Goddammit, Rusty! Just look at what you did to Fandom!
And why in the hell are my hands still shaking?
;__;
FUCK THE BEANS!
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Fitness Fail
We've well established that I have a 57% chance of surviving a zombie apocalypse and a mere 1min and 23 seconds of life in the vacuum of space. My survival stats could greatly benefit from a regular exercise routine. I know this. Truly I do. But never has the point been made more clear than today.
For today I pulled my hamstring. Not badly, but enough to smart with every step. A lot of people pull their hamstrings. Said people are usually doing more strenuous activities such as jogging, mountain climbing, or rescuing small children from burning houses. But not me.
I strained my hamstring while vacuuming.*
No, seriously. I was vacuuming.
Add to that fact that my house is probably about 80% tile. I only regularly vacuum the bedroom, which has roughly 120 square feet of carpet, half of which is covered with furniture.
And yet, I managed to pull my hamstring while vacuuming.
I think maybe it's time to dust off that yoga mat and put it to some desperately needed use. I took no pleasure limping into work today and having to answer my coworkers's concerns with the truth...which, of course, I didn't. I lied and told them it happened while mountain climbing.
* If your first reaction to reading that line was "Oh my God! You were actually doing housework?" then I owe you a beer. For the LOLs, of course.
For today I pulled my hamstring. Not badly, but enough to smart with every step. A lot of people pull their hamstrings. Said people are usually doing more strenuous activities such as jogging, mountain climbing, or rescuing small children from burning houses. But not me.
I strained my hamstring while vacuuming.*
No, seriously. I was vacuuming.
Add to that fact that my house is probably about 80% tile. I only regularly vacuum the bedroom, which has roughly 120 square feet of carpet, half of which is covered with furniture.
And yet, I managed to pull my hamstring while vacuuming.
I think maybe it's time to dust off that yoga mat and put it to some desperately needed use. I took no pleasure limping into work today and having to answer my coworkers's concerns with the truth...which, of course, I didn't. I lied and told them it happened while mountain climbing.
* If your first reaction to reading that line was "Oh my God! You were actually doing housework?" then I owe you a beer. For the LOLs, of course.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Who Thinks This Shit Up?
Some of these things are so unbelievably stupid. Which means, of course, I have to check them out:
Created by OnePlusYou - Free Dating Site
The best part of this quizwidget is the accompanying description in painstakingly gruesome detail:
"In the first 30 seconds any fluid on the surface of your body would begin to boil due to lack of ambient pressure, this includes the saliva on your tongue and the moisture in your eyes. Your eardrums would most likely burst due to the pressure in your body trying to equalize with the vacuum outside. Unlike what some science fiction films have suggested, your body would not explode.
After the first 15 seconds you would lose consciousness. If you held your breath you could potentially stay alive longer but you risk pulmonary trauma. If you didn't hold your breath you'd pass out sooner, but your lungs might have a better chance of avoiding permanent damage.
The pressure in your veins would rise until your heart no longer had the capacity to pump blood, at which point you'd die."
Yummers. I'd hope I'd at least get to lose my heart to a starship trooper before President Roslin airlocked me (even if the former is a teensy bit gay). And contrary to what Ka D'argo preaches, it's always better to inhale upon reentry. It's not like it's going to make that much of a difference, because you'll freeze your tits off before your heart goes *poof*...unless you have the dumb luck of Arthur Dent.
Created by OnePlusYou - Free Dating Site
The best part of this quizwidget is the accompanying description in painstakingly gruesome detail:
"In the first 30 seconds any fluid on the surface of your body would begin to boil due to lack of ambient pressure, this includes the saliva on your tongue and the moisture in your eyes. Your eardrums would most likely burst due to the pressure in your body trying to equalize with the vacuum outside. Unlike what some science fiction films have suggested, your body would not explode.
After the first 15 seconds you would lose consciousness. If you held your breath you could potentially stay alive longer but you risk pulmonary trauma. If you didn't hold your breath you'd pass out sooner, but your lungs might have a better chance of avoiding permanent damage.
The pressure in your veins would rise until your heart no longer had the capacity to pump blood, at which point you'd die."
Yummers. I'd hope I'd at least get to lose my heart to a starship trooper before President Roslin airlocked me (even if the former is a teensy bit gay). And contrary to what Ka D'argo preaches, it's always better to inhale upon reentry. It's not like it's going to make that much of a difference, because you'll freeze your tits off before your heart goes *poof*...unless you have the dumb luck of Arthur Dent.
Friday, August 8, 2008
...And this little piggie falled down, went boom
And now, a continuation of Flen Flyys "Adventures in Podiacal Misfortune":
It's official. The aftermath of the not-quite-annual LGT retreat has left me with one, possibly two fractured toes. Rock! Now I get to check "sad broken piggies" off my life list of foot injuries. One day I may finally make it to full trauma-induced amputation. It's important to have goals.
The story of how the injury actually occurred is sadly mundane, as it involved me walking upright like a proper bipedal, and then not being so upright like some common gastropod. My life being lackluster enough as it is, I've taken to embellishing the truth at any given opportunity, my favorite spin so far being a rather elaborate tale involving nine martinis, a midget and a badley misjudged wager involving a jai alai mitt.
The diagnosis finally came from the the GP doctor at my company's on-site clinic (yes, my company has an on-site clinic...convenient and kind of frightening). And does anyone know what one can do for a fractured metatarsal? Anyone? Anyone?
If you guessed "absolutely nothing", then you are today's big winner. Just send a SASE to collect your grand prize, an exclusive copy of the latest addition to the LGT make-up morgue.
It's official. The aftermath of the not-quite-annual LGT retreat has left me with one, possibly two fractured toes. Rock! Now I get to check "sad broken piggies" off my life list of foot injuries. One day I may finally make it to full trauma-induced amputation. It's important to have goals.
The story of how the injury actually occurred is sadly mundane, as it involved me walking upright like a proper bipedal, and then not being so upright like some common gastropod. My life being lackluster enough as it is, I've taken to embellishing the truth at any given opportunity, my favorite spin so far being a rather elaborate tale involving nine martinis, a midget and a badley misjudged wager involving a jai alai mitt.
The diagnosis finally came from the the GP doctor at my company's on-site clinic (yes, my company has an on-site clinic...convenient and kind of frightening). And does anyone know what one can do for a fractured metatarsal? Anyone? Anyone?
If you guessed "absolutely nothing", then you are today's big winner. Just send a SASE to collect your grand prize, an exclusive copy of the latest addition to the LGT make-up morgue.
I'll even autograph it for you...
with my toes.
For additional shipping and handling, you can also get a limited addition copy of Saitou the Foot-Fetish-Kitteh showing off his "healing touch":
Have I officially grossed everyone out? I imagine that this whole post made Peep Julie's skin crawl. *tee hee* Sorry, Juju.
My Fandom is Warped on the Inside
Someone out there has too much time on his/her hands...and has a seriously sick and twisted soul. So it's not surprising that this shit had me laughing for fucking twenty minutes.
***Spoiler warning for Torchwood & Doctor Who finales. You've been warned, so don't start acting like a whiny titty baby about it later***
If this clip affirmed anything for me it is this: The word "intergalactic" as an adjective conveying the most extreme measurement of vice is sorely underused. I think I shall endeavor to incorporate it into my daily lexicon.
***Spoiler warning for Torchwood & Doctor Who finales. You've been warned, so don't start acting like a whiny titty baby about it later***
If this clip affirmed anything for me it is this: The word "intergalactic" as an adjective conveying the most extreme measurement of vice is sorely underused. I think I shall endeavor to incorporate it into my daily lexicon.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
"I Want to Believe" that that isn't the actual title of the movie.
Tonight I saw, for the first time ever, a commercial for the new X-Files movie. My ever calm and collected exterior noted the trailer as being "quite exciting", "intriguing", and "greatly anticipated".
My inner fan-girl squealed... and sort of, kind of peed herself.
But a question remains: Exactly what kind of cosplay does one attempt for an X-Files Midnight Movie Premier? Should I go with Oilean eyes or just sew up all of my bodily orifices? I contemplated covering myself with bees, but with the rise in the cost of honey, I'm sure that would be a tad expensive. Hmmmm...maybe I'll just chain smoke while standing in line.
ETA: In case your inner fangirl/boy wants to soil themselves as well (although there's a little too much H&A to induce true fandom orgasm, IMHO):
My inner fan-girl squealed... and sort of, kind of peed herself.
But a question remains: Exactly what kind of cosplay does one attempt for an X-Files Midnight Movie Premier? Should I go with Oilean eyes or just sew up all of my bodily orifices? I contemplated covering myself with bees, but with the rise in the cost of honey, I'm sure that would be a tad expensive. Hmmmm...maybe I'll just chain smoke while standing in line.
ETA: In case your inner fangirl/boy wants to soil themselves as well (although there's a little too much H&A to induce true fandom orgasm, IMHO):
Sunday, March 2, 2008
Fun with Lost (insert eerie intro music here)
Hey Lost fans, check out Sawyer's Nickname Generator and be grateful that you're not known as "Stay Puff".
And if you haven't watched the latest episode "Constant" yet, proceed immediately to your "tivo/computer, because it was fan-fucking-tastic! It's like I suddenly realized, "Oh yeah, this is why I love this goddamn irritating show."
To sum up my view: Desmond is hot, but conscious-time-traveling Des is TEH HAWT!1!!!
And for n00bs clueless to the whole Sawyer/nickname OTP, here's el enlightenment:
--- E.D. (a.k.a. Sugarpop)
And if you haven't watched the latest episode "Constant" yet, proceed immediately to your "tivo/computer, because it was fan-fucking-tastic! It's like I suddenly realized, "Oh yeah, this is why I love this goddamn irritating show."
To sum up my view: Desmond is hot, but conscious-time-traveling Des is TEH HAWT!1!!!
And for n00bs clueless to the whole Sawyer/nickname OTP, here's el enlightenment:
--- E.D. (a.k.a. Sugarpop)
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
The rather mundane story so far...
So, um, it's been a while since I last blogged here. Oops. To avoid any awkwardness, I'll bring you up to speed.
Are we up to speed? Both buttocks still on? Alright, on to regular bloggin'.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Oh teh snap, byatches!11!!
What can I say...
Because I've turned juvenile blog speak into a fuckin' artform. Teh roxxor!1!!!
Get a Cash Advance
Because I've turned juvenile blog speak into a fuckin' artform. Teh roxxor!1!!!
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
"Enterprising" Cat
Because I work for a certain insurance company, and we have a certain competitor with a certain reptilian spokes model...and though I'm certainly not the type to go all gungho competitive on behalf of my employer, this lolcat gave me the giggle-snorts. Dudez, we totally be needin' this sort of kick-ass mascot.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Harry Hoyay Version 2.0
So as Brandon pointed out, the images in the prior post aren't opening up in a separate window. FAIL! Until I manage to fix the bug, try these links. Aight? Peace out.
Saturday, October 20, 2007
And Rowling said, "Let there be Hoyay!" And it was good.
This post is brought to you because I was bored, Peep Tarv is a comic inspiration, and J.K. Rowling, drunk off her millions, decided to throw good ol' wacky fandom a bone while simultaneously giving fundamentalist yahoos a kindly "fuck you." And that's teh roxxor in my book.
*************One little thing before we proceed: Despite being way past the fandom prescribed spoiler guard period, I'm going to go ahead and warn peeps who have a) just started reading the Harry Potter series , or b) been living on Mars for the past three months...in a cave...with their eyes closed and their fingers in their ears singing "la la la la". Take heed. Thar be a few wee DH spoilers here, matey! You've been warned, so don't bring wank into my house. ***********************
And the fangirls sing "squee squee squee, squ-squ-squee, squee squee squee squ-squ-squee".
*************One little thing before we proceed: Despite being way past the fandom prescribed spoiler guard period, I'm going to go ahead and warn peeps who have a) just started reading the Harry Potter series , or b) been living on Mars for the past three months...in a cave...with their eyes closed and their fingers in their ears singing "la la la la". Take heed. Thar be a few wee DH spoilers here, matey! You've been warned, so don't bring wank into my house. ***********************
And the fangirls sing "squee squee squee, squ-squ-squee, squee squee squee squ-squ-squee". Saturday, October 13, 2007
Ooops. I blinked. Then I screamed.
You got to love a show that warns you, "Don't blink. Blink and you're dead. Don't turn your back. Don't turn away. And don't blink." All I know is that I managed to jump just about six feet out of my skin while watching the Doctor Who episode Blink
Damn, that was some crazy-scary-brilliant shit. I highly recommend its viewing, perfect for Doctor-N00bs!...just make sure to have some eye drops on hand. Seriously, watch this episode and you'll understand why I can now add statuary to my list of irrational fears.
Damn, that was some crazy-scary-brilliant shit. I highly recommend its viewing, perfect for Doctor-N00bs!...just make sure to have some eye drops on hand. Seriously, watch this episode and you'll understand why I can now add statuary to my list of irrational fears.
Monday, October 1, 2007
Best Cheezeburger Ever!
For those who do not obsessively keep up with I Can Has Cheezburger, this is a great drink-snortin'-through-the-nose gem:
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Untitled Post No. 1
As some of my peeps already know, today marked a rather unpleasant anniversary for me. The kind of anniversary that doesn't warrant a reminder, because you start experiencing weird memory sense symptoms of anxiety and nervousness days prior, along with the kind of dreams that wake you with a start at the crack of dawn, leaving behind a heavy sensation of regret and loss because it just felt so frickin' real moments ago, and yet, was all in your damnable head.
That's why being employed rocks. In addition to that nifty thing called a paycheck that buys me cool junk (and keeps the electricity on), it provides an occupation to keep me one busy little bee. So busy that I actually, dare I say it, forgot to participate in the obligatory moaning and wailing and tearing of hair to a backdrop of Mozart's Requiem on a day like today...which does cause me to harbor a biteen of guilt for not carrying on in ceremonial hysterics, but is mostly an incredibly, understandable relief. The compromise being that though the bolded numbers 2 and 5 glared back at me from my desktop calendar throughout the day, I sorta kinda maybe felt that I'll finally be ok, at least in a way that allowed me to focus on the tasks at hand and managed my work with ease. So much ease, in fact, that upon returning home I settled in for a rather pleasant evening of a little wine, a sandwich and Netflix's latest delivery of the Queer as Folk series.
Of course, it would have to be the Season 4, Episode 6 disc that I watched.
I'll spare the spoilers for the eagerly-anticipating-uninitiated, but I know at least a few of you out there know of which particular episode I speak.
*emo tear*
Curse you TV for making me feel stuff and have empathetic emotions! What happened to the schmoop, and the snark, and the hot man-on-man action?! You had to get all serious (again) now? Of all days?! Jeez! Lame melodrama lameness!
Don't worry. I'm quite all right. Nothing a little healthy cry and a toast of 12-year-old single malt Scotch couldn't cure.
But Mom, as dear as I hold you in my heart, and as much effort as I make to honor your memory, there is no way in hell I'm mixing good Scotch with water. Seriously, I can't do it...but you already knew that didn't you? :)
That's why being employed rocks. In addition to that nifty thing called a paycheck that buys me cool junk (and keeps the electricity on), it provides an occupation to keep me one busy little bee. So busy that I actually, dare I say it, forgot to participate in the obligatory moaning and wailing and tearing of hair to a backdrop of Mozart's Requiem on a day like today...which does cause me to harbor a biteen of guilt for not carrying on in ceremonial hysterics, but is mostly an incredibly, understandable relief. The compromise being that though the bolded numbers 2 and 5 glared back at me from my desktop calendar throughout the day, I sorta kinda maybe felt that I'll finally be ok, at least in a way that allowed me to focus on the tasks at hand and managed my work with ease. So much ease, in fact, that upon returning home I settled in for a rather pleasant evening of a little wine, a sandwich and Netflix's latest delivery of the Queer as Folk series.
Of course, it would have to be the Season 4, Episode 6 disc that I watched.
I'll spare the spoilers for the eagerly-anticipating-uninitiated, but I know at least a few of you out there know of which particular episode I speak.
*emo tear*
Curse you TV for making me feel stuff and have empathetic emotions! What happened to the schmoop, and the snark, and the hot man-on-man action?! You had to get all serious (again) now? Of all days?! Jeez! Lame melodrama lameness!
Don't worry. I'm quite all right. Nothing a little healthy cry and a toast of 12-year-old single malt Scotch couldn't cure.
But Mom, as dear as I hold you in my heart, and as much effort as I make to honor your memory, there is no way in hell I'm mixing good Scotch with water. Seriously, I can't do it...but you already knew that didn't you? :)
Thursday, September 13, 2007
D'OH! And Double D'OH!
THIS KITTY LITTER COST ME $300!
I shit you not (and pardon the pun). Thanks to this litter, I am now $300 in the hole and probably lost two years off my life. Well, maybe I exaggerate, or more accurately, I can be such a horrible little asshole. Because upon discovering that I was out litter, I was too lazy to shuffle my ass to Pet-Smart and buy my usual brand of commie-pinko-patchouli stink-hippie approved brand of kitty toiletry that is Feline Pine (TM), because I'm all for saving the earth and recycling and shit, but the sole reason I buy planet friendly litter is because I have an asthmatic cat.
So in hindsight, purloining some clay litter from my current border, Punky "Punks-a-Lot" Thomas, was an exercise in stupidity. I knew it was likely to give Misao a case of the wheezes...but it was just a few days, I said. I'll go and get some new litter tomorrow, I said. Well, by Wednesday, Mimi Darling had gone from the occasional sneeze to a full blown asthma attack complete with respiratory infection and fever. And it scared the pants off me.
I am such a shitty parent. Skipping a day of work, spending $300 on vet bills and using my weekend to nurse a snotty, cranky kitty was light punishment. Hell's Bells, I learned my lesson. And I say this with my most sincere Joan Crawford voice.
"NO CLAY LITTER EVVVAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!"
The good news is that Little Misao is on the road to recovery and almost back to her old self, by which I mean she's gorging on food, bullying her brother, and licking the skin off my face.
Sunday, September 2, 2007
Bad blogger! No soup for you!
Yes, I've fallen off the bloggin' wagon. Which draws the conclusion that either my life is one hell of a whirl-a-wind-mile-a-minute-hootin nanny-too-hung over-to-post-adventure, or that what I have to blog about has all the excitement of a late night defensive driving course. I can't entirely vouch for the former, although the hang over part is not entirely inaccurate at times... Let's just call it "technical difficulties".
Actually, I have a bad habit of chatting and posting to other blogs/forums and neglecting poor Flen Flyys. So, I'll try to cross post as often as possible in order to keep my stats in check. Here's a not-too-incriminating post from a couple of weeks ago in response to the following blog:
http://austinist.com/2007/08/28/truesday_pushin.php#comments
And my oh-so-amusing, pretentious response:
Wow. This blog brought back such wonderful nostalgia from my own Pier One days (*sigh*...many, many moons ago), when I worked at the now defunct Airport location near Highland Mall (or the Mid-Town Spa bath house, whatever is your best point of reference). We never had a super-pooper, but we did have our share of crazies, and the gold medal went to The Wanker, a middle-aged man with a horrendous Grecian-for-Men dye job, who probably would have been a fantastic serial killer had he not been such a sad underachiever. The type of man who thought it best to served his country by periodically coming into our mercantile on an idle Sunday to masturbate. And not just some cheap rub-a-nub through his polyester trousers kind of masturbate, but a full on whipping out the turtle head and shaking it angrily at the world sort of yanker. I'm still mildly curious, in a purely academic sense mind you, as to what inspires a person to waltz into a store full of overpriced furniture soldered together by the bleeding hands of third-world children and think, “Hey, this would be a great place to start pulling my pud”, because from what I could decipher, he wasn’t ogling anyone in particular. In fact, I was led to conclude that Kiln rugs and batik napkins where amongst his list of turn-ons. The worst of it, aside from catching him flagrante delicto, was that he always attempted to mask his misdeeds by touching every piece of merchandise within reach…and one of us poor unfortunates would later draw the short straw to straighten up said tainted section, praying that our hands didn’t touch something sticky. This occurred at a time when our staff was mostly female. It wasn’t until we had a few of our own Dobermans on staff that The Wanker was finally intimidated enough to sniff out new territory. Nothing like a bulky stoner standing out on the floor with arms crossed like Chief Kicks-Your-Ass to rid our little retail world of an ol’ crusty skittle-diddler.So this Bud’s for you, Oh Noble Dobermans of Pier One. You are the real American Heroes.
Actually, I have a bad habit of chatting and posting to other blogs/forums and neglecting poor Flen Flyys. So, I'll try to cross post as often as possible in order to keep my stats in check. Here's a not-too-incriminating post from a couple of weeks ago in response to the following blog:
http://austinist.com/2007/08/28/truesday_pushin.php#comments
And my oh-so-amusing, pretentious response:
Wow. This blog brought back such wonderful nostalgia from my own Pier One days (*sigh*...many, many moons ago), when I worked at the now defunct Airport location near Highland Mall (or the Mid-Town Spa bath house, whatever is your best point of reference). We never had a super-pooper, but we did have our share of crazies, and the gold medal went to The Wanker, a middle-aged man with a horrendous Grecian-for-Men dye job, who probably would have been a fantastic serial killer had he not been such a sad underachiever. The type of man who thought it best to served his country by periodically coming into our mercantile on an idle Sunday to masturbate. And not just some cheap rub-a-nub through his polyester trousers kind of masturbate, but a full on whipping out the turtle head and shaking it angrily at the world sort of yanker. I'm still mildly curious, in a purely academic sense mind you, as to what inspires a person to waltz into a store full of overpriced furniture soldered together by the bleeding hands of third-world children and think, “Hey, this would be a great place to start pulling my pud”, because from what I could decipher, he wasn’t ogling anyone in particular. In fact, I was led to conclude that Kiln rugs and batik napkins where amongst his list of turn-ons. The worst of it, aside from catching him flagrante delicto, was that he always attempted to mask his misdeeds by touching every piece of merchandise within reach…and one of us poor unfortunates would later draw the short straw to straighten up said tainted section, praying that our hands didn’t touch something sticky. This occurred at a time when our staff was mostly female. It wasn’t until we had a few of our own Dobermans on staff that The Wanker was finally intimidated enough to sniff out new territory. Nothing like a bulky stoner standing out on the floor with arms crossed like Chief Kicks-Your-Ass to rid our little retail world of an ol’ crusty skittle-diddler.So this Bud’s for you, Oh Noble Dobermans of Pier One. You are the real American Heroes.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Does anybody still read this?
So Peep Tarv called me out. Rightfully so. Long time, no post, guys, and I'm sorry about that. I’ve been vury, vury busy. Moved to some new digs, gots me a (hopefully) nice new job FINALLY, and am currently trying to balance some intense studying for my P&C certification test while reading the new Harry Potter book as quick as possible to avoid spoilage…because yes, I’m that much of a freak ‘n’ geek. There will probably be a nice spoily emo-rant when I‘m done. Fuck off!
In other news, they made me give four sets of finger prints to the FBI…because insurance is teh serious bizness!1!!! (No, really, that don’t fuck around. It's kind of creepy.) The upside is that I have a short commute. Go me!
I'll try to write a decent post once I get through all this licensing/potter crap. Tah.
In other news, they made me give four sets of finger prints to the FBI…because insurance is teh serious bizness!1!!! (No, really, that don’t fuck around. It's kind of creepy.) The upside is that I have a short commute. Go me!
I'll try to write a decent post once I get through all this licensing/potter crap. Tah.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Haikus! El Yea!
Yea, I promised to write a real blog post soon. Just let me recover from a weekend of moving all kinds of crap that I don't need.
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