Itty-bitty-titty-committee

Hello imaginary friends! That title is kind of irrelevant. Which means it mostly to completely is. I love that saying, though. It is just terribly satisfying to say. I have a tiny notebook computer named the itty-bitty-computer-committee (aka, babybot). Which is as bad a name as the title of this post--but almost as relevant. All of this to say: Short Story Time! I want to come up with an alliteration that uses "anecdote," but it didn't really work. All I came up with was Abbreviated Anecdotes Anon (which sounds like there won't be any drinking) or Abbreviated Anecdote Hour (which really only works when spoken). So! In the absence of a real post (due to ongoing chaos), random short stories!

I had totally forgotten about this movie. As I recall, it wasn't fantastic--but it definitely had it's moments. Source

• I was gonna tell you that the reason the title phrase just amuses me but doesn't offend me was that I was never teased about having small boobs. But that would be a lie. I was just never teased using that phrase. I was the first girl in my school to get boobs (at around 11-12), and as a result was constantly teased about how flat chested I was. While at the same time the boys kept trying to touch the boobs they said didn't exist. People are confusing. Particularly middle-schoolers. They are also assholes. Particularly middle-schoolers.



This comes up on the first page of images if you google "middle school assholes." I think middle schoolers are evil, but hippos rock my socks. So I went with this. Source

•  When I was about 5 or 6, I got in trouble for some damn thing (it was always something) and my parents sent me to my room. I tried to argue with them, to no avail. I felt this was a terrible injustice. I brooded and stewed in my room, until finally I stormed out to the living room to give them a piece of my mind. I apparently delivered some wee tirade about my rights, only the conclusion of which I recall. I summed up my point by saying something to the effect of, "You can't just treat me like that! I have rights! I am a human bean, you know!" My precociousness was no match for the hilarity of calling myself a "human bean," and so of course my parents burst out laughing. Not realizing my error, this only enraged me further. My efforts to have them brought up on charges in The Hague were unsuccessful.



This is NOT what I MEANT! Source

• The only time I have been to Honolulu (it was just overnight, on my way back from Samoa) I had a very hung-over breakfast drinking a li hing mui margarita listening to the two prostitutes at the table next to me talk about the guy that got thrown out of a 5th story window that morning at the hotel where one of them was turning a trick that morning. Her nipple kept popping out of her shirt, and all I could think was that I would be really pissed if I was a prostitute and had to work the morning shift. I can't imagine it helps with tips.

This really was the sexiest (and most photogenic) part of the story. Source

• I ran a 5k Saturday morning, but then basically spent the rest of the weekend getting smashed on vodkarade and watching/hanging out at a bike polo tournament. I have to say, bike polo is kind of the balls.

Hopefully I will get around to finishing the post about the pimp I was drinking with later this week. But, seriously, who the fuck knows!? (Damnit. I need and interrobang. Where is an interrobang when you need one!?)

P.S. Speaking of interrobangs...THIS just makes me laugh too hard. I have done my fair share of "walks of shame," but I think having specific clothing for that really takes the fun out of it. I never really saw the "shame" in it, either. But I suppose if you make it a regular enough occurance that you need a special wardrobe...that is probably outside my area of expertise.

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... 

I get the impression my blog is inappropriate...

I realize I am a dork, but I can't help it--it's too much fun. So this is the latest list of searches that have led to my blog. Awesome. It's all naked sexpots and asshole tattoos here, all the time. Though I don't think I am going to be much help teaching people not to touch where the bathing suit covers, because bathing suits cover some of my favorite parts to have touched.


Anycow, I just thought I'd share--because it seems that if you are here, you sure as hell didn't mean to be.

Naked Scarlett Johansson in a bathtub full of bourbon

"He is more awesome that a bathtub filled with bourbon and Scarlett Johansson." I am pretty sure that was the sentence that did it. I was trying to explain how awesome Jsun is, and that was the first good metaphor that popped into my mind. Because bathtubs are the best place in the world, bourbon is the sweet southern nectar of the gods, and Scarlett Johansson is achingly beautiful (but also seems like the sort of person you'd like to get a beer and shoot the shit with...or sit in a bathtub full of bourbon with while you both drink manhattans and tell stories about the most embarrassing place/time you ever farted/dropped the f-bomb...you know, whatever).


A bathtub, sans bourbon and Scarlett Johansson source

(Though, and this just adds to my amusement, in my mind I thought I had written "a bathtub filled with bourbon and a naked Scarlett Johansson." I later tried to explain this to Jsun, so he would know just how much of a BAMF I find him to be, and he said the nudity was implied by the bathtub. I don't know about you but I have had clothes on in the tub--not to mention having been naked just about everywhere else--so I am not as confident that bathtub implies naked. It could just be that he spends more time inferring people are naked than me, I don't know. And this has gotten wildly off topic.)

Bourbon, sans bathtub and naked Scarlett Johansson source

Anycow, I was looking at my blog analytics a day or two later and discovered that someone had found my blog by googling "Scarlett Johansson naked." It just freaking made my day. Then Jsun had to actually google it to see where my blog came up, but after 4 pages he got bored. But I am going to assume google analytics wasn't lying. It just makes me wonder how many pages of results they combed through before finding my blog. They must have really wanted to see Scarlett Johansson naked. Though, I can't say that I blame them. I suspect my blog was a disappointment. (I didn't even SAY naked Scarlett Johansson. Before.) And now with this post, I will likely disappoint more people. So I should probably just stop...but it amuses me too much so I won't. But I also won't show you Scarlett Johansson naked. I respect her too much for that.

Scarlett Johansson, sans bathtub, bourbon, and naked source

P.S. Though using a popular search or celebrity is a pretty common SEO tactic, I totally wasn't going to do it until I read about it from my Aunt Becky--and while she may not have invented it, it is always more fun to give credit to people who tickle your imagination than to be a leper's dildo and pretend you live in a vacuum and never get inspiration from anywhere. But really what made me do it? I read that post and later that day found the search for naked Scarlett Johansson that found my blog. So, really? Not even my fault. It was fate. Or coincidence. Or whatever you want to call it. But it isn't my fault. And I call it Science.

P.P.S. What is the point of all of this? A) it is entertaining as shit how people find your blog sometimes, and B) I am tired because I am moving and packing and house repairing, but wanted to post something. I have some story ideas percolating, though.

P.P.P.S. C) A point? Really? From me? I think you are confused. I just say stuff.

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.