I'm sick and the people upstairs have been doing their stomping meth-walk for 6.5 hours now.
Happy New Year indeed.
Showing posts with label WTF. Show all posts
Showing posts with label WTF. Show all posts
Sunday, January 1, 2012
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
1. 1 Broken Toe. Ah Ah Ah. 2. 2 Broken Toes. Ah Ah Ah
3. CRAKOW!*****
Yes, it's true. In the last 2 weeks or so I have managed to break 3 toes on two different feet. Which, since I only have two feet* makes it hard to walk around. On my left foot, the two toes closest to my big toe are broken. On my right foot I broke my baby toe. You might not think baby toes do much, Gentle Reader.
You would be wrong. Baby toes are valuable assets, heavily used in your basic walking type movement.
Of course you're dying, dying, to know how I broke them all. I'd like to say that I managed this feat of awesome while saving kittens from certain death by toddler, or stopping a runaway train, with the sheer force of my smile, from splatting a bunch of frail old people moving-very-slowly-with-walkers.
If I was feeling particularly inventive, I might spin you a tale about this one time in band camp when aliens landed and I single-handedly defeated them all with nothing more than a beat-up old tuba, three pairs of swimming trunks and Billy** from across the lake. In the process of being a one-woman, collar bone equivalent breaking, whirlwind of destruction I failed to notice that their skin is hard like diamonds. I KO'd*** the shit out of a dozen aliens, but broke my toes in the process. Luckily I also have 3 levels of "Mama Ain't Raised No Pussy"**** and was able to keep going.
The other toe was probably nearly eaten by a small, portable Sarlacc Pit it just happened to have in its pocket. In the alien's pocket. Obviously. Sarlacc Pits can't go carrying themselves around in their own back pockets, that's just silly.
But the sad, boring truth is that I stubbed them all, rather forcefully, on various items laying around the house (I'm looking at you, weight bar in my living room). Apparently I just had to go and ram them repeatedly into things harder then them.
Inanimate objects 3. Toes 0. Touche inanimate objects. Touche.
* You were totally expecting me to say otherwise weren't you. Like maybe I was gonna go off on some tangent and be all "This one time, at band camp...." Well, well. Jokes on you this time isn't it. Isn't it! I am normal... In this regard.
** Billy didn't do much, but he was great at running out into the open screaming and drawing the attention of everything in a three mile radius. Good 'ole Billy. It's too bad about that alien ray gun.
*** What? Breaking a collar bone hurts. And these were wimpy aliens. No pain tolerance. Don't look at me like that. I can still axe kick, broken toes or not. I am Badass.
**** Ohhh the irony of that title in regards to my gender. Also, should I ever decide to make a Pen and Paper RPG, I'm totally going to use that as the title for the pain tolerance ability.
***** This is the sound thunder makes. And it's number five instead of one because I forgot to add this until the end. Also, I'm lazy and refuse to go back and re-number everything because that can't possibly be quicker than typing this explanation out. You're welcome.
Yes, it's true. In the last 2 weeks or so I have managed to break 3 toes on two different feet. Which, since I only have two feet* makes it hard to walk around. On my left foot, the two toes closest to my big toe are broken. On my right foot I broke my baby toe. You might not think baby toes do much, Gentle Reader.
You would be wrong. Baby toes are valuable assets, heavily used in your basic walking type movement.
Of course you're dying, dying, to know how I broke them all. I'd like to say that I managed this feat of awesome while saving kittens from certain death by toddler, or stopping a runaway train, with the sheer force of my smile, from splatting a bunch of frail old people moving-very-slowly-with-walkers.
If I was feeling particularly inventive, I might spin you a tale about this one time in band camp when aliens landed and I single-handedly defeated them all with nothing more than a beat-up old tuba, three pairs of swimming trunks and Billy** from across the lake. In the process of being a one-woman, collar bone equivalent breaking, whirlwind of destruction I failed to notice that their skin is hard like diamonds. I KO'd*** the shit out of a dozen aliens, but broke my toes in the process. Luckily I also have 3 levels of "Mama Ain't Raised No Pussy"**** and was able to keep going.
The other toe was probably nearly eaten by a small, portable Sarlacc Pit it just happened to have in its pocket. In the alien's pocket. Obviously. Sarlacc Pits can't go carrying themselves around in their own back pockets, that's just silly.
But the sad, boring truth is that I stubbed them all, rather forcefully, on various items laying around the house (I'm looking at you, weight bar in my living room). Apparently I just had to go and ram them repeatedly into things harder then them.
Inanimate objects 3. Toes 0. Touche inanimate objects. Touche.
* You were totally expecting me to say otherwise weren't you. Like maybe I was gonna go off on some tangent and be all "This one time, at band camp...." Well, well. Jokes on you this time isn't it. Isn't it! I am normal... In this regard.
** Billy didn't do much, but he was great at running out into the open screaming and drawing the attention of everything in a three mile radius. Good 'ole Billy. It's too bad about that alien ray gun.
*** What? Breaking a collar bone hurts. And these were wimpy aliens. No pain tolerance. Don't look at me like that. I can still axe kick, broken toes or not. I am Badass.
**** Ohhh the irony of that title in regards to my gender. Also, should I ever decide to make a Pen and Paper RPG, I'm totally going to use that as the title for the pain tolerance ability.
***** This is the sound thunder makes. And it's number five instead of one because I forgot to add this until the end. Also, I'm lazy and refuse to go back and re-number everything because that can't possibly be quicker than typing this explanation out. You're welcome.
Monday, June 13, 2011
Adventures In Dehydrating With A side Salad Of Velociraptor!
I promised you an update on my Adventures in Dehydrating didn't I? Goddamn I'm a horrible person for not having that.
Ok, ok, tiny update. Meat is marinating (hahaha I misspelled that merindating. My meat is dating! A Merin! It better come home at a reasonable hour or I swear to god I'll be on my nonexistent porch with a shotgun loaded full with buckshot.). Was going to get it ready and in the dehydrator, until I remembered I have an appointment and didn't want to be gone when it's done and then come home to jerky so dry it makes the Sahara look like an ocean. Helllll no. So that'll have to wait til late tonight or possibly tomorrow. Probably tonight since I don't seem to sleep much anymore, anyways. Maybe I'm evolving?
Wouldn't it be cool if I evolved into some sort of terminator***? Or a Velociraptor** that could speak and had opposable* thumbs!
Anyways, once the meat is done I'll probably let you know. Sometime this year. What with my stellar update record and all.
*Spellcheck doesn't like opposable thumbs. Well I do, so fuck off spellcheck. Don't take my thumbs away from me.
**Apparently spellcheck also isn't fond of Velociraptors. Bit harder to argue that one I suppose, what with all the death and maiming and bad media coverage they've gotten. I suppose it's deserved. But I would be a kindly veloci- oh who am I kidding. I'd lay waste to so much shit it would be hilarious. It wouldn't start funny, but then I'd take it so far it became funny after all. Like those stupid fucking jokes Family Guy likes to beat into the ground, piss on, then prop up with a stick and jump start with a little petroleum jelly and some jumper cables. You know, the real heavy duty ones. Except I hate those Family Guy jokes and almost never find them funny at any point so ignore that last analogy, it's terrible.
*** I don't give a goddamn fuck about your "theories of evolution" bullshit, we are totally capable of evolving into Terminators and opposable thumbed Velociraptors who can talk. Sleep tight.
Ok, ok, tiny update. Meat is marinating (hahaha I misspelled that merindating. My meat is dating! A Merin! It better come home at a reasonable hour or I swear to god I'll be on my nonexistent porch with a shotgun loaded full with buckshot.). Was going to get it ready and in the dehydrator, until I remembered I have an appointment and didn't want to be gone when it's done and then come home to jerky so dry it makes the Sahara look like an ocean. Helllll no. So that'll have to wait til late tonight or possibly tomorrow. Probably tonight since I don't seem to sleep much anymore, anyways. Maybe I'm evolving?
Wouldn't it be cool if I evolved into some sort of terminator***? Or a Velociraptor** that could speak and had opposable* thumbs!
Anyways, once the meat is done I'll probably let you know. Sometime this year. What with my stellar update record and all.
*Spellcheck doesn't like opposable thumbs. Well I do, so fuck off spellcheck. Don't take my thumbs away from me.
**Apparently spellcheck also isn't fond of Velociraptors. Bit harder to argue that one I suppose, what with all the death and maiming and bad media coverage they've gotten. I suppose it's deserved. But I would be a kindly veloci- oh who am I kidding. I'd lay waste to so much shit it would be hilarious. It wouldn't start funny, but then I'd take it so far it became funny after all. Like those stupid fucking jokes Family Guy likes to beat into the ground, piss on, then prop up with a stick and jump start with a little petroleum jelly and some jumper cables. You know, the real heavy duty ones. Except I hate those Family Guy jokes and almost never find them funny at any point so ignore that last analogy, it's terrible.
*** I don't give a goddamn fuck about your "theories of evolution" bullshit, we are totally capable of evolving into Terminators and opposable thumbed Velociraptors who can talk. Sleep tight.
Saturday, June 11, 2011
I Want To Suck Your Blood... And Possibly Commit Seppuku, Which, Isn't Nearly As Permanent When You're The Undead.
Two nights ago one of my dreams had something to do with feudal Japan and vampire samurai clans. One of the clans was waging a wipe-out* war on another clan. I was a human warrior in the losing clan.
The dream was all but forgotten until early that evening when Most Beloved and I were driving. Part of it suddenly popped into my mind. I jokingly told him I'd had a dream about vampire samurai in a feudal Japan-like place. We chuckled over it and I figured that was the end of it. I was wrong. The damn thing continued to nag at me most insistently. Finally I turned to Most Beloved as we were driving and said, "Would you like to hear this story idea I have. It won't leave me alone. "
"Ok." Most beloved replied.
"Ok, but you can't laugh." which he promptly did because who doesn't laugh as soon as you go all puppy dog eyes on them and tell them they can't. :) "No I'm serious, it's super fledgling and it's from a dream so it probably sucks worse than a four dollar whore. If it does suck ass just clear your throat and suggest maybe my energy would be spent on other things."
"I promise." He said.
So I proceeded to tell him my idea while we drove to the bulk Barn (which is an amazing, wonderful, delectable place full of much goodness and thank God they have them in this God foresaken, hell hole of a province. Edmonton is truly shitsville.) We parked and I continued to talk while he continued to listen and not laugh. And talked. And talked.
"That is really cool. You made it sound silly earlier, but that's not silly at all." (Most Beloved is kinda awesome like that.)
Then hunger overtook us and we were forced to go in and get our baking foodstuffs before we both grabbed the nearest arm not attached to either of us and proceeded to gnaw.
Then I went home, scarfed some food down and proceeded to type out almost 7,000 words in less than 6 hours. I think I went to bed around 4. I'm kinda tired today, but happy. Really, really happy. It's a good idea and, without trying to sound like an arrogant ass, it's super cool.
Both the world building and intricate social structure are insanely complex, but they've been flowing out of me onto the page. I have the first 1/3rd or so completely mapped out. The middle and ending require a clever surprise I can't remember now so they'll have to wait til either I can remember or come up with something new, but I could see (once that happens) the rest mapping out pretty quickly and easily. I don't know that I'll be able to write it anytime soon, got my hands full all ready with my other story. But I think I have enough down that I'll be able to re-immerse myself in it once the time comes.
On a somewhat related note, I've pretty clearly found one of my "writer themes." You know, those things each writer feels compelled to explore. Frequently more than once and in more than one way. One of mine (loosely explained) has to do with the idea of "the Other." The definition of Other kept deliberately vague because the notion of the other really is as fluid as that. Oh, sure, common definings of what constitutes "the other" exist in every culture, but I find that individual and small collective definings can further range from "Other as anyone different from you" (colour, culture, race, sexual orientation) to "that part of ourselves every person either fears, hates or hides." Jung's concept of the Shadow and all that being one such example. Again, these are loose definitions and I'm sure there are many more of them kicking around.
I like looking at that. I don't just like looking at it, I like strapping supernatural booties on it and forcing it to go run around the block for me a few times. And could it please, since it's up and all anyways, maybe go hangout in the 360 degree mirror Stacey and Clinton like to trot out so much? Just for a bit.
Goddamn that got serious eh? No worries, tomorrow will be all about my trials and tribulations with making beef jerky with our new DEHYDRATOR!
*Nothing to do with surfing, but this is me so thinking it might is perfectly reasonable and therefore requiring the clarifications. Ok 1 clarification. Except now it is 2 because I just clarified the clarification. You're welcome.
The dream was all but forgotten until early that evening when Most Beloved and I were driving. Part of it suddenly popped into my mind. I jokingly told him I'd had a dream about vampire samurai in a feudal Japan-like place. We chuckled over it and I figured that was the end of it. I was wrong. The damn thing continued to nag at me most insistently. Finally I turned to Most Beloved as we were driving and said, "Would you like to hear this story idea I have. It won't leave me alone. "
"Ok." Most beloved replied.
"Ok, but you can't laugh." which he promptly did because who doesn't laugh as soon as you go all puppy dog eyes on them and tell them they can't. :) "No I'm serious, it's super fledgling and it's from a dream so it probably sucks worse than a four dollar whore. If it does suck ass just clear your throat and suggest maybe my energy would be spent on other things."
"I promise." He said.
So I proceeded to tell him my idea while we drove to the bulk Barn (which is an amazing, wonderful, delectable place full of much goodness and thank God they have them in this God foresaken, hell hole of a province. Edmonton is truly shitsville.) We parked and I continued to talk while he continued to listen and not laugh. And talked. And talked.
"That is really cool. You made it sound silly earlier, but that's not silly at all." (Most Beloved is kinda awesome like that.)
Then hunger overtook us and we were forced to go in and get our baking foodstuffs before we both grabbed the nearest arm not attached to either of us and proceeded to gnaw.
Then I went home, scarfed some food down and proceeded to type out almost 7,000 words in less than 6 hours. I think I went to bed around 4. I'm kinda tired today, but happy. Really, really happy. It's a good idea and, without trying to sound like an arrogant ass, it's super cool.
Both the world building and intricate social structure are insanely complex, but they've been flowing out of me onto the page. I have the first 1/3rd or so completely mapped out. The middle and ending require a clever surprise I can't remember now so they'll have to wait til either I can remember or come up with something new, but I could see (once that happens) the rest mapping out pretty quickly and easily. I don't know that I'll be able to write it anytime soon, got my hands full all ready with my other story. But I think I have enough down that I'll be able to re-immerse myself in it once the time comes.
On a somewhat related note, I've pretty clearly found one of my "writer themes." You know, those things each writer feels compelled to explore. Frequently more than once and in more than one way. One of mine (loosely explained) has to do with the idea of "the Other." The definition of Other kept deliberately vague because the notion of the other really is as fluid as that. Oh, sure, common definings of what constitutes "the other" exist in every culture, but I find that individual and small collective definings can further range from "Other as anyone different from you" (colour, culture, race, sexual orientation) to "that part of ourselves every person either fears, hates or hides." Jung's concept of the Shadow and all that being one such example. Again, these are loose definitions and I'm sure there are many more of them kicking around.
I like looking at that. I don't just like looking at it, I like strapping supernatural booties on it and forcing it to go run around the block for me a few times. And could it please, since it's up and all anyways, maybe go hangout in the 360 degree mirror Stacey and Clinton like to trot out so much? Just for a bit.
Goddamn that got serious eh? No worries, tomorrow will be all about my trials and tribulations with making beef jerky with our new DEHYDRATOR!
*Nothing to do with surfing, but this is me so thinking it might is perfectly reasonable and therefore requiring the clarifications. Ok 1 clarification. Except now it is 2 because I just clarified the clarification. You're welcome.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Inquiring Minds Want to Know
Why do they call it a super flue anyways? There's nothing super about it. I feel like shit that's been regurgitated and run through a blender. Now, if it wrote my novel for me, cleaned my kitchen and scrubbed my back in those hard-to-reach places, I could see the reasoning behind that particular adjective.
Super. Pfft.
Super. Pfft.
Monday, May 30, 2011
Incentive!
Incentive is sitting next to the corpse you can't dispose of until you've met your word count for the day.
I had the incredible urge to add the "this shit only happens to me" label to this post and wait to see how long it took anyone to notice that and say something. Then I remembered the fear-world we live in and decided I didn't need cops busting down my door, pepper-spraying me in the face and taze-ing the shit out of me over a joke.
I had the incredible urge to add the "this shit only happens to me" label to this post and wait to see how long it took anyone to notice that and say something. Then I remembered the fear-world we live in and decided I didn't need cops busting down my door, pepper-spraying me in the face and taze-ing the shit out of me over a joke.
Friday, May 27, 2011
Flying is Hard Work
In my dream I'm batman, except I can fly by flapping my arms like a bird. Which I am doing, vigorously, as I try to gain enough altitude to clear the building in front of me.
Here is my internal monologue while doing so: Batman would catch more criminals if he didn't have to flap his damn arms so much. Flying is fatiguing.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
The Line that Redeems My Travesty of a Script
Poor COWBOY, something's gone and scooped out his eyes again.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
The essays I'm not allowed to write
I don't know why. It's not like the shit they make you read is any better. Also I have in no way, shape, or form spell-checked or grammar checked this shit; the reasons for which will become abundantly clear. Also it's late and I just don't give a fuck because I have this shit essay due and it's pissing me the hell off.
Question: Analyze the conflicts in one of the short stories we've discussed...
So yo check this shit out, my man michael is all like “this village needs an enema” and Ani is all like, "don't be disrespecting my peeps" and the school board was all like, "we need a fall guy so get in there and do your 'modern' thing" and of course michael was like "yo, this is my chance fool!" And his wife was like, “yay all the other wives will have to look up to me cause I'm head wife and I have all the power. Wait... what does the magazine tell me about this again?” And michael was like, “woman! We must go forth and save this terribly backwards town from itself. We must wipe away all traces of the past. Are ya with me woman?! Can I get an AMEN!” (not that michael was a religious man per se, but everyone needs an AMEN once in a while and anyways it was a good rallying point, that's what his “expert secondary schooling” said one time he was pretty sure, of course he had done that line of coke, but he could still think. Everyone knows that shit don't mess your head up.
So he grabbed his wife (who totally permitted it because it was the most play she's gotten in two months and my god that pool boy was looking tasty) and they saddled up and off they went to the far- I mean school. And the wife was like "Weeee I want flowers. flowers everywhere!" And Michael was all like "Yes. Flowers represent order and order pleases me. Woman! Make with the orderly flower beds everywhere (he likes to pretend this shit is all his idea) and the wife was all, nodding dutifully while trying to hide her mopey smile because there were no other wives and who wants to rule over an empty court.
And all was well for a day or three until high and mighty headmaster michael noticed some old crone wandering through a hedge and trapsing over his nice modern flower beds so he stormed off to one of the slack-jawed teachers who'd been there so long that it'd all gotten to him and he didn't care anymore and the only thing he lived for anymore was the bottle under his bed and michael accosted the teach (luckily in a moment of sobriety) and demanded, I say demanded(!) to know what the fuck (only he didn't say fuck because modern people don't stoop to such blatant vulgarities), what the fuck was up with the old bitch fucking up the flower beds (only he most definitely didn't use the words bitch or fucking) and the old boozehound teacher was all like, "It's some ancient burial path or something, I dunno. look, they do this. they've always done this. don't fight this shit it's bigger than the both of us." And michael was like, I don't bloody think so (because adding british colloquialisms was all the rage back home), I'll not give into some crazy, old hunchback dependent on some ancient hoodoo, I get paid good money to wipe this shit off the face of the earth!" And mister bottle was like, fine, fuck whatever, but I'm warning you this caused a stink last time." So michael storms off in a self-righteous huff muttering about some people's narrowmindedness and orders the slave boys to put up a fence with some barb wire and shit blocking the path.
So ani the village elder and keeper of all things old and wrinkly and way before anyone else's time click-clacks up to michael (who believes in being accessible to the riff-raff for image sake) and my god but this story is fucking boring and I'v lost my train of thought here but the two of them disagree and then a child or some shit dies and the village seriously goes on a rampage all godzilla style and tears some shit down and the school of course does an about face and blames michael and that's the end of the fucking story and thank god because I'm tired and I have a movie to watch or something...
Question: Analyze the conflicts in one of the short stories we've discussed...
So yo check this shit out, my man michael is all like “this village needs an enema” and Ani is all like, "don't be disrespecting my peeps" and the school board was all like, "we need a fall guy so get in there and do your 'modern' thing" and of course michael was like "yo, this is my chance fool!" And his wife was like, “yay all the other wives will have to look up to me cause I'm head wife and I have all the power. Wait... what does the magazine tell me about this again?” And michael was like, “woman! We must go forth and save this terribly backwards town from itself. We must wipe away all traces of the past. Are ya with me woman?! Can I get an AMEN!” (not that michael was a religious man per se, but everyone needs an AMEN once in a while and anyways it was a good rallying point, that's what his “expert secondary schooling” said one time he was pretty sure, of course he had done that line of coke, but he could still think. Everyone knows that shit don't mess your head up.
So he grabbed his wife (who totally permitted it because it was the most play she's gotten in two months and my god that pool boy was looking tasty) and they saddled up and off they went to the far- I mean school. And the wife was like "Weeee I want flowers. flowers everywhere!" And Michael was all like "Yes. Flowers represent order and order pleases me. Woman! Make with the orderly flower beds everywhere (he likes to pretend this shit is all his idea) and the wife was all, nodding dutifully while trying to hide her mopey smile because there were no other wives and who wants to rule over an empty court.
And all was well for a day or three until high and mighty headmaster michael noticed some old crone wandering through a hedge and trapsing over his nice modern flower beds so he stormed off to one of the slack-jawed teachers who'd been there so long that it'd all gotten to him and he didn't care anymore and the only thing he lived for anymore was the bottle under his bed and michael accosted the teach (luckily in a moment of sobriety) and demanded, I say demanded(!) to know what the fuck (only he didn't say fuck because modern people don't stoop to such blatant vulgarities), what the fuck was up with the old bitch fucking up the flower beds (only he most definitely didn't use the words bitch or fucking) and the old boozehound teacher was all like, "It's some ancient burial path or something, I dunno. look, they do this. they've always done this. don't fight this shit it's bigger than the both of us." And michael was like, I don't bloody think so (because adding british colloquialisms was all the rage back home), I'll not give into some crazy, old hunchback dependent on some ancient hoodoo, I get paid good money to wipe this shit off the face of the earth!" And mister bottle was like, fine, fuck whatever, but I'm warning you this caused a stink last time." So michael storms off in a self-righteous huff muttering about some people's narrowmindedness and orders the slave boys to put up a fence with some barb wire and shit blocking the path.
So ani the village elder and keeper of all things old and wrinkly and way before anyone else's time click-clacks up to michael (who believes in being accessible to the riff-raff for image sake) and my god but this story is fucking boring and I'v lost my train of thought here but the two of them disagree and then a child or some shit dies and the village seriously goes on a rampage all godzilla style and tears some shit down and the school of course does an about face and blames michael and that's the end of the fucking story and thank god because I'm tired and I have a movie to watch or something...
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Reboot?
I'm going to try and get back into posting for this thing.
In my head, Yoda is yelling "do or do not." Yoda's kind of a dick. Unless that was Mister Miyagi. Shit, I can't remember.
Great, now I've got a short green guy in a kimono dancing around a car he's raising with the power of his mi-er the force, yelling at me and plucking flies out of the air with a pair of chopsticks. Not that Mister Miyagi (or Yoda for that matter) ever wore a kimono in either movie. My head just likes to run with things. I guess my head can be kind of a dick too. Way to go dickhead.
Oh man, this blog is totally not gonna be safe for work or children. Or people with aversions to Yoda in a kimono acting like a dick.
In my head, Yoda is yelling "do or do not." Yoda's kind of a dick. Unless that was Mister Miyagi. Shit, I can't remember.
Great, now I've got a short green guy in a kimono dancing around a car he's raising with the power of his mi-er the force, yelling at me and plucking flies out of the air with a pair of chopsticks. Not that Mister Miyagi (or Yoda for that matter) ever wore a kimono in either movie. My head just likes to run with things. I guess my head can be kind of a dick too. Way to go dickhead.
Oh man, this blog is totally not gonna be safe for work or children. Or people with aversions to Yoda in a kimono acting like a dick.