The Things That Are Wrong with This Picture

The Boyfriend and I have been doing pretty well about buying most of our food from the farmer’s market, but there are just some things you cannot purchase out of the back of a truck.  Like potato chips.

Well, I mean, unless the Lays’ guy is on the make.  But do you really want to get involved in back alley deals over snack food?

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Tease

I like to explain my relationship with my father to people who have never met him by telling them that he has only one emotion, and it is ANGER.  In fact, his reaction to everything is so ludicrous and over-the-top that although the following exchange has never actually happened, it very well might one day in the future.

Me:  Hey, dad, I got an A on my last paper.

Dad:  WHAT?!

Me:  Daddy, an A.  That’s a good thing, remember?

Dad:  Oh.  Yeah.  You’re right.  Congratulations!

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TMI, TMI, TMI

We are about to talk about blood here, folks–blood that comes out of your vagina.  Excuse me, WAGINA.  So if that is the sort of thing that bothers you, I’d say you should probably quit reading right now.

But if you are a woman would like to help shed some light on the mystery that is Aunt Flo, I’d appreciate it if you’d keep on going.

And if you happen to be under eighteen:  nothing I mention in here is sexual in nature–that is just not something I will ever get into on this blog–but if your parents are likely to FREAK if they see the word “vagina” on your monitor, you…might want to make sure they don’t see your monitor.

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I Don’t Know If I Even Remember How To Write These Anymore

But I’ll give it my best shot.

Mary Roach, Bonk

An irreverent exploration of the scientific study of sex.  If you’re looking for a serious critique of medicine/scientific research, this is NOT IT, but Roach makes plenty of good-natured digs about the absurdity of what she’s writing about (grafting baboon balls onto human men?  REALLY?). 

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For Samantha

A few weeks ago, one of my coworkers came back to the office after recovering from surgery. Since this gentleman had A.) JUST HAD FRICKEN’ SURGERY, OMIGOD; and B.) makes it a point to not eat anything “white” (meaning no refined sugar), my boss asked me to find the most disgustingly healthy muffin recipe possible. And bake it. And bring it in. And try to choke down the results without vomiting from all the VIRTUE.

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Sunday Afternoon Nap

Step One

Lay down on the couch:

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Public Service Announcement

Observe this disgustingly idyllic scenery:

Isn’t it gorgeous?  Almost makes you forgive Virginia for all the fucking humidity.  ALMOST.

Anyway, this is where I go to procure my fresh, local, and hella expensive produce every weekend (seven dollars for three tomatoes WHAT?).  I’m very fond of it, not least because the Boyfriend used to live around this area, and I have many fond memories of sitting by the lake, reading a book I’d just purchased at the used bookstore nearby and drinking a glass of lemonade from the cafe.

I told you I was a yuppie asshole, y’all.

Anyway, I love this area because it is like a little slice of Young Urban Professional Heaven, but dammit, people.  GODDAMMIT.  While I was at the lake last weekend, I caught this appalling nonsense on film:

In case you can’t tell because of the terrible picture quality (sorry about that), that is a TODDLER, being held by a GRANDPARENT while pointing at a GOOSE.

Guys.

GUYS.

Look.  I understand that a lot of people like geese.  I mean, they’re attractive creatures.  Check it:

I mean, yes, they’re lovely.  But there are two extremely important, extremely toxic issues here and the first is–I believe those are Canada Geese, friend, and this IS NOT CANADA.  Those lazy bastard geese hang around the lake year round, literally stealing the bread out of the bills of hard-working American waterfowl.  A native-born duck could be doing the same work, and should be.

Oh, and don’t blame global warming for this, people.  If it’s gotten so much fucking warmer, why don’t they just STAY IN CANADA?  Seriously, if Al Gore is to be believed, it’s got to be like Florida up there by this point.  There’s no excuse for this shit.

But I digress.

Issue one is patriotism.  Issue two is–HOLY MOTHERFUCKING SHIT, GUYS, GEESE ARE EVIL.  EVILLLLLLL.

I cannot count the number of times I have seen some clueless parent lead his or her unsuspecting infant towards a goose.  “Pretty bird!” they’ll say, encouraging the child to throw bread at the vile avian with a tiny, chubby fist.

People, I cannot say this clearly enough:  that goose does not want to play with your baby.  That goose wants to KILL your baby.

Geese are mean and treacherous.  I have seen them CHASE CARS.  A bird, CHASING CARS.  ON FOOT.  You’ve got to be a special kind of ill-tempered to run after something when you could just FLY AFTER IT.  But oh, they are that special kind of ill-tempered; in fact, they are so bad-tempered that the only excuse a grandparent has for letting a child point at them excitedly is if the kid’s learning how to recognize the enemy.  “Bad bird, bad bird!” that kid should be shrieking, but no.  It’s always “Pretty bird, pretty bird!”

Fuck that shit.  Don’t let them fool you.  And don’t train your children, your precious, precious children, to believe that they are anything other than malicious, freeloading shits.  Seriously.   Know the face of your enemy:

And always remember to bring backup, because those bastards travel in packs.

Finis

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I Am Just Falling Apart Here, People

I’d like to apologize for the fact that there’s been a distinct lack of book reviews up in this bitch.  Part of this stems from the fact that I am writing posts EVERY SINGLE DAY, OMIGOD, and I’m not going to lie—it’s pretty draining.  I don’t have a whole lot of emotional energy left over lately to take on anyone else’s magnum opus and give it the proper drubbing it deserves as a sign of my respect.

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Books and Movies That Warped Me for Life

I.  Born in Arizona/Moved to Babylonia

I have a long-standing fascination with Egypt and mummies; my mother, understanding this, brought home a book about King Tut when I was in the ninth grade.  One night, I decided to read it over a dinner of a nice, hearty beef stew.  All was well, until I got to the part where the author described removing the brain by inserting a poker into your nasal cavity and then just kind of…scrambling things about.

Suddenly, those big chunks of beef?  Yeah, all I could think of were BRAIIIIIIINS.

I still get a little queasy just LOOKING at beef stew, honestly…

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The Other Side of the Equation

Looking at Elisabeth Hasselbeck’s disturbingly tanned visage this morning, I was reminded once again of why I hate it when people ask me to “consider the other point of view” when it comes to social or political issues.  Meaning that I, the cracked-out liberal, should stop and really, deeply consider the socially conservative viewpoint.

What always amuses me about that is, well…y’all do remember that I grew up in the South, right?  In a small Southern town right next to a military base, actually.

From the time I was seven until the time I was eighteen—eleven straight years, my friends—I lived in, went to school in, socialized in, and was indoctrinated by a red state.

I got invited to tent revivals during high school.  No joke.

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