What the fuck ever, motorolla
Okay, so, if I try to send my husband a text message calling him “sexy,” after I put in “sex” and I’m waiting for the “y,” it auto-fills in the word “sextant.”
Who in the hamsterfucking wart-encrusted blue fuck is going to say sextant in a text message?
The first definition of sextant is:
an astronomical instrument used to determine latitude and longitude at sea by measuring angular distances, esp. the altitudes of sun, moon, and stars.
It’s hard for me to even imagine a fucking sailor would send that word in a text message these days.
“Arr I can’t find me sextant, or I’d be right there.” And then they’d look down and notice they had no cell signal in the middle of the goddamned ocean.
Maybe Captain Licebeard shouldn’t be texting while sailing, anyway!
a unit of angular distance equal to 60 degrees
Is more likely to be used, I suppose.
“Hey honey I’ll be right there as soon as I turn around this sextant bend.”
In that case I also say, don’t fucking text while driving, you assface.
The word fill in feature of my phone is so very rarely useful, and as in the aforementioned circumstance, a source of bewilderment. I suppose this is also because very few people aside from me regularly spell out every word, and use non-words like friggin’ in their text messages, but I have a feeling more people use friggin’ than use sextant. Just a hunch.
The virtues of predictability?
People often feel their lives are boring and need to be spiced up when it becomes routine. They feel their marriages are stale, their lives have become a cyclical series of the same events day in and day out, they just need a Corvette and a trip to Africa or something!
I however, enjoy the routine my husband and I have settled into. We go to our respective places of work and school, come home and eat dinner, play video games and discuss world affairs, enjoy some cuddle time, perhaps watch a movie, go to bed. Every Saturday we go out to eat. We meet with friends to play board games on occassion. We don’t do anything particularly exciting, but we enjoy what we do even if there’s not a whole lot of spontaneity involved.
The most spontaneity I really want is, “hey, let’s go mini golfing” on a day we didn’t really have anything planned.
My husband and I were watching Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind the other day (which is a good movie, one of my favorites), and the main female character, Clementine, is extremely spontaneous. I said to him, “man I’m just about the opposite of her, I’m not at all spontaneous!” to which he replied, “neither am I. We work out that way.”
So, mini golfing, okay. Breaking into someone else’s house and drinking their booze, not so much!
We’re risk adverse, we’re boring. Whatever.
I guess if I thought my life had to be like a romance movie I’d hate it. Then again I’m sure the couples who live happily ever after in a romance movie will eventually settle into a routine of TV watching, farting and beer drinking. I guess those couples are the subject of awful post-marriage fighting couple movies like Christmas with the Kranks.
You know what else the stimulus costs more than?
This morning, on the Today show, which faithfully coaxes me out of bed every morning so I can escape its inanity, Palin’s 2012 competition for President was on flapping his gums about Obama’s address last night.
Look, it was already silly when the comparisons of “if you spent a million dollars every day since Jesus was born you couldn’t spend that much money!” were bandied about. I do think what I heard this morning takes the cake, though.
Apparently, the stimulus package costs too much because it’s more than the Louisiana Purchase.
The bleedin’ Louisiana purchase! Are you kidding me? Warren Buffet probably spends more on a toilet paper roll than the cost of the Louisiana Purchase. Maybe he was accounting for inflation, but I doubt it considering you could probably buy a house for a thin nickle wafer back then and the fucking Louisiana Purchase was fifteen fucking million fucking dollars. Without accounting for inflation, this amount is laughably paltry. Being a fifteen millionaire will only buy you a small army of Lamborghini Murcielagos. Ben Roethlisberger makes more in a year than the fucking Louisiana Purchase cost. I bet Dick Cheney’s basement bunker cost more than that. I googled to find sites which account for inflation, but they are fraught with commenters saying the methodology is flawed so I will continue to believe not only do we really not know, the comparison is still fucking stupid no matter what because this is a stimulus package and not a Louisiana Territory.
I don’t claim to know if this stimulus package will be effective, or if it’s too much money, but I sure as hell would like to see a better argument in opposition other than “look at the big number! Look, I said the word Jesus! Look, you could buy a thousand hookers and fifty pounds of blow every day during your life for this amount!” for sure. If it takes a big number of Jesus money to keep us all from fighting for road kill in the middle of pothole-ridden, deserted, post-apocalyptic streets, then I don’t give a shit how many necromancers could raise Jesus from the dead for that money, really.
More on chimps, whatever
Okay it’s funny that I was ranting about chimps as pets the other day, and then watched a documentary on various monkeys last night. The former had nothing to do with the latter, that just happened to be what was next in ye olde netflix cue.
Anyway, I think anyone who wants a chimp or a monkey as a pet really needs to watch some nature documentaries about them first. Not touchy feely ones either, I mean the ones that show everything. EVERYTHING. Their dicks constantly waving around, the brutal beatings and murders of group members for seemingly no reason, honestly they aren’t cute. If you wouldn’t want a gun-waving three year old with no concept of laws in your house, you wouldn’t want a fucking primate of any sort, trust me.
I’ve already beaten that subject to death–wait, that was probably a poor choice of metaphor, sorry (or is it idiom? It’s too early in the morning for anything resembling an English class). I’d just like to say–man I love nature documentaries. I could watch baboon fights all day.
It also got me thinking–humans, the top-o-the-heap creature, sure evolved from the ugliest and crappiest of what earth had to offer. Yes I realize that thought isn’t scientific at all, but it’s fun to think about what it’d be like if it was some sort of parrot people or big cat people dominated the earth rather than great ape people. I really sound like a furry now, but maybe the smarter an animal is the uglier it gets. Pygmy marmosets are pretty damn adorable, but by the time you get to chimps it’s like, watching these animals commit gang murder and trade chunks of monkey for sex–well it’s enough to make a nihilist outta me.
My theory about humans trading poop flinging for money and alpha males for CEOs is totally true. This is not going to help me when I listen to someone argue about social order for whatever reason (usually by using religion as an argument for why I should be religious) and I start thinking about a shit flinging bonobo, for sure. Maybe the only good response to such postulating is to start howling and beating my chest and throwing feces.
Go Captain Obvious, go captain obvious, it’s your birthday
So, while my husband and I were out last night, we saw a giant penis mobile 4×4 doolie truck parked sideways backed into a space. As we passed it, my husband said,
“That truck has a bumper sticker on it that says ‘terrorists suck.’ How cute.”
“Oh wow,” I laughed. “How profound.”
“Why not make a bumper sticker that says anal cancer sucks?”
Then the conversation became about Farah Fawcett, but the exchange got me thinking. Maybe there’s a huge, untapped market out there for bumper stickers that state the obvious. I mean obviously the creator of “terrorists suck, the bumper sticker,” has tapped into this market, and years back the creator of “mean people suck, the bumper sticker,” but maybe this could go even farther.
Maybe people really would purchase “anal cancer sucks” bumper stickers. Maybe there could be a whole line of bumper stickers saying obvious, non-controversial things like “babies are young” and “oranges have vitamin C.”
Maybe I’m taking the wrong tack with this. Maybe there is a market for people who want bumper stickers that say “Terrorists are awesome” or “Anal Cancer is a Joy” or “Fuck the Troops” or “These colors DO run” or “I hate my grandkids.” That’s the real untapped market. Bumper stickers that say stuff no one on the road (except for perhaps a few select loonies) fucking thinks. Bumper stickers for people who love the way a freshly-keyed car looks. Bumper stickers for people who think driving on flat tires is economical. Bumper stickers for people who are both passive aggressive and suicidal.
If only it weren’t for these pesky internal organs I’d be PERFECT
I freakin’ love this blog post about choosing to be fat.
I think everyone of all weights should really ponder this at least a little bit. I “choose” in the same way to be the weight I’m at. I probably eat more than many people much bigger than me and less than many people smaller than me, in an effort to satiate my desire for sustenance and maintain caloric intake for the purpose of remaining alive and having the energy to learn, but holy hell there is so much pressure for everyone not to be who they are.
I’ve decided recently that I want to eat more healthy foods, but I don’t want to hear “you don’t need to lose weight” or other inquiries regarding how much weight I want to lose from anyone. I know it’s inevitable because I’ve gotten those inquiries before based on what I’ve ordered in restaurants, even if I just happen to feel like eating a salad that day. I guess back then I didn’t know what to say–but now I’m more prepared.
No, I’m not on a “diet,” I’m just trying to eat food that’s more nutritious. I still plan to eat until I’m satisfied, I don’t plan on feeling hungry and annoyed because I didn’t eat enough.
I got thinking about this a lot more after some people I know started a joint diet thing–and many of the people desiring to diet were taller than me and weighed less than me. I’m “normal” according to the BMI, for what that’s worth (not fucking much), yet that isn’t nearly good enough for anyone. It always takes me off guard a little bit when I realize pretty much everyone around me is striving to retain hunger pains no matter what they already weigh. I can’t imagine one could not be totally miserable and eating ~900 calories a day. There’s this “nothing tastes as good as thin feels” narrative, but I disagree. I’d say “nothing feels as good as actually having a damn ounce of energy once in a while,” or “nothing feels as good as perpetually dissapointing male law students who wish the school’s female population was the cast of Baywatch.” Hahaha fuck you dudes, every time I wake up and fail to put on mascara, I think of you and laugh. But I digress.
I don’t think anyone should view refraining from eating when one is hungry as an accomplishment. I wish people would not assume that everyone needs and wants to lose weight. I’m weirded out every time someone comments on my weight–I think I’ve mentioned this. I’m particularly annoyed when people say I look good or something for having lost weight, especially considering I haven’t lost an ounce in at least six or seven years.
I guess word to the wise for anyone who thinks you get to stop playing the game once you’re “BMI normal,” you don’t. For everyone who buys into the “you’re a trained seal who exists for the entertainment of others” idea, there will never be a point where it ends and you finally satisfy “them,” you know, the ubiquitious they who can’t mind their own business and care so much about how other people look. You can just keep getting thinner and thinner into perpetuity and everyone around you will be glad there’s less of you to take up space, but unless you get early osteoporosis and grow a fine fur, there will never be a point where it’s enough and you can finally stop. Well maybe that’s not true, one day when you are two dimensional and slip through a crack into the bowels of hell, your friends will take a good, deep breath and appreciate the extra oxygen they have.
I really need to think of something more happy to write, I freakin’ swear.
