Science is spicy (Also known as, "Really, me?")

Spicy food digests easier. It's Science. If I eat eggs, I HAVE to eat hot sauce, or else I feel sick for hours. I prefer to chase that with some diet Pepsi, which I also believe helps kill the food in my stomach. If I have a nasty hangover, I can treat it like a pro: 2 ibuprofen and a glass of water, followed by a bloody mary or beer consumed with eggs, melted cheese, and LOTS of hot sauce. Follow that up with 2 hours horizontal in front of crap tv or movies and I am ready to drink take on the world again.

_______________________________________

Found this in my draft file. Not really sure how in the skull-fuck I thought this was going to be an actual post, as it is crap, pointless, and short....Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaand now I'm posting it. I blame it on the bossa nova rain moving. Honestly, it is like I am trying to scare away the few of you that are here. Sure, most of you are here by accident, but that's not the point.

Seriously, though. I am getting really curious: Could whoever is coming here after googling "the question" PLEASE tell me what the hell it is you are looking for? I could not be more curious. There is more than one of you. Or you are a creature of habit.

Okay. I am going to try to make this slightly less sucky with a 1-minute anecdote:

When I was about 10 my best friend and I were eating top ramen together. We were being silly and trying to make each other laugh. I thought I had totally won when I got her to laugh scalding broth out her nose, but then it was so funny that I laughed scalding broth AND a noodle out my nose. Which of course only made me laugh harder. Hurt like hell, though.

I will be back with real posts soon, pinkie-swear. In the mean time, what is the most awesome thing you have ever laughed out your nose?

This shit is gold. Or just shit. Whatever.

Still busy as fuck with moving and other insane life crap, but I thought I would share a glimpse with you of why you are glad you don't get emails from me. This is why:

[Actual email I sent on facebook yesterday. Except for the orange parts. I edited those. Because I can.]

Sorry. I suck at correspondance. It is on my list of things to work on about myself...but it hasn't made it to the top of the list yet. I am just a cad like that, I guess.

Thank you for the "no pressure" email. It's much better than a "put out or I'll never speak to you again" email. I've never gotten one of those, but I bet they're awkward as fuck.

I do not have an ANTI-tomfoolery policy. I am a big proponent of hanging out, having fun, and seeing what seems and feels right in the moment. In part that may be because when I make sweeping broad statements, I usually end up contradicting myself. (My god I am immature today: as I was just typing that, some part of my brain started snickering at "broad" "-dicting." Really brain? Penis jokes from that? Whatever.)

So why are you so all over the place lately? I gather it is for work, but I guess I did not realize you travel so much for work. Is this an abberation, or sort of the norm?

Do you guys know when you are coming down? No big deal, JSun and I just realized we didn't know.
Later, it was a seriously lack-luster conversation (on IM) with JSun:

1:10 PM me: Do we know when [innocent people who really shouldn't be subjected to my blog] are arriving/leaving?

1:14 PM JSun [who also probably shouldn't be subjected to my blog, but is not at all innocent]: nope

1:53 PM me: we should totally figure that out at some point...

2:10 PM JSun: yup.

So you can see, we are pretty up in arms about it. (What the skull fuck does that even mean? "Up in arms." It is weird how much shit we say that we have no idea what it means. Especially me. Or perhaps only me. I dunno. I find myself saying at least once, almost every day [in response to the question "what does that mean?" or, more often, "what in the hell does that mean?"] "how the hell should I know? I just say stuff." And it's true. And it almost bothers me/sounds like a bad idea...but not quite. It works for me. I just say shit and see what comes out. Like this message. Which is long and rambly and seriously tangential and rapidly approaching the "too long" point. It is probably already too long. But I'm not erasing it. This shit is gold. If gold were long rambly fb messages. I wish it was. I would be fucking rich. And this message would be an awesome gift. From me to you. So, in that awesome alternate universe where long, pointless email messagas are gold: You're welcome. And don't worry, I'm pretty gracious in that alternate universe too, so no need for a thank you note. BAM! Saving you time. And stationary. Point of fact: this is a run-on paragraph. Or, really a run-away paragraph. And all of it except for the first sentence is in parenthases. I bet you forgot. I didn't. Well, okay, I did. But then I remembered again. Because I am a bad ass mamma-jamma, and I don't forget close parentheses. Which is why I would make an excellent computer programmer. I am pretty sure that's all it takes.)

I think I am getting punchy and tired of being at work. Good thing I get to leave soon.

Yours until bacon strips,
Messy [How bad-ass is it that even my alter-egos have nicknames? Seriously bad-ass. Or seriously suggestive that this is turning into multiple personality disorder. Whatever. Potato, potato.]

And THAT, my imaginary friends, is why you are glad I don't email you. It's even worse if I've been drinking. Yeah...those people who contacted me on Craigslist about furniture I was selling probably didn't see that coming... 

Arson was a missed opportunity

I thought I might go ahead and make a lame-ass post explaining to my many imaginary friends, and the three real people, who read my blog why I have not been here. And why I am likely to be gone a bit longer. You see, I did a very stupid thing. I decided to move. I also decided to sell my house. (Of course buying the house was the first, and most, stupid thing--but that's another story. For that one I would have to explain that I have an ex-husband, and I bought the house to try and make him happy [shut-up, I know how stupid that sounds NOW], and he said he wanted out 2 months later, and honestly--the whole thing is just too fucking ridiculous. At least for today.)

Tirades about moving are ubiquitous, and no one runs around talking about the joys of cramming your belongings into boxes or finding mummified mini-marshmallows under furniture. (Of course they are under the furniture, mini-marshmallows are for throwing NOT eating.) I am nearing the end of my slog of misery, though. Everything is packed. Everything is painted. The heavy lifting is done. All I have left is some minor contract work to get some cleaning and painting done, and then it should be over. And this is bittersweet.

It is good because I can see the light at the end of the tunnel, but it is bad because I am so close I am beyond the point of no return. Arson is no longer an option. The time when it really might have been worth the hassle to set everything I own on fire and watch it burn while I toasted marshmallows has passed. (Again, toasted marshmallows are for setting on fire and launching like gooey, napalm blobs of sugary doom--NOT eating.) And while, ultimately, I am glad I took the non-felonious route--I still feel a little remorse. For one thing, I don't think immolating my possessions would have left me nearly as exhausted as I am now. (I literally had to call in sick to work the other morning because I could stay awake well enough to drive to work.) I also don't think it would have been as stressful. Sure, evading detection would be worrisome--but that is mostly passive stress. You can't do anything about it, you just have to wait and see what happens. As it stands now, I have this really annoying ache in my chest that I am 90% sure is just from stress. (Either that, or I am dying of heart attack brain cancer Ebola. One of the two.)

Besides, I think it could be fun to be a fugitive. AND! I have lots of insider knowledge that would help me out. For example, did you know that many jurisdictions will let you keep your own underwear in jail if it is plain white cotton? It's true. So if you ever think you are going to be arrested and booked, be sure you are wearing plain white cotton panties. That way you don't have to wear jail panties. And, really, are there any more terrifying panties than communal jail panties? No.

So there you have it. Your reward for listening to me whine is learning how to succeed in jail and what the scariest panties are. Edu-motherfucking-cational, bishes. I await your tuition check.

The Enemy Within

Apparently my brain is both bored and intent on torturing me. Do you ever find yourself thinking about something, but you don't know how or why, and all you want to do is make it stop but it's really hard to NOT think about something? Yeah, me too. Which is why I just found myself pondering what spots a person would troll if they had a fetish for listening to other people in public restrooms take a loud, sloppy shit.* Of course I immediately wanted that train wreck of a thought to stop, so I decided blogging about it was clearly the best solution. I'm still thinking about it, but now so are you. You're welcome.

P.S. Turning on email and mobile blogging may have been a bad plan. Facilitating my impulsivity rarely yields anything but shenanigary and mayhem.

*This relates to the FACT that if you can imagine it, it is somebody's fetish. And it is true. The most bizarre one I have heard that was substantiated and documented was a guy who liked to masturbate by rubbing up against road kill he had dressed in lingerie. This blog is terribly educational, in that it educates you about terrible things you didn't want to know. Welcome to my brain.

P.S. THAT's why you have to be careful in negotiations. With crazy people.

Okay, some background. I work a bajillion light years away from where I live. It sucks. I have to find a wormhole to get to work every morning, and I think worms are gross. I also have a job with rules that were crafted by sadists, and apparently some people think there is no such thing as too damn early in the monkey-trucking morning. Net result? I get up really early. Too early. Painfully early. It would be painful if I didn't stay up too late and drink too much. Both of which I do, so my drive to work is a time of contemplating the destruction of all mankind. (Okay, it actually isn't that bad. I kind of enjoy driving, and the drive is pretty, and it gives me time to think. And I don't really stay up THAT late or drink THAT much...at least not on school nights...but bitching and moaning is funnier that being happy-clam, especially with the judicious use of hyperbole. So go with it. Plus, it does actually suck.) I am just not a morning person.

Jsun, on the other hand, is a morning person. He, however, works within crawling distance of the house. He, also, can show up pretty much any damn time he pleases. Bastard. (I mean, I love him and all. He is more awesome that a bathtub filled with bourbon and Scarlett Johansson. But still.)

So this is the IM conversation we had this morning:

 JSun:  k, I'm at work..
 me:  Damnit. Why can't I work 15 minutes from the house and have a job I
        can roll into at 9:30?
 JSun:  Well, hopefully sometime soonish you can.
 me:  Someday, I'm gonna make my own job--and then? Some days I am
        gonna schedule SPECIFICALLY so I can get out of bed later than you.
        It'll be like a game of chicken, only with not getting out of bed.
        I'll probably be late. But that's to be expected. It is me, afterall.
 JSun:  don't you do that on the weekends?  except i want to get up?
 me:  Not the same.
        But yeah, that is kinda how it works. Which is why there is a
        negotiated "get up and do everything time."
 JSun:  I think we negotiated it for one day.
           I didn't realize I was negotiating forever and ever.
 me:  We can totally negotiate to move it later, if you want.
        P.S. THAT's why you have to be careful in negotiations. With crazy
        people.

So why am I tell you about the IM conversation we had this morning? Mostly because I suck at blogging and am kind of rambly and way too amused by myself. My EXCUSE however, is so that I can brag about the most awesome negotiation in the world. (Wow. I think my excuse is even worse than the reason. I am so winning this morning. Fo realzies.*)

On the weekends, JSun wants to get up--and by "get up" I mean get out of bed, go on a bike ride to Egypt, rewrite the tax code, build a pony, take a picture of the boson higgs, and then break for brunch while we decide what to do with the afternoon. And he usually starts wanting to do this around 7:30 or 8 in the morning. No shit. I, on the other hand, want to sleep until 10 or 11, then lounge in bed till 11 or 12, then leisurely mosey towards brunch, then maybe lay in the hammock while I figure out what cooking project I want to do that day, then stroll through the store, maybe have a cocktail (or 4), and make some tamales (or dumplings, or pie, or meatballs, or arroz con pollo, or whatever). By then it is booze o'clock and I have dinner and commence with evening debauchery. Clearly, there was going to have to be some compromise.

One way or another it was decided that 9:30 is a reasonable time for Jsun to wait until to get up, and in exchange I will go do a bajillion things all day. This is known as "get up and do everything time." Despite his claims it was CLEARLY negotiated for all time and intended to be observed throughout the universe. That part is good--but the by-product is even better. If he wants me to get up earlier, he has to use sex to try and wake me up. (Okay, he doesn't HAVE to, but it really is the only most effective means.) The net result is that I either get to sleep in, or I get laid. And sometimes both! (He gets kinda cranky if he lays me really well and then I try and roll back over and go to sleep, though. Who knew? Stand-up comedians had led me to believe that men find this to be ideal. What else might they have led me astray on...Maybe I'm not a freak because I hate shopping and don't give a leper's dildo** about shoes!)

Hmmm. You know, that wasn't as entertaining as it was in my head. To make it up to you I will show you a video that is so fan-freaking-taboulously cool it makes my mind hurt and share another stupid hilarious IM conversation I had with Jsun while writing this:

[talking about someone being "LESS GEEKY" on OKC]
 me:  That's unfortunate...I like me some geeky.
        Unless you are talking about the original meaning--then less geeky is
        good. I bet biting the heads off live chickens gives you bad breath.
 JSun:  Depends on if they are mint chickens.
 me:  That might be better. But I bet chicken mints make your breath worse.
 JSun:  BAGAWK!
 me:  Step away from the chicken!
 JSun:  I can't, the cock is attached.
 me:  Your cock is attached to a chicken? That must be really
        awkard for Q [his officemate]
        ...(you know, if he's in the office with you)
 JSun:  He's the chicken.
 me:  Wow. Now it's kind of awkward for me.

And that, in a nutshell, is why I cannot help but love him. (Must...resist...urge to make stupid jokes...about nuts...and shells...) Also, we usually don't talk about chicken so much. Except when we do, I guess.

*Yes. I know. It is a horrible, horrible saying. But it keeps popping out lately. I think it's like the hiccups. You just have to keep apologizing and excusing yourself and hope it ends soon. Maybe if someone startles me or I drink a glass of water while holding my breath it will stop.

**This saying just occurred to me...but I like it instantly. Because, really, who wants a leper's dildo?

Damnit. Now I feel all guilty for harshing on the lepers.

Some things just need to be said out loud, like "dick-nickle"

So I actually have two Sciencey thoughts I came up with recently.

1) I bet that crap about needing to brush your hair 100 strokes a day goes back to when everyone had those natural/boar bristle hair brushes. They are kind of awesome (my hair is super fragile and easily breaks with other kinds of brushes), but you have to give yourself a repetitive stress injury in order to accomplish the task of actually getting all the hair brushed and detangled. I bet back then, if you didn’t brush your hair 100 strokes a day you looked like a matted yeti. If you were lucky. That is totally Science. Yetis = Science. Yetis iff Science. I can go all day people. I don’t know why I would, but I totally could. Merry Christmas, I’m a freak.

2) Shit. I forgot. THIS is why it is useful to have an attention span. Thanks a lot TV. You’re a dick-nickle*. (I don’t know haven’t made up yet will explain later what that means. Suffice it to say, I don’t want to be called a dick-nickle, so I suspect it works as an insult. It kind of reminds me of ass-pennies. If you don’t know what ass-pennies are, you might want to spend some time pondering why you are so sheltered. I suspect that if you don’t know The Upright Citizens Brigade, unlike me you probably have the attention span to spend time doing things that would qualify as pondering, because you haven’t eroded what tiny bit of focus you were born with by watching exorbitant*** amounts of ridiculous—if awesome—sketch comedy. I can help you with that. And help you get the edge that ass pennies provide.****)

Upright Citizens Brigade
Get More: Comedy Central,Funny Videos,Funny TV Shows

*YES! That is how it is spelled. SCIENCE SAYS SO!**

**It is possible that I misspelled that on accident but took the attitude, “Fuckit. I’ll leave it, and then maybe it will add to the entertainment when I get around to making up explaining the meaning of it.” And it could have transpired that I then looked up “nickle” and discovered that it is an alternate name for the European woodpecker and thought, “Fuck yeah! A dick-woodpecker. That shit makes itself up!” Plus, I like saying “dick-nickle.” But I’ll only admit to that last thing.

***Holy crapknuckles. I have been saying “exorbinant” my whole life, but there is no such word. It is exorbitant. I feel like a bit of a dick-nickle now. But you know what is a word? Shitsome. I know because I just made it up. It is when something is kind of awesome and kind of shitty. Here, I’ll demonstrate its use in a sentence:
Writing this post was shitsome: on one hand I learned something new, but on the other hand I made myself look like a total dick-nickel.
This shit is educational. You should be paying me tuition right now. By the by, where is my cut of the pee-ramid profits? I’ll assume the check is in the mail. Thank you.

****By educating you about ass-pennies. I’m not gonna shove pennies in your ass for you. That would be weird. Plus it probably diminishes the edge provided by ass pennies. See educational again. You’re welcome, from Science.*****

*****This asterisk thing has seriously gotten out of hand. I think I got them all, though. There are few things that churn my butter (in a bad way) more than an asterisk in text without the accompanying explanation. I suppose I could write normally (as in, without all the asterisks), but I’m not sure I know how to do that—SO STOP BEING ALL JUDGEY AT ME! +

+I’m sorry I yelled. To make it up to you, here’s another video. This one is from Viva Variety, with my Cool-Ass Pal Johnny Blue Jeans!




P.S. Thanks to this comic I sometimes think of Johnny Blue Jeans as my Cool Ass-Pal. Which is just different.