I'm changing my name

Any suggestions? Something that doesn't sound graphically sexual without meaning to be, perhaps? Naming things isn't my strong suit. My dog's named Marge for Chrissakes. It's time for a change.

Me Want Food!

Good news. Tooty’s transplant was successful! With my laptop restored, I can tell you my story without having to sit in a chair like a human, which is annoying and frankly a little hoity toity for my taste. I prefer to sink into my couch like a sloth on a benzo binge --perfect  for my indolent finger tapping.

Blah, blah, blah, transition.

On Tuesday, I went on a juice fast where I consumed nothing but fresh vegetable juice, vegetable broth, water, and tea. A lot people do it for days or even months!!! at a time. I however, as a rule, tend to be very weak- physically and emotionally. I’m pretty much constantly on the verge of tears and shitting my pants.  So I figured 24 hours would be good enough to flush out whatever toxins have set up shop in my fat cells. If there are some left afterward, fine. I want them there. I’ll personally hand out t-shirts to them that say “I Survived the Fast.”  

But anyway in the morn’ I used my juicer to turn carrots and celery into an umber sludge.  Sucked it down like a motherfuckin’ Dyson and lazed in front of the wonderbox to watch a comely little wood sprite play doctor. Little known fact about Dr. Oz:  On weekends he flies home on the back of a ladybug to a hollowed out stump in the bosom of the Turkish forests, where he lives with his life-partner, Temel, an overly- emotional, sometimes jealous, but really very giving cricket who wears a bowler hat and plays the mandolin. 

After Dr. Oz, I finished up the editing I needed to do without further injury to the computer. I was sort of sluggish and thinking a lot about food, but that’s me every day.

I took my dog for a walk, which was fine at first, but when I got home I felt like I had power-squatted around the block, instead milling around with my shih-poo. When I got home I flopped on the couch, sort of like a dying fish, except one that’s given up. One that knows deep in its gills that life is ultimately meaningless, especially for a fish whose lot in life is to be processed and reformed, along with its brothers and sisters, into a perfectly square Filet O’ Fish patty. Where’s the Fishenstein family reunion this year? In my belly! Haha!  

Ok so I flopped on the couch like I was about to be made into crispy golden fish-toast.  I then closed my eyes and well, I don’t want to call it napped. It was more straddled the line between life and death. I mean dumpster babies get better naps. Let me explain, babies are notoriously bad at staying asleep. It would be like times a thousand if said baby was in a dumpster.

No. I’m not being dramatic. Seriously, withdrawing from delicious processed food (eg Toaster Strudels) is nearly as bad as withdrawing from heroin. Side note: I don’t know what eg stands for but I’m pretty sure I always use it correctly. Points for me!

I had so many aches and pains, I felt like I was a used Toaster Strudel icing packet. Get it? You have to squeeze the shit of those things. It would hurt. C’mon I know you know. 

So I was all achy plus I was starving. And I was sort of delirious and Oprah was on and she was shouting about Australia and so I decided to go to Whole Foods to buy veggies for vegetable broth. It turned out to be a mistake. I’d never been to Whole Foods but I shouldn’t have been surprised to find it full of yuppies staring at me with their slightly concave, overly white eyes that they have, whiffing past me with a self-satisfaction one can achieve only with producing shit that’s 100% organic, stiff anglo hands white-clenching their baskets, bird bones flush against sallow skin. Yeah I know I get angry when I’m hungry, but apparently also a little paranoid. I swear to Flax Seed that everyone was giving me frackin’ googoo eye. She’s not one of usssss. They were all whispering it like the healthy, judgmental snakes they are. 

Also. They had free samples.  Every where. Creamy goat cheese. Crunchy whole wheat crackers. I wanted to smash that shit like it was Rihanna’s face. Aw shit- little dated I know. I’m going to give Whole Foods another chance. I’m a lot more accepting towards humanity with some food my belly.

I was hungry and scared so I grabbed some vegetables and got out of there. I don’t exactly remember what I bought, but I wouldn’t be surprised if in reality I just went out into the alleyway and grabbed some old tires to throw in a pot. 

I let it simmer for an hour, falling asleep again for a bit. Anyway the broth was fantastic. Glorious even.  The best thing I’d tasted all year (besides toaster strudels). And so I was all sort of full of energy. I went to go pick up a friend and we watched movies and then that’s when it started. The coughing. Could not stop.

Awful bone-rattling tuburculer nonsense. Ridiculous. Phlegm everywhere.  And there was heinous pressure on my chest. It was incredibly difficult to breathe and when I did, it sounded like someone opening the screen door to an abandoned farmhouse.  

Good thing the movie we were watching was Stomp the Yard 2: Homecoming. I managed to get the gist of it over my body imploding upon itself. 

I’m pretty sure I got bronchitis. I could hardly breathe the next day and the coughing continued for a bit. The moral of the story is this: Don’t stop eating Toaster Strudels.  You might die. 

I killed my baby today

Oh phuck I am so sad. So sad I can't propery curse in my own blog. If I could slit my wrists and have them heal right away, I'd do it as an illustration of just how sad I am. Actually, no. I'm not that sad yet. I'll save that for when Taco Bell forgets to give my drunk ass the right amount of mild packets. I'm not drunk right now, I'm just usually drunk when I go through Taco Bell. Not like I drive drunk or anything, someone else drives drunk for me. Anyway I'm sad and now I want Taco Bell. And to be drunk. But I can't because I'm at work and I'm not sure what their policies are on drinking in the work place. They probably don't have a policy against blogging on the job but since I have access to a computer it's happening. If I had access to a bottle of Jack, well I just might brush my teeth with it- as part of my goal of being more like Ke$ha, which ironically forces me also to be more like P. Diddy. This is stupid. What you're reading is stupid. Written by a stupid, stupid person who is literally fantasizing about a baja beef gordita. Apparently I want to eat my sadness. I think it would be good with extra sour cream. Ok so this is what I did: I broke my computer. My new, clean white shiny Vaio. I broke it.

Let me explain. I don't want to spend nine milllion dollars on Micorsoft Word so I'm using the "free" version my laptop came with. Looking back, I should've just jacked it off the internets like I did with my Compaq. Anyway I was doing some editing for a friend and I was on the last page of the chapter, ok? The Last Page, when there was an error- an error that erased half of my changes.

So I did what any normal person would do, I strangled my screen. Not very hard. I just twisted it a little. I swear to the Laptop Gods that it was barely anything. It was like tearing a piece of paper in two. That's the amount of force I used. And then the screen made a gut wrenching cracking sound, like bones breaking and then the colors of my background image started to like, liquefy and run together and oh it was awful. My laptop was bleeding. There's no other way to describe it.

Why in the hell would you sell someone an extremely fragile device that makes them extremely angry? Is it like the gum manufacturers who make their gum to lose flavor so customers keep buying more? I know gum does not need to lose flavor that fast. It's a marketing scheme. You're telling me we can build rocket ships and MRI machines but we can't chew a stick of Big Red for more than 30 seconds without having to pop another one back in?

Sorry for the rant but this just happened. I'm still in shock. What should I do? Do I bury the remains in the backyard? Tie a brick to it and toss it in the Mississippi? I'm scared, guys. And I feel awful. I loved little Tooty so much. I just named him that. Oh no, the name makes it worse! Why Tooty? Why?!!!!

I took a pic with my phone of the carnage. But I can't upload it onto this computer and the mobile blogging thing isn't working. I like to have a picture in all my posts so.... here's this.

Yes, this is her back.

UPDATE

 I have to use a monitor from the 1800s and connect it to the laptop




Otherwise my screen looks like this

My compruder

This post was originally going to be about my pets, luckily for you the pictures I need for it are stuck on my phone and I can't get them onto my computer. So... instead I'm pretty much just gonna write about not being able to put pictures on my computer. I know, it's like the cafeteria is out of corndogs so instead you get fish sticks.

Just call me FS, yo.

I got a new laptop a couple weeks ago. I like it. It's sleek, white and small:  how I like my men. It's a Sony Vaio, the poor man's Mac. It's a lot less bulky than my old Compaq. It's faster and more efficient. It doesn't have a thick red line running  vertically down the middle of the screen, and it operates for more than two minutes in a row without the charger plugged in. In a word, it's better. Yet it will not recognize my android when I plug it in. I admit I'm not tectch savvy. That's how you spell it, right? All I know is that I need to put my pictures that are on my phone onto my computer. I plugged the phone into my Vaio just like I did with my Compaq, but nothing. I did some research and was told to check to see if USB debugging was turned on and that it was "mounted." Indeed it was debugged and ready for action, so what's the deal? There needs to be some sort electrical juices exchanged here. Do I need to play some Barry White? Toss some roses around the room? Is  my computer a prude or maybe just thrown off by the fact that my phone has had prior experience with a big black Compaq?

What if I'm at a bar and I see fat, drunk guy dancing? I need to be able tape it so I can transfer it to my computer to watch it full screen when I get home. Or what if I think I see Kelsey Grammer at a Quiznos? I will need to put that on a hard drive so I can share it with my grandchildren years from now.

I've been on some of the forums but it says stuff like this:





You’ll notice while USB debug mode is off that you can easily mount your phone as an external drive, enable (built-in subscription based) tethering, or just have it charge. With Debug mode on, you usually need to download/install an additional driver on your computer if you want to retain the same features.

Can't I just bang my phone against the screen a few times? Maybe some atoms or something will transfer. Something needs to happen soon. This is is important!

Let's Get Funky

Shits ahoy am I in a Funk. Capital F, Funk. Motherfunkers. Literally and figuratively. My last shower, I'm pretty sure was over 48 hours ago. My last coherent, intelligent, happy normal person thought maybe six years ago or so. Time means nothing to me anymore. I've been living off of canned soups and peanut shells. My funkiness has been stewing over a low flame for quite some time until  yesterday when  it culminated on an excrutiatingly bland mid-March Monday, gray with heavy wet snow and needle thin ice pellets. I slept until 2, took a nap, and woke up 10 minutes before I had to leave for work at 3:40. I didn't change, bathe, or brush my teeth. My eyes were crusty and yellow and my teeth, they were mossier than the north side of a tree... (that's a thing, right?) I think I put on fresh underwear at least, but I'm too weak for a smell test. The thing that bothers me most is my hair It's so greasy that it seems I have no more singular, individual strands so much as a giant protein based grease ball atop my head. Anyway this post is sort of an explanation for my lack of fresh material. I think I'm finally on the other side of the Funk Hill, (ew) So if you don't hear from me soon, please pray to Saint Dawn, patron saint of oil covered birds for my recovery.

Chickens Jackin' My Style

Thanks to Capricious Retch from Rants, Chants and Heavy Pants- Mad Ramblings of a Bored Midwesterner for awarding me the Stylish Blogger Award. Go to his blog and read the poop out of it.

Here's what needs to be done to keep the award:
1. Thank the person who gave you the award, and link to them.

2. List 7 things about yourself.

3. Pass the award on to 15 newly discovered bloggers that you think deserve it.

4. Contact them, and tell them about the award


So seven things about myself:
1. I battle rap babies.
2. I steal fries.
3. I have a Garfield fetish. (both president and cartoon cat)
4. I smell like money.
5. I spy on my neighbors.
6. I throw up in cars.
7. I do squats.

15 blogs I like. A number of them wouldn't give two soggy shits if I gave them a stylish blogger award so I'll contact who I want.  It's not like you can take my award back. You wouldn't want it anyway, I took it into the bathroom with me.

 Building Frustration
 Left Alone With a Full Moon
 Joseph Artica
 Drone
 What Were You Thinking
The Anything Place
Divided Mind
My Confusion Theory
Steam Me Up Kid
Yellow Trash Diaries
The Monster Apathy
Pearl, Why You Little...
Dehydration and Procrastination
Chronicles of Amber

Hyperbole and a Half

An assortment of updates, poorly organized

Sorry I haven't updated lately. I've spent the last few days feverish, drunk and lacking internet. Plus the fascists at Google shut down my blog, presumably for speaking the truth. I don't sugar coat shit, yo. But I repealed it so it's here again. You're welcome. I'm still sick so this post might even be worse than my last. My brain feels like it's floating, like it's on a raft maybe with a margarita, skimming its crinkled, gray, brain- fingers delicately into my skull juice. Get your fingers outta my skull juice, brain!

*******

Let's see. I have a lot of things to say. First off, I am officially a columnist! I get paid in admiration, not money so I still have to keep my day job. I'm writing for buenojoe.com. It's based out of St. Louis, you know the place in the midwest with the giant bent slab of metal...

This is where I'm from. I live in the very top of the arch. If you look closely you can see me in a window flipping of the camera. But Bueno Joe  isn't just for St. Louisans, it's for everybody. Even someone in Des Moines might enjoy it.

My First Post on Bueno Joe


   

*******

Another thing I wanted to say is that I had deep- fried bacon. With a side of country gravy.

Probably didn't help me, health wise.

 ********

Ok, it's the next day now. I feel better. Still a little coughy but out of the sick hole. Ew. Sick hole.
I spent the night at my parents the other night. Their idea of medicine is a steady stream of hot toddies. I love them.

********

I went to what is supposedly the world's largest pub crawl. It's at the Lake of the Ozarks. If you don't know what that is, think of Cancun for Missourians. I saw this guy there.

*********

Remember my Chicago posts? No? Well, fuck you! Anyway when I was in Chicago I got my boyfriend this ocarina from the Field Museum gift shop.

Cute, right? I thought so too. I figured my boyfriend would play it a few times and forget about it. Like he did with his harmonicas and his jaw harp

Jaw Harp

But for some reason, he has a sick addiction to this ocarina. He won't stop playing it. And there's not really much you can do musically with the thing. Or at least he can't. .... Actually he's an extremely talented musician.

On guitar....

Here he is playing the ocarina

In the beginning you can hear him say "I don't want this on your blog." Well too bad. Payback for making me hear this soul withering tune day in and day out. It is truly haunting, isn't it? In a really awful way.

And it is the only. thing.  he. plays.

Don't judge him on his ocarina skills alone. Go here and listen to his band, Damned Holy Rollers. He plays guitar.

********

I have to go to work now so I will stop typing. Sorry I'm really bad at transitions.

Bye