Tag Archives: science

Big do-ins like for humans

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And such it is that we are all consenting adults in this house, and we have set upon a solution: the DVR. It came in the afternoon, and Henry, the installer, even left us an extra remote. We can all sit on the couch and hold a remote, captain my captain, even the cat. It is important to feel powerful. These remotes will no doubt stop other acts of bullying. This way I can watch America’s Fattest Fatties and all the Top Model I can cram down my gullet without regurgitating, and Mr. H can watch Nerdistar Nerdlactica or whatever. Picture in a picture, bitch! Look, it’s Santa Claus, and he’s holding a Coke bottle with Santa Claus on it. It’s turtles all the way down.

So the first thing I think I recorded was the Martha Stewart talk show, but maybe I just watched it when it was on. I have no idea. I fast-forwarded it and rewound it, and then I had to have a yogurt because I was hungry. That is a thing to do if you find yourself hungry. My tip is free from me to you. Martha made Larry King frost a cake, and he didn’t know what a dollop was. Yeah, right! As if he never ate a dollop of lard right out of the jar. The man’s had heart attacks, for chrissakes. Next week Martha is planning to have Kate Moss on to discuss garnishing a plate with powdered sugar.

I want to be on that Martha Stewart show so badly. I write them every day, telling them about whatever trumped up talent I can think of. I feel certain they would like to have me and all the fat kids on the show, and then I will trick the fat kids by making a cookie recipe with applesauce instead of pork fat, and they will cry, right on TV. And Martha will laugh, because I am sure she does not like fat kids any more than Anna Wintour does. She should have Anna on that same show, and they will practice sealing envelopes with only disapproving thoughts.

Punish me with disk failure and a plague of larvae

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Meine Festplatte ist tot. Or something like that. I know not what I say. Really. I have taken up with some local Germans, and I have learned to ask their baby if his Trousers are stinky. It is all I can do to not ask people that same question in the checkout line, on the train, at Best Buy. Ja!

On Friday, I got a cold finger of fear down my spine, so I backed up my system, and then whaddya know, ker-flunk. Now, hulk not lose any data, and hulk always buy Apple Care, so no big deal. Except Apple no send for laptop until Wednesday, and then laptop stay in sunny Cupertino for another week. What? Hulk not have time for Wednesday! Hulk have to synergize. Hulk have to write in online journal and not balance checkbook due to dependence on online banking. This not happening to hulk!

So hulk go to Apple store and get Mac Mini and cute matching back-up drive for temporary use and future storage. Hulk mutter like Andy Rooney about how old Wallstreet powerbooks so much tougher. Why, hulk stand on, sit on, roll joint on, spill wine on…. For good measure, hulk get cinema display and CS2 upgrade. In for a penny, in for several thousand more dollars. The world ending anyway. Hulk draw line at getting new bag from Banana Republic. What is hulk, a monster? That bag made from animals!

And the larvae. You can’t show a larva crawling in my cabinets in the first scene and not deliver a pay-off. OK, last week, Mr. H opened the cabinets to get some cereal, and there were moths and larvae all over the place. I want to blame the sack of bulgur wheat, but that would be profiling. We threw out all the food not in cans or jars and sprayed toxic chemicals all over the kitchen. At least Mr. H did, I slept through the whole briefly inconvenient ordeal.

Now that I think of it, between the larvae and the Festplatte, there was a trip to the hospital. Hulk literally made of teflon, like Dick Cheney. Try harder.

Same time tomorrow

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This crappy website simply could not exist without our vast network of spies, also known as Revenue-Optmized Partner Affiliates. We learned today that someone in an office somewhere is handing out candy bars doctored to read “HERESHEIS” to announce the birth of a female child. What does one hand out for a male child? NUTRAGEOUS? I thought the birth of a child was celebrated by tying the child up in a burlap sack and heaving it off a pier, but I learn something new each dew-freshened day. My friend suffers from new child ownership, and it seems all children want to do is eat and sleep. What spite! Enjoy it while you can, li’l buddy. Here sheis indeed. Alles was ich zu meinem Geburtstag bekommen habe war dieses scheiss T-Shirt.

We at Vomitola have recently realized the need to breed a team of strapping farm hands to see us through the coming apocalypse. Ideally they will also shoot lasers from their eyes. We have our Zellwegers, but they are not keen on heavy lifting. They prefer to eat ice cream and run up the phone bill. The trouble is that I am not keen to birth a child myself. It seems so last century. Mr. H did find a promising development: New Harvest – Advancing Meat Substitutes. Surely this can be adapted to humans. It’s about time, Science. I’ve been waiting for you.

Today in cats: there is just no pleasing them.

The head gasket and how it blew

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Oh, you don’t want that to happen. No sir. First the o-rings pop out, see, here, and then we have to cut this out of the main line, and I’ll just need these plastic bags to wrap it, yeah, sure, like a grocery bag, I’ll need… three’s good. If you hear a hissing noise, just ignore it. I’m not supposed to do it this way, but I didn’t have the right tool with me. Haven’t seen one of these things happen in five years. This’ll be two in ten years. I’ll be back tomorrow. Who could have known?

I should have killed the HVAC guy when I had a chance, two months ago. Now he’s trying to kill me. I think it’s a different guy, but what does it matter at this point? Oliver? Why is it doing the names in our bedroom? You can’t plug a two in with a six.

This just in!

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Recently it was brought to my attention that women are using the technology, including the computer! Did you know women use the computer? For a while I used a graphing calculator when I took a few years of calculus. I think that was technology, but I’m not sure. I also use a flat iron and a microwave on a regular basis. And I am pretty used to using the computer since I’ve done it every day since I was about twelve, but sometimes I like to stop and think about all the other fly ladies out there using the computer. For instance, my mom can use the computer, both instant messenger and email. I taught her how to cut and paste using only keyboard commands. That’s hot. She even attaches things to email. She can also use a table saw and a post-hole digger, but that’s like technology a monkey might use. Old school. My sister uses the computer. She’s also hot.

Some women use the computer to know about their periods and their lady mucus and stuff like that (Fertility Friend, OvuSoft). Some women use the computer to buy shoes (Zappos.com). Some women use the computer to plan their weddings (TheKnot.com, Indiebride.com). Some women don’t even have boyfriends, but they use the computer to look at pictures of engagement rings, and they use the instant messenger to send links to their other single friends. Some women eat oatmeal for women. That has nothing to do with the computer, but it’s still for women. Some women use online banking so they can make sure they didn’t spend too much on shoes.

Women are always talking and talking and talking, so of course they like blogs. They like to tell you about their hair and their periods. Ewwwww! Women think they are so funny. Some women are fat, and they use the computer to talk about that (3 Fat Chicks on a Diet!). And some are skinny, and they use the computer to look for pictures of Angelina Jolie to put on their fridge so they remember to throw up their Kraft dinner.

Some ladies are lovely shades of tan and chocolate (Brown Bloggers), and some ladies are plain pink (me, you can see my veins so easily). Some ladies live in countries outside of America! They don’t even talk English, but they still use technology. I have seen this while on vacation.

Some ladies have kids, and they like to talk about them. They are called mommy bloggers. Some have a huge boner for breastfeeding, and some are all “breastfeeding, no thanks.” Some of these ladies may use Craigslist to find a nanny. That means they are straight up bitches, because who would let someone else raise their child? Ladies use technology to snipe at the choices of other ladies. This is called the Mommy Drive-By.

Some ladies want kids real bad but can’t have them easily, so they are infertile bloggers. But through technology, some of them go on to have kids. Wow! Some women just use the shit out of technology.

Sometimes the ladies like to step away from the computer, say to buy some douches and have brunch and catch a matinee of Must Love Dogs. If they do that, they can always take their cell phones. We ladies don’t want to miss when we might be ovulating. You can ovulate during brunch! If that happens, close your legs tightly and breathe into a paper bag.

Personally, I’d probably skip out on Must Love Dogs. I catch all my Diane Lane movies on planes. I watched Under the Tuscan Sun on a plane ride to Japan, and it worked to put me to sleep. Technology again. Can you imagine: there are ladies flying though the air right now, some of them even ovulating. I used the computer to get those plane tickets too. It was so hard, what with the clicking and the typing. And I had to pay for the tickets, with money, from a job. I found that job using the internet. Lucky! My job was to make food dance on the internet, via technology.

And now back to getting married and pregnant, because that’s all most ladies think about. You might need a dude for that, so you can use technology like a digital camera to take a picture of yourself and put it on a website where you tell a man that you’d be in Paris if you could be anywhere right now. And that is code for the man to remember to pick up a rose at the gas station before he comes to your house to bang you. Because Paris equals romance! He probably used Mapquest.com to find your house, but that’s OK, because technology is old hat for the gentlemen. They are so good like that.

After all your banging, if you think you might be pregnant, the internet can even give you a pregnancy test.

Whoa, sometimes the world just gets so overwhelming for a lady that all I can do is apprise you of the ferociously itchy mosquito bites on my toes. Now I have to take a break from using technology to get in my car and drive somewhere and use my debit card to buy something. While I am doing that, I will probably text message some people. I just found out you can do that. I will feel guilty about using oil to power my car. Stay strong while I am gone. I still love technology, always and forever.

What the Duff?

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Today Vomitola.com is closing early for birthing. Boil some water! Didn’t I tell you I was secretly 9 months pregnant? No, I’m just retaining fluids. Stop looking at me.

I just got my friend’s call from the hospital, and it went something like “ow! ow! ow! motherfucker!” So off I go to attempt to be soothing. I bet I can calm her down to “ow! ow! cocksucker!” in no time. A little aromatherapy is all it takes. I have even packed the emergency morphine-filled bon-bons.

I really hope the Oompa Loompas have a special song for when they bring out the baby.

brain in a jar, that’s the life for me

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Whoa people, you don’t want to know what’s been coming out of my head lately. This is the sick that just won’t quit. It’s the time of the year when I start obsessing, thinking I must have HIV, oh why oh why did I ever do those things with all those sailors? Then I realize “ohhhh, I get ragingly ill every single year at this time, and every year I convince myself I have some dreadful auto-immune problem.” I have this sick schedule down. First we start off with a cold in October. Then the first two weeks of December are a total wash with some sort of strep-like thing. Finally, things cap off in January or early february with a bout of bronchitis. Sure, one year I bucked the trend and got pneumonia in November, but really that was just to get out of going to the symphony. I had an assignment to review a performance of some Mahler, and damned if I didn’t end up getting to review Being John Malkovich instead. Make up work, boo yeah. Lower culture, holla back.

Speaking of culture, I read a book. It happens. It was pretty good, even with all the Writing. Middlesex. I am sure Sofia Coppola has already optioned it. I shed a wee tear at the end. One little detail just absolutely killed me. No, I’m not going to tell you what it was. Freaking read it, then maybe we’ll talk. It’s got Detroit, it’s got incest, it’s got hermaphrodites, it’s out in paperback. What’s not to like?

That brain up there really is mine. I used to volunteer for any medical study involving an MRI in college. I love x-ray vision. I’ve been thinking a lot about what a bummer it is to be human meat. I’d totally go for being a brain in a jar, except then I couldn’t play at being attractive on weekends. Although the MRI tech did say I have lovely, perfectly formed ventricles. I have another shot that shows them. They look just like butterflies.

-xxoo

President Doctor Evil

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Just what we need, a manned base on the moon. Someone alert Astronaut Jones at once!

“”You’ve got the Chinese saying they’re interested — we don’t want them to beat us to the moon. We want to be there to develop the sweet spots,” Republican Senator Sam Brownback says.” Got it. Gay marriage is the new Communism. Asians are the new Russians. The new season of Queer Eye is all about turning straight men into clones of celebrities. Week 1: David Bowie. Week 2: Moby. Week 3: Adam Curry?! I’m hip to the jive.

Personally, I’d get more use out of a clone than a space station on the moon. Clone, go to work for me. Clone, go to the bathroom for me. Clone, administer to my mate, he had a rough day. Oh Clo-one? I could use some more scalloped potatos. Out of the box, just like I like ’em.

Confidential to the two co-workers on vacation while I sit at work rather peaked and weary: First one — I already coughed on your keyboard, or possibly your door handle. You too have a 50-50 chance of dying of rabies now. As for the other, I spread a rumor that you are off attending a FurCon. I keeeeed. Just making sure you’re paying attention. I would never ever do anything like that. Or would I?

-xxoo

Well, I swan

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This morning Mr. H shellacked my quaint old Carrie Bradshaw PowerBook with a slick coating of Panther.

“They’re going to run out of cat names soon, huh?” I said. “Jaguar, Panther, what else is ferocious? Puma?”

“Um…Tiger?” said Mr. H. “They already used Puma. I think the next one’s going to be Tiger. And then they could do…what’s that one that’s like a mountain lion but out west?”

Cougar-Mellencamp, dear. I guess there’s always Cheetah and Lion. I would hate to think Apple would have to stoop to something like Tabby or Ocelot.

I hope they go with a solid regimen of dog names for the next incarnation. Dingo, Hyena, Chihuahua, Melvin, Goblin. Or dinosaurs. I’m always partial to the velociraptor.

Then I logged into iChat and found that my usual icon was magically replaced with a pink lipstick smooch on a white background. They did it for me, all for me! How did they know? So I went to the Lisa Frank site for old times’ sake. Yup, still scary.

But even the dastardly Ms. Frank could not have orchestrated the wedding I went to yesterday. Don’t get me wrong, I like the happy couple. But I would have fired the DJ on the spot. The guests were each forced to take out a dollar, hand it to their “table captain,” and pass the wad around the table to music. Then the lucky soul left holding it was impelled to dance around the table, passing it to the person in front of them when the music stopped. Finally, the ordeal ended, and the “captain” was awarded the centerpiece (which involved a pumpkin), and all the captains descended en masse to the head table to shove the dollar bills down the bride’s top.

-xxoo

Sit right back and you’ll hear a tale…

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Yes, dear readers, a tale of depravity, rapine, and even VOMITOLA….

I will begin by noting that I am in an upright position today, and rather puffed up with pride about the whole affair. You see, boys and girls, I had what is known in the business as a “sinus and middle ear infection.” That means my head was filled with a noxious goop from stem to stern, and my doctor had a moment of mirth making me try to move my eyes to follow her little light pointer (I turned green and could not oblige, as a simple head moment could have spelled spontaneous spillage!).

So the upshot is that I have a variety of medical miracles at my disposal. I was bucking for an MRI, but I seem to have netted some antibiotics and some anti-nausea stuff which works great except that it puts me to sleep within minutes. So I should have another ten minute window here, do pardon me if I trail off!

And I must say, who knew that 2 days off from work could be so interminably boring? Actually I also left early on Monday as I started dry heaving everytime I looked at the screen. I felt really bad about leaving too, because people had to do some work I was trying to finish. Anyway, I walked home through the Public Garden in kind of a zig-zag pattern. There weren’t any cabs in sight, and I figured barfing in the garden would be nothing new for me, so why despoil the T? I made it all the way up to Louisburg Square. I don’t know how familiar anyone is with that area of Beacon Hill, but it’s sort of a really lame answer to Gramercy Park. There’s about a 30 square foot area of fenced in trees and grass, and some plum parking spots. Only people who live in the nice houses right there may touch the fancy foliage. So of course that’s where the dry heaves took me over!

After that, I teetered back to my house. At least I didn’t get arrested for holding onto the wrought iron PRIVATE fence. An attractive older British fellow asked if I was OK. I wanted to assert that I was not simply a drunken prostitute (a – I was not carrying an umbrella b – we were nowhere NEAR the docks)…but all I could do was mumble something like “mrphhh yeah….”

At any rate, I return triumphantly, er, sort of. At least the room stopped spinning! I think my dr. was disappointed I didn’t have menningitis or something sexier. Thanks to Lambchop for brilliantly holding down the fort in my infirmity. Maybe I should give her Power of Attorney too! Although she’d probably just sign me up for a bunch of magazine subscriptions or government studies.

Also, I exhort you all to make use of the services of Kitty Winn! She’s a firecracker, she’s a pistol, she’s a former Miss Omaha. As you can see, her advice is top-drawer, just like her rack.

xxoo