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

Where the fuck are my chips and dip?

So you know that weird, hallucinogenic pre-dream phase-- when you're just on the verge of sleep, slipping  into a hazy, distant slumber? You experience those semi-dreams where you're balancing somewhat precariously on the tip of consciousness. Well, recently mine have been lasting longer and longer. I think it's mostly because I've learned how to determine that what I think is true and am experiencing, ie the semi-dream, is actually not reality and *poof* I'm awake. Like for instance, I find myself hanging out with the guy from Cake Boss smoking a jay in my high school cafeteria. It's over when I reflect for a second and think, hey this is odd...   Shit.

A dead give away is when your friends or family are your friends or family, but not really. You know? Or when it's your house, but it's a different house. Same old shit, Dreams. You know I'm onto you.

That must be why last night, as I was falling asleep, Dreams thought it could trick me by making me think I was eating chips and dip. It didn't work, did it Dreams? I actually woke up, chewing. Chewing nothing. Chewing air! Do you know how disappointing that was for me, Dreams? To think that I was eating chips and dip but then to be slapped by cold hard hand of reality... not cool.

You need to try harder, Dreams. I am obviously too smart to fall for your little pre-sleep trickery. I don't know what to tell you, but I'm tired of waking up five times before I fall fully asleep. Maybe I could dream that I'm dreaming? I can't tell you how to do your job though. Just get your shit together!

My face is frozen

Lately I've found myself wishing ski masks were acceptable cold weather wear.

When I take my dog on a walk, I'm completely bundled up: coat, scarf, hat, gloves. Everything is warm except for my face, one of the most sensitive and important parts of the human body. The treasure of the temple, if you will....you will, won't you?

The problem is this: ski masks are terrifying. Anybody who wears one is automatically either a rapist or a scoundrel. Sometimes both.

In college, I  worked at a video rental/music/book store, and once someone came in wearing a ski mask. My coworkers and I watched, mouths agape, hearts racing. Yes, mouths were agape, my friends.The masked man wandered into the cd section and browsed for about ten or twenty minutes. This is about the time when my life flashed before my eyes: Sunday dinners at my grandma's, summertime barbeques, me peeing my pants in second grade, the time I played Amped so long, my thumbs bled, etc. This lasted about a minute, as my life had been pretty uneventful.

 

When my life flash ended, I realized my coworkers had mysteriously vanished to the back of the store. I was working the register and was under no circumstance to abandon my post. If the store sinks to an apocalyptic watery depth, I would go down too. I would make sure you were able to rent the 5th season of Grey's Anatomy one last time before Jesus sends you to hell.

So I was alone, waiting for the murderer to work up enough guts to come and blow my precious face skin to smithereens. Like any good minimum wage worker, I kept working: organizing returned movies into different stacks of Norbit. (Norbit was very popular at the time.) I figured this would be the last thing I ever did on earth. I was resigned to my fate.

After a couple minutes of absorbed Norbit organizing, I looked up to see the masked man looking at me. There were several other people in line behind him--like it was completely normal for a ski masked man to be in a public retail setting with cash registers. He placed like five used cds on the counter. I rang them up without saying anything. My hands were shaking. He pulled out a crumpled wad of cash and when I handed him back his change, he said thank you. How polite of him.

I, and the line of customers watched him leave, after which they started observing how odd it was that a man dressed in a ski mask came into a store.

Yes, how odd. Because, usually when a man in ski mask comes into a store, it's not to purchase a pre-owned Pixies album. It's to steal all the money in the register and sometimes it's to kill you.

So even though I do wish ski masks would come back in style, I really don't, because like I said, they are terrifying.

So I have some propositions. What about a clear ski mask?

It's still creepy, but maybe a little less. No?

What about ski masks that look like your face?

The hair would be a wig attached to the rubbery face mask. Or cloth. I haven't decided yet. But there is a problem with this. If someone were to get a hold of your face mask, (which was custom -made to resemble the specific arrangement of molecules that form your special, special face) they could put it on and people would think it was you! They could go around doing a bunch of horrible things in your face mask, like walking around with no pants or offering to squeegee strangers' windshields.


So really, I don't know if there are any viable options at this point. Are we are destined to a lifetime of frozen cheeks and stiff, runny noses? It's 2011, people, let's get this figured out.

Why the gym makes me cry

I went to the gym yesterday in high spirits. I hadn't gone for a couple weeks, but I was gonna make up for that with single heart-bursting cardio blowout. I was gonna do more than burn calories, I was gonna do degrading things to them in front of their children. My blood was swirling with caffeine and blood-lust. I was on top of the world.

Oh, the foolhardy ego of youth...

It wasn't until I was leaving the ladies locker room that I  noticed the sweat pants I was wearing were the ones that were covered in oil paints from the "brown period" of my artistic phase. My pants were adorned with careless fecal-colored smudges, namely around the thigh and ass region.

But that was okay. Surely everyone would assume it was paint and not poop. I hopped on a treadmill to kick start my caloric genocide. Nearly a minute in, red-faced and wheezing, I shifted my gaze to my feet and noticed an inordinately long string hanging from my pants. It dangled freely below my knee, taunting me, daring me to trip over it. I tried to stuff it back in, even though I was acting directly against the law of physics that says a drawstring (x), pulled past a certain point (y), cannot return to any previous position.

I glanced  around the room to make sure no one was watching. I pulled the string.

I heard the mumblings of a conversation behind me.
I pulled the string more
And more. And more. And more.

AND MORE. 

The voices grew louder, and the string grew longer.

Just as I was about to surrender to an eternity of frantic string pulling, it came out.

The string had an end after all!

Next up were the weight machines.

This was the first time I had actually ventured toward the weight machines by myself. I really had no idea what to do. At first it went well. I  successfully tried two leg machines and a shoulder machine. I was getting pretty good at this. So naturally I thought, hmm...why not try the scariest one of all?

It was a back machine.  I had no idea how it worked. I don't want to talk about it.



Oh yeah, and when I was leaving to get my sweatshirt and keys, I walked into the men's lockeroom.