The Little (Search) Engine That Shouldn’t

I don’t know how you found me. Chances are, you know me and have heard me whining about how no one reads my blog (NO ONE READS MY BLOG!) so you clicked on it just out of curiosity, or pity, or maybe a little fear. But maybe you stumbled across it after typing something in to Google. Maybe you typed something COMPLETELY RIDICULOUS in Google and managed to find yourself here, in this twisted, whiny, bitchy little corner while I assault your eyes and brain with whatever is bothering and/or interesting me today. And maybe I like to read the list of search terms that WordPress keeps for me so that I can confirm that my readership at any given time is indeed the stone cold pack of weirdos that I believe you to be.

So I thought I’d share with you my ten favorite recent search phrases that somehow brought people straight here. I used to do this kind of a lot but that was back when I was blogging almost daily.

crazy bitch cashier coupon – The best kind of coupon!

turn laptop screen into disco light – Feed it to your puppy. That’s what I did.

what in space starts with f – Ha ha ha. Ha ha. Ha ha ha. I have some ideas. Wildly inappropriate ones. Also I think F is my favorite letter.

it has come to our attention that someone is stealing lunches from the refrigeratorWORST. EVER.

internal transcribe spacer resign of fungus – English is a second language?

fetal pig dissection bingo – Not your grandma’s bingo!

“Camden Gilman” – I don’t know the man but I hear he’s a real asshat. Also the fact that you can Google Camden and get my blog seems like some kind of epic win on my part. Good for you, Mere. Good for you!

stan lee’s harpies download free – NERD! Also, I love you. Let me know if you found it.

wasted space on my laptop – Most of you have that right now! WINNING!

sea urchins at petting zooVery Bad Idea. But good if you don’t want to pay for collagen injections.

time wasted by “reply to all”All of it.

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Jingle Hells Part II (The Streets)

Years and years ago (this blog is old), I posted a list of five of my least favorite Christmas songs of all time. While the songs on that list still hover around the bottom of my All Time Christmas Song Shit List (who knew there was such a thing?!), I would like to formally add the following. Please keep in mind that while I spend 11 months out of the year being a real Grinch, I freakin love Christmas. So in a way, it pains me that I’ve been able to come up with two separate lists of songs that are terrible. But at the same time, Christmas wouldn’t be perfect if it couldn’t give me stuff to whine about (*sigh* I love you, Christmas). Again, in no particular order, some of the worst songs ever:

5. Dominick The Donkey Lou Monte
WTFOMG I HATE THIS SONG. First of all it gets stuck in my head like whoaaaa bad. In fact, it’s probably going to be stuck in my head after this. Thanks a lot, BLOG. What is this song even about? Why does there have to be a stupid Christmas donkey? The reindeer can’t climb the hills in Italy? So what, dude, THEY CAN FLY. This is dumb AND I think a little racist. And what’s with all the wonky music and sound effects? Hate.

4. Baby It’s Cold Outside
I don’t understand all the love this song gets. Sure, it was featured in Elf, which may be the cutest movie of ALL TIME. There should be a fight to the death between Elf and Up! and the winner wins the title of Cutest Movie Ever. But I digress. People love this song, but have you ever thought about JUST HOW CREEPY it is? The lady wants to leave, mister, let her go. But nope, he’s gonna sit there and try to talk her in to staying, even though she’s basically telling him that people are gonna think she’s kind of a whore if she doesn’t go home. Plus her family’s going to be all worried about her.  And that whole “No means no” thing.  Does the guy care? NOPE. It’s a bit too date rapey for my taste. Just let the poor girl go HOME! Sheesh. Also: “What’s in this drink?” That would be ROHYPNOL. Ladies, if you’re on a holiday date with a guy that enjoys rocking out to this song, run, don’t walk, to a guy with less creepy taste in music. The official position of this blog is anti-roofie.

3. I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Clause
Mommy’s kind of a slut.

2. The Twelve Pains of Christmas Bob Rivers
I’m the only one allowed to bitch about holidays around here! Actually this song wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t so damn long. It could have been worse, I suppose. He could have written the Thirty Two Pains of Christmas, New Year’s, and President’s Day, but let’s all be glad he didn’t. But yeah, all the annoying voices, bitching in rhyme about crap that we all have to put up with around the holidays, and bitching along with the music for TWELVE WHOLE ROUNDS? We’re done here.

1. The Christmas Shoes
Still worthy of the Worst Christmas Song of ALL TIME about twenty times over. In fact, I could write a list of the TWENTY worst Christmas songs of all time and every single line would read “The Christmas Shoes.” I could write a worse song than this, but it would involve mutilated kittens and starving bunnies. And kids who don’t understand that Mommy needs MEDICINE, not a stupid pair of shoes. Even Dale doesn’t like this song. Y’all, Dale loves EVERYTHING. But this song pisses him off. Normally, I’d find that hilarious, but in this case YEAH, worst song ever. Also, it’s responsible for millions of kitten deaths every year. Because it’s the WORST CHRISTMAS SONG OF ALL TIME.

Any of my follow Grinchlings out there have anything to add to the list?

Driver’s Ed

Here is a bunch of things that you should not do if you find yourself driving in front of me.

Do not pull in front of me and then decide you need to clean your windshield.  Why yes you DID just spray my windshield with a fine mist of your own wiper fluid and whatever the hell you just smeared off your windshield.  It was gross, and caused me to clean MY windshield, thus wasting perfectly good wiper fluid (or water by now, I always just top it off with whatever I’m drinking when I notice it’s gone dry) and also causing the person behind ME to clean their windshield.  Did you really, truly, absolutely have to clean your windshield right then and there, in front of me, like a jerk?  No?  Then you suck.

When waiting at a red light in a turn lane after dark, it is not necessary to leave your blinker on.  This mainly applies to those of you who drive the giant behemoth SUVs and big boy trucks (which is most of my neighborhood).  I get it, you paid a lot for your fancy shmancy SUV with your weird little sticker family there on the back windshield.  I’m sure whatever top-of-the-line blinkers you upgraded to were worth the cost, in case you ever need to let someone 5 miles away know which direction you’re turning or if you’re ever called upon to lead Santa’s sleigh.  However, when parked at the light turning left in to the neighborhood, you can go ahead and turn off your blinker.  We get it.  It’s a turn lane.  You’re turning.  Use blinker to merge in to turn lane, shut off blinker, and turn blinker on when light turns green to complete turn.  EASY PEASY.  But instead, you want to flash your giant ass red blinking beacon in my face for five minutes, giving me a headache and making me have a seizure like those Pokemon kids.  I hate you.

By the same token, you geniuses with super ultra bright blue headlights aren’t much better.  Since this post is just about the idiots in front of me, though, I’ll save you for another day.

Don’t slam on your brakes.  I don’t care if you’re in the wrong lane, or Britney just came on the radio and you’ve got to text your friend because OMG REMEMBER THAT TIME WHEN WE LISTENED TO BRITNEY AND IT WAS TOTES AWESOME!, or if there’s a teeny tiny puddle in the road and you’re afraid of it.  Slamming on your brakes is a bad idea.  People can smash in to you.  I get that you have no sense of direction, dancing to Brit-Brit was so, so funsies, and there might be a shark or a black hole in that puddle, but be cool, don’t panic, and don’t freaking make me almost hit you.  Slow your roll.  Don’t stop it.

Don’t cut me off in your Super Slick convertible with the top down and your vanity plate that tells the world that you graduated from an embarrassingly expensive school an embarrassingly long time ago.  Because while you’re thinking “I look so awesome driving like a badass in this sweet ride,” the rest of us are thinking “Damn, that old guy is bad at driving in his mid-life crisis car.”

Don’t EVER let me see you throwing anything out your windows. I take it personally when people mess with Texas. Unfortunately, it isn’t legal for me to chase you at high speeds, honking my horn and screaming that litterbugs are actually the spawn of Satan, concluding my tirade by knocking off one or both of your side mirrors.  (Although I might if I see you toss a cigarette out your window.)  But I will memorize your license plate number and report you later. You don’t actually get in trouble, you just get a little “Don’t Mess With Texas” litter bag and a nice note asking you to stop freakin’ throwing crap out the window like some trashy moron (only nicer) but I like to think that would be embarrassing enough to make you reconsider the next time you decide your Sonic cup would look nice in the bushes beside the highway.

If you feel the need to drive 20 mph below the posted speed limit, just freaking stay home.  Nobody wants to creep along behind you while you occasionally press your foot down on the gas pedal with one hand on the wheel and the other holding your phone or figuring out your GPS or whatever the heck you’re trying to do.  Frankly, I don’t appreciate you putting my safety at risk but I’m actually more offended that you’re of legal driving age and can’t figure out your freaking iPhone.  And let’s just be honest: You can’t successfully drive the speed limit and update your Twitter status.  You’ll just have to tell your 138 followers that your coffee makes you happy in the morning when you get to work.

Of course, as with the Occupy Everything Everywhere Forever protesters, this is not necessarily an inclusive list and is subject to be amended or enhanced in the future.  But perhaps said protesters will note that at least this blog post has a cohesive message.  BURN!!!  Ok bye.

Project Redesign

Blog redesign!  Haven’t done this in a while.  Haven’t blogged in a while, and so far all of my attempts to get me writing more have crashed and burned in a delightful, smoldering wreck known as effing writer’s block.  It’s not just affecting my blogging.  It’s everywhere.  I haven’t written a single thing that wasn’t work-related in months.  And for lots of reasons, it’s slowly driving me crazy.

So, quick tour in case you’re new to this whole “internet” fad and you’ve never seen a blog before.  Everything that’s ever going to be posted on here will show up on this main page.  Things will also be categorized according to topic.  The categories are according to my favorite stuff: Food, Drink, Movies, TV Reviews and Everything Else.

I will be trying to post restaurant and bar reviews, recipes, drinks, etc.  And I’ll post movie reviews whenever I think about it.  I used to do “Movie Monday” movie reviews a million years ago when I was on blogger and they were a fun and easy way to start my week.  And right now, there’s nothing under “TV Reviews” but once the new TV season starts I’ll be reviewing a few shows for Examiner.com so I might as well post that crap over here too.  So yeah – if you just want to read about food-related stuff, click “food.”  If you’d prefer to read about movies, click “movies.”  Or just stay here on the main page and read whatever is going on up in here.  I should probably point out, though, that I haven’t really added a lot of category tags to old posts, so this is mostly a “going forward” thing.  Oh well, the more time of yours that I can waste, the better.  Eh?

The usual mayhem, whining, and idiocy of my life that used to be such automatic blog fodder will continue to fall under the category of “Everything Else.”  Because it really is everything else.  So there’s that.

The “shiny things” have stayed the same for like twelve years now and I have no idea how to arrange them or get them in any kind of order (don’t email me).  A lot of people are like me and only update their blogs once a century, so I might reassess what’s on there for now or add some more stuff later.  But they’re still shiny objects that can distract you.  If that’s what you’re in to.  Which I know you are, because you’re here.

Keep It In Your Pants!

Ok: so I’ve been pretty good about working out lately and I just have to take a minute and check in and ask what the hell do people think before they put on some of the stuff they wear to work out?  I do a lot of yoga, for starters.  And sure, there’s the occasional dude who wears a Speedo to a hot yoga class and while I find it a little odd, they’re usually more like tiny (teeny tiny!) boyshorts and less like tighty whities and they tend to magically stay in place somehow so I can kind of let it go.  One trend I’m not on board with, though?  Wearing a “workout skirt” to a yoga class.

Certain stores (*cough*oldnavy*cough*) suddenly started selling skirts that are meant to be worn while you exercise.  I’m sorry, unless you’re playing tennis, I have to ask: What the hell?  They’re these little mini skirts that have built-in matching briefs or bloomers or whatever sewn in underneath.  They’re ridiculous.  I can’t imagine ANY workout where I would be excited about wearing a skirt.  In fact, I’m a big fan of capris rather than shorts, but for me it’s more of a comfort thing than anything else.  And these skirts do NOT seem comfortable!

For some reason, there is a certain type of girl who likes to wear these little skirts to do yoga.  Let me just tell you, when you’re standing on one leg and pulling the other foot up behind your head while wearing a skirt, the poor people behind you can see stuff.  And don’t think those bloomers are doing much to protect your modesty.  You bought that skirt at Old Navy, remember?  The 5 cents an hour that they paid an eight year old overseas* to construct those little bloomers may have helped you get a deal on your kewl new yoga skirt, but 5 cents an hour does not pay for high quality work.  Unfortch, this means that the garment is not doing you any favors in the “covering your junk” department.  You seriously just flashed your Britney at a room full of people who already felt like dying a little bit.

So pretty please, friends, do the world and your workout buddies a favor and consider the type of activity you will be doing when you choose your adorable little workout outfit.  If it involves humidity, sweat, and a lot of bendy, stretchy postures, maybe don’t wear a skirt.  That is all.

*I have no affiliation with Old Navy and may have guessed a little bit about their business and production processes.  I think a lot more stuff should be made in America, but as Ron Swanson says: “Child labor laws are ruining this country.”

Right now, I live in God’s freezer.

If you are located in or have even one friend located in Texas, particularly south of Dallas, you are probably already painfully aware of this ridiculousness.  But y’all, it is FREEZING out there.  And you may or may not remember my lime tree?  I’m desperately trying to keep it alive.

So  this unacceptably cold weather blew in on Monday night.  I woke up Tuesday to temperatures were above freezing but already in the lower 40s.  COLD*!  So I decided that I needed to go ahead and do what I could to save the tree!  It’s still rather small and I don’t think the roots go down very deeply.  I went to the garage to try to find mulch to insulate the roots, but no luck.  I had a half a bag of potting soil, so I took it, a blanket, and some duct tape out to the backyard.  I was on a mission!

Ok, I have lived in Texas my whole life.  I played in a soccer tourney in San Antonio during a cold snap when I was about 8 and my hands got so cold that I nearly got frostbite.  I cried and cried while they warmed my hands back up after a game, it hurt SO badly.  I can run around outside in August when it’s 100 degrees and sunny but I do NOT do well in cold weather, at all.  It’s just not me.  So there’s my backstory.

It was freaking windy outside, so  I dumped the potting soil around the base of the tree while the dogs sniffed around, really interested in what I was doing.  Now for the blanket.  My dad said just to wrap the whole tree with the blanket.  No problem right?  Umm…well for starters, the wind was whipping the blanket all over the place.  The dogs were in my face, being jerks.  My hands, even inside their toasty gloves, were already cold and stiff.  I was losing already!

Finally, finally, I managed to get the blanket tossed over the tree, long enough to get the duct tape.  Turns out, it takes more duct tape than you think to get a blanket wrapped around a lime tree.  Oh, also?  Lime trees are POINTY.  So now I was cold, a little out of breath, and all scratched up.  FML.  But eventually, yay!!!  I got the tree wrapped up with a blanket and duct taped together!  I’ve actually never done that before.

I dumped a little extra potting soil on the sago palms and RAN back to the house, making sure that neither of the dogs (or I!) fell in the pool on the way.  Success!!  BUT THEN…!

I checked from the kitchen and the wind was catching the blanket like a sail and bending the tree waaaaaay over.  Like I said, it’s still a small tree.  It’s only had one fruit-bearing season and even then only produced one teeeeeny tiny little lime.  So as much as I didn’t want the tree to freeze, I also didn’t want it to snap in half.  I needed a way to brace it.  And then, LIGHTBULB!  I ran back out, grabbed one of the plastic lawn chairs off the porch, and put it on its side up against the tree with on set of legs on either side and the bottom of the chair bracing the 3rd side.  I win!  And it’s a brilliant solution!  But unfortch, my backyard now looks ridiculous.  And a little bit redneck.

Ok, a lot redneck.  But we have a lime tree!

* “Cold” to me is anything below 55 degrees.  But it’s been below 30 for two days now and the wind has been ridiculous and I know that to some people out there, that’s April, but to me, it’s hell.  And if you’re thinking “Mere could never survive where I live,” you are definitely not wrong.  And that is why I live here. 🙂

A Table For 4…For SEVEN!

Has it srsly been since October since I wrote here?  Jeez, this is ridiculous.  Right now I’m mostly just writing to write – I can’t think of too much ridiculousness that has happened to me lately.  When did my life get so drama-free?!

In housekeeping news, feel free to check out my new and improved list of “Shiny Things.”  In addition to fun blogs you can check out a trivia podcast that people swear to me is funny but I’ve never listened to.  So now, on to something stupid that happened to me this week.

SO, Kt has finished her OT degree and had to take her board exam this week to get her license.  She’s completely awesome, so I’m sure she did just great, but either way, we all knew we needed to celebrate this huge accomplishment by our awesome friend.  So we scheduled time for Friday night and let Kt pick wherever she wanted to go for dinner, drinks, and general mayhem.  Kt’s poor brain is a bit fried from cramming it with information and then brutally tearing that same information out of it while taking the test, so she had trouble coming up with ideas for a place to go after the rest of us got off work on Friday.  So she went with an old standby up north.

Keep in mind, this is a particularly popular Tex-Mex restaurant that is frequently super crowded, especially on the weekends.  So we expected to wait.  But it’s no big deal – we’re celebrating!  The Gebs (that’s Kt and her husband Mark) arrived between 6:30 and 6:45 and requested a table for 7.  Seven.  The number you learned to count to when you were three years old.  They were told by the hostesses that it would be about an hour wait.  No big deal at all, we figured.  The seven of us hadn’t been all together since we got back from our cruise at the beginning of the month, there’s plenty to catch up on!

So an hour comes and goes, and we don’t hear anything.  Then about an hour and fifteen minutes after the Gebs had originally gotten there, the buzzer goes off.  Yay!  But wait: they buzzed us to tell us that they don’t have a table.  Oh…kay?  I don’t know if this is policy or what, but it’s kind of like calling someone up when you owe them money and just being like “Hey…I still owe you money, dude.”  It’s not necessary.  We didn’t forget that we were waiting for a table, we’re hanging out right by the hostess stand, actively waiting for a table.  The hostess then brilliantly tells us: “We have a table for four.”

Sha-WHAT?  I’m not sure what she wanted us to do.  We could try to SQUEEZE seven grown-ass adults around a card table built for four.  Or we could have a death match and only the four who survive get to stay and eat.  OR four of us could sit and eat while the other three stand there, then we all switch places and the rest of the group gets to eat!  I’m still not sure how any of these are a solution, but I want to poke that girl in the eye.

So back to waiting.  Except we had all gotten up when the buzzer had gone off, so this really obnoxious woman with two horribly behaved children and an indifferent spouse had already stolen the bench where we were sitting.  So now we’re standing around, pretty much hovering over the hostess stand, not trying to be annoying, just standing.

Thirty more minutes go by.  Drinks are ordered and finished.  Seasons pass.  Tex-Mex starts to sound less and less awesome but by now we’ve invested nearly 2 hours of our lives in getting a table and eating a friggin burrito so we figure we might as well stay.  We located the tables in the restaurant where large groups of people were eating and we started sending mental “Hurry the f up!” vibes.  The buzzer went off again.  Hooray!

The hostess tells us she has a table for six.  Can we put a chair on the end for our seventh?  No.  So it’s a table for six.  Ok – I understand being a busy, popular restaurant on a Friday, but if you’re not going to have a table for seven, you’re just not going to have a table for seven.  Don’t tell somebody it’s going to be an hour and then make them wait two.  And honestly, offering a group a table that they clearly don’t fit at isn’t a solution at all.  And Ben, who had gone to the gym and worked out with his trainer, was in dire need of food.  He literally couldn’t wait and was ready to walk.

They told us they were calling a manager over to comp a round of drinks for us.  So the manager, who is totally nice and seems infinitely brighter than his host staff, comes over and schmoozes us for a little bit.  We’re definitely not sold on waiting any longer, free drinks or no free drinks.  And then, suddenly, as if by magic, the manager gets us a table for seven.  Which happens to be a table for six with a chair on the end.

So…WTF?  Two hours later, we are escorted to our table, all seven of us, with a round of free margaritas (Sprite for me).  What a weird freaking night.  And I was way too tired for post-dinner mayhem, since dinner didn’t end until after 10:00.  And it wasn’t even that we had to wait 2 hours for a table that irked me so badly.  It was the “solutions” that we were offered.  I srsly have no idea how any of those would have been better than just saying “We’re really sorry, but it doesn’t look like we’re going to be able to accomodate you this evening unless you want to wait two hours.”  To quote Ben: “I’m never coming to this branch again!”

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