Wednesday, February 27, 2013

These are not the turtles you're looking for. Move along.

Someone found my blog by searching "gerard butler and the house of unicorns" which I can only assume is some sort of pre-"hitting-it-big" porn.

Hmm. Excuse me while I surf the interwebz.

In other news, motorcycle accidents suck. Insurance companies suck. Lawsuits suck. And for some reason. lawyers seem to think they're entitled to information that has ABSOLUTELY NOTHING to do with anything. Like, what color were my socks six years prior to the accident, and do I still HAVE said socks? Why not? What effect did wearing/not wearing the socks on the night of the accident (in which I was not involved) have on said accident? And have I TALKED about the socks since then? To anyone?

Yes. It's that stupid. I'm unimpressed and this whole thing makes my head ache (if I thank the gods for ibuprofen and caffinated soda to help deal the headache caused by idiotic requests, do I need to report THAT to the lawyers?).

Last weekend we saw The Dropkick Murphys in concert. If you don't know who I'm talking about (WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU??), here:
You're welcome.

So, they were headlining at a casino "resort" (I use that term extremely loosely considering the attitude of the employees at the casino hotel, the general repair of said hotel, and the drastic uncomfortableness of the beds) in Northern Minnesota for an annual beer festival. Tickets were cheap so we were excited to go, and I swear other than the concert itself I was SO FUCKING ENTERTAINED by the crowd mix. You had your stereotypical casino-goers, your redneck parents who bring their 10-year-olds to the casino (for a beer fest...and punk concert), your hipsters (complete with ridiculous beards, flannel shirts, skinny jeans and attitude), college kids just there to swig as much beer as possible from shot glass sized cups, and your Murphys fans (tattoos, the occasional crazy hair color, kilts, piercings...and us).  

Oh. And the khaki-and-fanny pack-wearing crowd who were CLEARLY there for the prior year's headlining musical act: Trampled by Turtles. Yes. That's what I said. No, I'm not linking a video for you. You're on your own there, people.  

Since Husband still has a cane after his accident, we snagged a chair and hung out at the back of the ballroom (the rest of the crowd did not have chairs, although I'm fairly certain the hipsters didn't participate in the usual mosh pit so it's likely there wasn't much of one). The opening band was hard punk: the Trampled by Turtles fans next to us (also hiding at the back of the rowdy crowd) were horrified and confused, but they stuck it out, waiting for what they seemed to think was an Irish folk band.   They stood with arms crossed and cranky faces for three whole songs before the lot of them left, disgruntled.

Seriously, ALMOST as amusing as the amateur drinkers throwing up in trash cans and drunk dancers accidentally kicking people around them. I fucking LOVE the Murphys.

OH...and congratulations to Rowdy Ronda Rousey for KICKING ASS in her big UFC fight Saturday night. Which, of course, was on PPV the same time as the concert, so I couldn't see both. Dammitall. get her and Gina Carano in the octagon together.

No this had nothing to do with the rest of today's post, but NOTHING in today's post made any cohesive sense anyway, so I'm not sorry.

Monday, February 18, 2013

Yes Medusa, my hair IS trying to kill me (or: You won't like it when it's ANGRY)

The past few days have been a rollercoaster. Did you know I'm horridly susceptible to motion sickness? I wonder if I can get a prescription for an emotional-Dramamine-patch...

So, the highs and lows in my fucked up universe in a 72 hour period:

  • Had enough frequent flier miles to visit one of my most favoritest people on the planet, EVER SO CONVENIENTLY located in one of my most favoritest areas of the planet. And so I'm running away for a weekend in March to Seattle. "woohoo" does not cover the furiously excited tickle in my belly while I anticipate.

  • A friend I haven't spoken with (due to miss-meshing schedules, not any nefarious doings) somehow butt-dialed me and left a 3 minute long "message," in which I listened to spirited conversation between her and her 3 year old daughter. I am monumentally entertained.

  • Spent many tear-filled (my fucking eyeballs HURT, and I need a goddamned icepack) hours in emotional-stickymess-laden Arguments of Unusual Size. That was just...fucking FABULOUS. Really. Particularly the remnants that linger today. Sigh. There are times I think shaving my head and joining a remote mountain monastery would be a boon to my sanity.

  • Oh, and said hair (which would be shaved off by now had I not just spent more than I normally would on myself to have a lovely friend attempt to tame it) tried to CHOKE me to death this morning. A pre-sneeze gasp resulted in the hair attempting to wreak revenge (presumably for the abuse I paid for on Saturday morning when my fabulous stylist fixed the caterpillars above my swollen eyeballs AND chemicalized the unruly mop on my head).  Near-death gagging accomplished by snaking its way, all Medusa-like, down my throat.
Since it's apparently difficult to sneeze AND choke to death, my sinuses gave up. So, the cure for the impending allergy season is Medusa hair? Hmm...I'm sure there are a multitude of spit-or-swallow jokes to be made there, but frankly I'm still busy coughing.

Friday, February 08, 2013

"Because Beelzabub touched my W-2. That's why."

In the news today I found an article the perfectly describes why I have no patience for stupid.


As a non-Christian, I'm 100% certain I would not survive well in the deep south, even though I don't generally advertise my beliefs nor do I dispute anyone else's. But seriously? It's your fucking computer-generated auto-numbered tax information, dumbass. While there's probably an argument to be made that Satan is involved in taxes (particularly for IRS employees and tax accountants in the 1st quarter of every year), I'd think any entity with titles like "The Father of Lies" and "The Great Defiler" has more important things to do than fuck wtih YOUR W-2 forms.

I mean really, could you be any more concieted? Don't you think the Devil is far too concerned with Reality TV stars to give a shit about your taxes?

Because I require a decent contrast, this is why dogs are better people than most people. Although my dog is still pissed at me for making him naked, so it's possible he'd eat me amble away, possibly whistling all nonchalant-like.

And because it's Friday (and really what's better than a Klingon band and bellydancing Wookie...thanks YouTube!):


Monday, February 04, 2013

I don't have a problem...

In follow up to my post extolling the remarkable awesomeness of Cait's present, I need to point out the awesomeness of Zack. Who gave me a Witchking helmet ring, a knitted "zombie" coffee cozy, and this:

To be hung in my library/office. As a warning? Or an explanation...

Indeed, it IS perfect for me.

In other news, I managed to drop my toothbrush in the toilet Saturday morning. Ever have those moments where time slows down but you can't move any fucking faster? Yeah. I set it down on the sink. I promptly (in my normal clumsy manner) knocked it off said sink, and watched it flip in slow motion into the toilet bowl.

Stop judging me. I hadn't had coffee.
Of course I forgot to buy a new toothbrush when we were out causing trouble running errands this weekend.

Oh, I also tortured my dogs. I took them to the groomer (THE HORROR!). Because I'm fucking tired of the hairsplosion (the shepherd has been in mid-winter shed for 2 months, and he's already killed one vacuum). Thor thought the experience, complete with Furminator (which I envision as a giant robotic hair sucker that says "I'll be back" at the end of the appointment) was FABULOUS. He was all perky and excited when I picked them up, proud of his shiny coat and blue Petsmart kerchief.

Chewy was...less than thrilled. Great Pyrenees require daily grooming, and with the accident and everything else last fall going on I'll admit I'd gotten lax. He had some mats, and I opted to let the groomer just shave him instead of tormenting the poor dude with hours upon hours of de-knot-brushing.

Chewy is now naked.

I hate you Mom. I'm so embarrassed.


This coat doesn't even fit. My butt's cold! What's WRONG with you?
That was Saturday. He spent most of the day lying on the floor next to Husband, staring woefully at me with accusatory attitude and large, forlorn sighs. Luckily, biscuts have made things better. 

Friday, February 01, 2013

Well, I Suppose I Asked For It.

Someone found my blog today by searching for this: "how do I put a demon back to hell"

I think I won, but I'm a little worried what the prize would be in this situation. So I'm going back to regularly scheduled silliness. Like THIS (for which I'm unable to find anyone to credit, so if it's you let me know and I'll edit): which is now the background on my laptop.

Because it makes me giggle every damned time I see it.

Yes. Even now while I'm writing this entry.

So I went back to work this week after a lazy, utterly wasted, GLORIOUS month off watching Kevin McKidd on Grey's Anatomy.  It was a four week escape: sleeping, reading, movies, and hiding from the disgusting cold with the dogs. I'm pretty sure I made up for the two months of no-sleep-hospital-stress-extravaganza last fall.

Anyway. I'm back to work now, and my first day went as follows. It's not a typical boring first day (because honestly, why would I want to relive that shit if it was?).
  1. Sleep a total of three hours because even though I WORKED THERE FOR SIX MONTHS and it wasn't a "real" first day, apparently my subconscious is a stupid anxiety ball bitch who needs to make me spend the first day of every new endeavor sleep deprived and nauseous.
  2. Leave early enough to stop for gas, coffee, and a bank deposit before 8am.
  3. Bitch about the injustice that the Wells Fargo drive-through window doesn't open at 7am (the one by my house does, goddammit!).
  4. Park a full 20 minutes early. Note, this is nearly an hour earlier than I would NORMALLY go to this job (again, I'd been there six months before getting hired on full time, schedules are flexible at the company, and most people I work with discover quickly that I'm not worth talking to prior to 8:30am anyway).
  5. Fuck around on Facebook, Twitter and email in my car. Because waiting in the lobby for 20 minutes is just dumb.
  6. Wait in the lobby for 20 minutes anyway because traffic was bad that day.
  7. Say hello to multiple co-workers who don't understand why the hell I'm not just going up to my desk (no security badge).
  8. Boss arrives, we go up to the new team area (they moved to another floor on my last day).
  9. I have no laptop/phone/etc. Boss follows up with IT while I'm in HR doing obligatory passport/ID paperwork and I9 stuff.
  10. Return from HR at 9:20.
  11. SENT HOME FOR THE REST OF THE DAY because IT won't have a laptop for me until Tuesday, and I'm fired there's nothing I can do without it.
  12. Go car shopping with husband. Buy a new (to me) truck. Because what else should a grown woman do on her first day of a new job but go home after an hour and buy a new(ish) car, right?

FYI: I got a laptop Wednesday, which really just means I get to surf the interwebz until I have a project. But I actually love this company and this team and I'm looking forward to working there.

Until I win the powerball.

Or, learn to put a demon back to hell. Apparently that's a needed skillset.