently of each other, in some sort of global conspiracy against the rest of me and it’s a big old MAYHEM of chaos right here, right now.  But that’s okay.  I’m entirely on top of matters.  Entirely.

Besides.  What’s a little intoxication among friends?  Huh?  Nothing, that’s what.  Even though I’ve already corrected about 529 typos, I persevere.  Because I can do this.  I can do THIS.  And if I gave up now what sort of message does that send?  That I’m a quitter?  That I have perhaps drunk myself blind?  That I really need to pee?  NO!

So yes, it’s true I’m a little drunk.  I have the distinct feeling if you pinched my cheeks really hard right now I wouldn’t even feel it.  My face cheeks that is, not my bum cheeks.  I’d feel my bum cheeks, if you pinched those.  That hurts, damn it, I don’t give a fuck how inebriated you might be. 

I can also taste garlic in quantities probably only legal in NASA experiments.  Oh boy.  Ick. 

Is this the wrong time to tell you how sexy you are all looking this evening?  Because you do.  I would absolutely feel you up in the cab on the way home!

Smooches!