I don't know what's more idiotic -- naming your kid Adolf Hitler, or pretending that you're not a bigot after you've done so.
If that house goes up in flames soon, I'd like to point out that Pittsburgh is way the hell on the other side of Pennsylvania. However, with gas prices so deliriously low, my alibi would be about as weak as his claim that he's not a piece of crusty scum oozing from a particularly badly infected asshair of humanity.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Thursday, December 04, 2008
it's the musical version of my thoughts exactly
I would have just linked to this, but the incessant chittering of retarded monkeys in the forums ruins the experience.
So, enjoy.
So, enjoy.
See more Jack Black videos at Funny or Die
Friday, October 31, 2008
just in time for halloween: something truly scary
Frankly, she just doesn't compare to Jeff Goldblum. But then, who does?
I'm of course talking about Sarah Palin's remake of "The Fly," in which she disses...well, pretty much all of science while attempting to talk about earmark spending. The scientific community is a little too polite to say "Fuck you, you ignorant bitch," but then, I'm not a scientist.
My dad is, though. He's a biochemist and professor at the University of Pittsburgh. And he's got some colleagues around the world who, in addition to being pretty cool, are so smart that it kind of makes me want to cry. Like Jerry Coyne.
Because I grew up in a house with a scientist, I'm sure I have a little more insight into the way research works than the average person. Certain people (dumb ones) like to deride science (personifying it as though it's a sentient being, which makes me want to stab wildly in all directions until I hit something) for seemingly wacky experiments. But as is explained in the linked article above, (seriously, read it -- it's not long and it's well-written) these "wacky" experiments are how we gain insight into, um, pretty much everything.
A few years ago, my father went to Norway to collect a specific type of jellyfish in order to conduct research on its venom. Oh, how hilarious -- hanging off the side of a boat in Scandinavia with a net! And I know it does sound pretty funny. If it weren't being done for the purposes of research, those would be the actions of a crazy person.
But the point of this research is to develop a drug which will be a powerful pain reliever that won't have any of the side effects associated with drugs like morphine, et cetera, in that it will relieve pain while leaving the patient fully alert. If you've ever seen someone you love lying in a hospital bed doped out of her mind, you can understand how much this research is needed and how much of an impact it will have on people's lives.
The next usual thing people say is something along the lines of, "Then why do we have unnecessary things like Viagra if all research has such important intentions?" Because that's not how drug research works. No one set out to invent a boner pill. It was originally intended as a treatment for hypertension. It just happened to have a certain side effect. And those researchers were, how shall I put this -- not stupid. Although given the frequency with which I am subjected to Enzyte commercials (which are the same thing as Viagra, in case anyone's wondering) I kind of wish they were.
I'm not claiming that every single research endeavor intends to or has the possibility to change the world. And many an experiment with noble intentions has fallen flat or had horrible repercussions. Just think of all the horror the planet has endured as a result of the creation of the atomic bomb, the least of which being world leaders who can't pronounce "nuclear."
Just because something might sound strange doesn't mean that it is. So maybe if you aren't in any way associated with any branch of science, even peripherally like I am, you should probably consult with somebody who understands these things before you embarrass yourself.
In conclusion, and happy Halloween:
Seth Brundle: If secondary element is fly, what happened to fly?
Computer: Fusion.
Seth Brundle: Assimilation? Did Brundle absorb fly?
Computer: Negative. Fusion of Brundle and fly at molecular-genetic level.
I'm of course talking about Sarah Palin's remake of "The Fly," in which she disses...well, pretty much all of science while attempting to talk about earmark spending. The scientific community is a little too polite to say "Fuck you, you ignorant bitch," but then, I'm not a scientist.
My dad is, though. He's a biochemist and professor at the University of Pittsburgh. And he's got some colleagues around the world who, in addition to being pretty cool, are so smart that it kind of makes me want to cry. Like Jerry Coyne.
Because I grew up in a house with a scientist, I'm sure I have a little more insight into the way research works than the average person. Certain people (dumb ones) like to deride science (personifying it as though it's a sentient being, which makes me want to stab wildly in all directions until I hit something) for seemingly wacky experiments. But as is explained in the linked article above, (seriously, read it -- it's not long and it's well-written) these "wacky" experiments are how we gain insight into, um, pretty much everything.
A few years ago, my father went to Norway to collect a specific type of jellyfish in order to conduct research on its venom. Oh, how hilarious -- hanging off the side of a boat in Scandinavia with a net! And I know it does sound pretty funny. If it weren't being done for the purposes of research, those would be the actions of a crazy person.
But the point of this research is to develop a drug which will be a powerful pain reliever that won't have any of the side effects associated with drugs like morphine, et cetera, in that it will relieve pain while leaving the patient fully alert. If you've ever seen someone you love lying in a hospital bed doped out of her mind, you can understand how much this research is needed and how much of an impact it will have on people's lives.
The next usual thing people say is something along the lines of, "Then why do we have unnecessary things like Viagra if all research has such important intentions?" Because that's not how drug research works. No one set out to invent a boner pill. It was originally intended as a treatment for hypertension. It just happened to have a certain side effect. And those researchers were, how shall I put this -- not stupid. Although given the frequency with which I am subjected to Enzyte commercials (which are the same thing as Viagra, in case anyone's wondering) I kind of wish they were.
I'm not claiming that every single research endeavor intends to or has the possibility to change the world. And many an experiment with noble intentions has fallen flat or had horrible repercussions. Just think of all the horror the planet has endured as a result of the creation of the atomic bomb, the least of which being world leaders who can't pronounce "nuclear."
Just because something might sound strange doesn't mean that it is. So maybe if you aren't in any way associated with any branch of science, even peripherally like I am, you should probably consult with somebody who understands these things before you embarrass yourself.
In conclusion, and happy Halloween:
Seth Brundle: If secondary element is fly, what happened to fly?
Computer: Fusion.
Seth Brundle: Assimilation? Did Brundle absorb fly?
Computer: Negative. Fusion of Brundle and fly at molecular-genetic level.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
you don't have to be crazy to volunteer for mccain, but -- my mistake; you actually do
So the big story in Pittsburgh right now, other than Santonio Holmes getting busted for driving around smoking a blunt, (which subsequently led to the most hilarious local news item, which was old white men attempting to explain what a blunt is) is the psycho McCain volunteer who carved a backwards B on her face, gave herself two black eyes, and then filed a false police report accusing an imaginary black dude of mugging her, assaulting her, and then carving up her face. The B apparently was meant to stand for "Barack." Apparently the story was picked up nationally -- McCain and Palin both spoke to her over the phone. Obama issued a supportive statement. And I said, "Bitch, please."
So did a lot of other people, including detectives with the Pittsburgh city police. Today they announced that it was in fact a load of bullshit and that the woman is in fact crazier than Richard Simmons in that yogurt commercial. And all the surprised people gasped in unison at the Invisible People Convention, currently under way downtown, which was the reason the imaginary black dude was visiting in the first place. I hear his keynote address tomorrow night ("Life at Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends: My Post-Susan Smith Non-Existence") is going to be excellent.
I'm really sorry that this woman is so profoundly out of her gourd -- especially this close to Halloween -- but seriously, why would anyone make up this story? I've hated a lot of politicians, but I'd never concoct something so ridiculous. Then again, I'd also never carve a backwards letter into my face for three reasons: because I much prefer "The Crucible" to "The Scarlet Letter," (check out the last line in the first link) because I am not a frothy-lipped lunatic, and because I spent a lot of my childhood writing backwards messages in wintertime car windows. At least go with a letter that works both ways, like, I don't know... an O. Which would have made more fucking sense for like thirteen trillion reasons. But as my mother has said to me on many occasions, you can't expect an insane person to do anything in a sane way.
In conclusion, McCain's locked up the extremely important crazy white bitch (18-25) vote, but who knows how many of them will make it to the polls, given that these imaginary criminals are still at large.
PS: For those of you who aren't from Pittsburgh, Santonio Holmes is a wide receiver for the Steelers and is not imaginary, though he will be invisible during this Sunday's game.
So did a lot of other people, including detectives with the Pittsburgh city police. Today they announced that it was in fact a load of bullshit and that the woman is in fact crazier than Richard Simmons in that yogurt commercial. And all the surprised people gasped in unison at the Invisible People Convention, currently under way downtown, which was the reason the imaginary black dude was visiting in the first place. I hear his keynote address tomorrow night ("Life at Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends: My Post-Susan Smith Non-Existence") is going to be excellent.
I'm really sorry that this woman is so profoundly out of her gourd -- especially this close to Halloween -- but seriously, why would anyone make up this story? I've hated a lot of politicians, but I'd never concoct something so ridiculous. Then again, I'd also never carve a backwards letter into my face for three reasons: because I much prefer "The Crucible" to "The Scarlet Letter," (check out the last line in the first link) because I am not a frothy-lipped lunatic, and because I spent a lot of my childhood writing backwards messages in wintertime car windows. At least go with a letter that works both ways, like, I don't know... an O. Which would have made more fucking sense for like thirteen trillion reasons. But as my mother has said to me on many occasions, you can't expect an insane person to do anything in a sane way.
In conclusion, McCain's locked up the extremely important crazy white bitch (18-25) vote, but who knows how many of them will make it to the polls, given that these imaginary criminals are still at large.
PS: For those of you who aren't from Pittsburgh, Santonio Holmes is a wide receiver for the Steelers and is not imaginary, though he will be invisible during this Sunday's game.
Monday, October 13, 2008
bigots don't read, cosmic lemons, and this one's for the grandkids
I checked my email just now and saw a note from the HRC telling me it's been 10 years since Matthew Shepard was murdered. A decade. In some very important ways, the GLBT community has made critical strides toward equality. But by no means are we equal, so by no means are we done. And if this anniversary marks anything other than a specific tragedy, it's that we still have a long way to go. But we're getting there.
I was a sophomore in high school when he died. That makes me feel both young and old. Especially when this hasn't stopped. You'd only have to scroll back a few months in my blog to see a video of Ellen DeGeneres talking about another young boy who died because of someone else's ignorance.
It seems we only address the issue of hate when something horrible happens. And this isn't limited to the GLBT community. When was the last time any of us had the Jena 6 in the forefront of our mind? Because equality is equality. Maybe that's part of the problem.
At 3:30 in the morning, I don't have a solution to offer America on my blog. I don't think it'd get there anyway, and besides, I'm preaching to the choir. I don't think "God Damn It, Amanda" attracts a silent readership of bigots. Then again, bigots only read one book, a book designed to make people better people. So clearly their reading comprehension levels are a bit low.
I was talking with my mother yesterday about her mom, who just turned 82. She was born in 1926 in rural Virginia and went to college during WWII. And I realized that when my grandmother was born, women had only had the right to vote in this country for six years and going on two months. And now my grandmother is witnessing this election. (And voting for Obama, by the way.)
My great-grandmother was born in 1888. Her parents lived in the south during the Civil War. They had slaves. (Which is a whole other discussion that makes me want to scrub my genes with some sort of disinfectant.)
Then we got to talking about my father's side of the family. I don't want to give the wrong impression -- neither of my parents are racist. But my paternal grandfather was an old-school bigot of the first order. He had some nice qualities about him, and those are the parts of him I remember, because he died when I was 5. I've always joked that he would have disowned me if he'd known me as an adult, though. I said that, and Mom said, "He really would have. You two would not be on speaking terms. In fact, if he were alive today, your relationship with him would be exactly what it is now as he's been dead for two decades. And you would have hated him, too."
Not that that was a surprise to hear, but I'd always thought of it as him hating me, not the other way around. But I really would have. So I've been thinking about it. Does any hate make you a bigot? Is it hypocritical of me to acknowledge that I'd hate him? Because I'd probably hate him the way I hate Dick Cheney, because I theorized and Mom agreed that he'd have tried to use my college fund to send me to some Make-U-Straight camp.
The answer of course is no, because hating bigots is to judge a person based on his character. But also because I'd forgive him.
If there's an afterlife in which some kind of greater truth is revealed to us, which I unwaveringly assert is that everyone everywhere is equal, that no one is better than anyone else, and that no kind of love is ever wrong, I'd have to assume he'd let it sink in and then say, "Okay, you got me, that was my bad, you guys," (because apparently my dead grandfather is in "The Hills: Afterlife"). And we'd be cool. (Side note, if I die and then hear a booming voice tell me that I was wrong and the bible was meant to be taken literally and so that every-fucking-thing ever is an abomination, I'm going to scream "Seriously?!" because I really, really, really, really, really think that would just be somebody fucking with Dead Amanda. And then I will hear afterlife laughter.) If, however, he decided to be a dick about it and refuse the idea that people are people no matter what they look like (how radical -- I must be a communist) then he could go suck a cosmic lemon.
Either way, whether he'd be capable of tolerance or not, as I go down the street in a few weeks and order up some democracy on my blinking Sheetz screen, (with pickles and mayo!) I am going to once again cast my e-ballot for Obama and think, "This one's for you, Grandpa."
But to tell the truth, it's mostly gonna be for my grandchildren.
I was a sophomore in high school when he died. That makes me feel both young and old. Especially when this hasn't stopped. You'd only have to scroll back a few months in my blog to see a video of Ellen DeGeneres talking about another young boy who died because of someone else's ignorance.
It seems we only address the issue of hate when something horrible happens. And this isn't limited to the GLBT community. When was the last time any of us had the Jena 6 in the forefront of our mind? Because equality is equality. Maybe that's part of the problem.
At 3:30 in the morning, I don't have a solution to offer America on my blog. I don't think it'd get there anyway, and besides, I'm preaching to the choir. I don't think "God Damn It, Amanda" attracts a silent readership of bigots. Then again, bigots only read one book, a book designed to make people better people. So clearly their reading comprehension levels are a bit low.
I was talking with my mother yesterday about her mom, who just turned 82. She was born in 1926 in rural Virginia and went to college during WWII. And I realized that when my grandmother was born, women had only had the right to vote in this country for six years and going on two months. And now my grandmother is witnessing this election. (And voting for Obama, by the way.)
My great-grandmother was born in 1888. Her parents lived in the south during the Civil War. They had slaves. (Which is a whole other discussion that makes me want to scrub my genes with some sort of disinfectant.)
Then we got to talking about my father's side of the family. I don't want to give the wrong impression -- neither of my parents are racist. But my paternal grandfather was an old-school bigot of the first order. He had some nice qualities about him, and those are the parts of him I remember, because he died when I was 5. I've always joked that he would have disowned me if he'd known me as an adult, though. I said that, and Mom said, "He really would have. You two would not be on speaking terms. In fact, if he were alive today, your relationship with him would be exactly what it is now as he's been dead for two decades. And you would have hated him, too."
Not that that was a surprise to hear, but I'd always thought of it as him hating me, not the other way around. But I really would have. So I've been thinking about it. Does any hate make you a bigot? Is it hypocritical of me to acknowledge that I'd hate him? Because I'd probably hate him the way I hate Dick Cheney, because I theorized and Mom agreed that he'd have tried to use my college fund to send me to some Make-U-Straight camp.
The answer of course is no, because hating bigots is to judge a person based on his character. But also because I'd forgive him.
If there's an afterlife in which some kind of greater truth is revealed to us, which I unwaveringly assert is that everyone everywhere is equal, that no one is better than anyone else, and that no kind of love is ever wrong, I'd have to assume he'd let it sink in and then say, "Okay, you got me, that was my bad, you guys," (because apparently my dead grandfather is in "The Hills: Afterlife"). And we'd be cool. (Side note, if I die and then hear a booming voice tell me that I was wrong and the bible was meant to be taken literally and so that every-fucking-thing ever is an abomination, I'm going to scream "Seriously?!" because I really, really, really, really, really think that would just be somebody fucking with Dead Amanda. And then I will hear afterlife laughter.) If, however, he decided to be a dick about it and refuse the idea that people are people no matter what they look like (how radical -- I must be a communist) then he could go suck a cosmic lemon.
Either way, whether he'd be capable of tolerance or not, as I go down the street in a few weeks and order up some democracy on my blinking Sheetz screen, (with pickles and mayo!) I am going to once again cast my e-ballot for Obama and think, "This one's for you, Grandpa."
But to tell the truth, it's mostly gonna be for my grandchildren.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
content-free content: just like fox news
I'm posting so much today because I'm glued to my computer because I'm supposed to be working on my final revisions for one of my classes. (Grad school is organized strangely.)
Enjoy LoLincoln.
And another link. It makes me sad and incredulous at the same time, which is a very specific and disheartening emotional combination, and one I'm not used to experiencing when thinking about anything other than the Bush administration.
Friday, October 10, 2008
it's possible that my soulmate is a 31st-century robot
Wouldn't be the first machine I've been in love with. But he would be the first that isn't battery-operated.
Evil Bender's blog.
Evil Bender's blog.
Wednesday, October 08, 2008
the real october surprise: a vision of my future
It's me in 60 years. I love this woman. She's hilarious! And understands the beauty of the sentence fragment. (Somewhere on the "Maverick my ass" post is my little comment -- basically it's what I just said. Hey, they can't all be brilliant.)
Earlier today, I was having an idle moment (I must have been peeing -- those are the only idle moments I get to have at work. Perhaps that and not the arid conditions of our office is what makes me drink nonstop throughout my entire shift) and wondered how much I'll change as time goes on. Is it true? Does your mind narrow and your waistline expand? That's a terrifying thought. I mean, my waist is already expanded. I'll be composed of shapes not found in nature if that happens. But will I lose my sense of humor? Will I suddenly become conservative?
I kind of doubt it. My mother calls people "abortion survivors." This could be the screaming child interrupting our conversation or McCain slowly dying in one of his campaign ads. My grandmother tells penis jokes. I'm pretty sure it's in our DNA.
But it gives me a strange sense of calm hope to know that we are not alone in our delightfully profane ways. Plus, it's just funny to read an 82-year-old woman calling John McCain an asswipe. You know, 60 years before I'm the one doing it.
Earlier today, I was having an idle moment (I must have been peeing -- those are the only idle moments I get to have at work. Perhaps that and not the arid conditions of our office is what makes me drink nonstop throughout my entire shift) and wondered how much I'll change as time goes on. Is it true? Does your mind narrow and your waistline expand? That's a terrifying thought. I mean, my waist is already expanded. I'll be composed of shapes not found in nature if that happens. But will I lose my sense of humor? Will I suddenly become conservative?
I kind of doubt it. My mother calls people "abortion survivors." This could be the screaming child interrupting our conversation or McCain slowly dying in one of his campaign ads. My grandmother tells penis jokes. I'm pretty sure it's in our DNA.
But it gives me a strange sense of calm hope to know that we are not alone in our delightfully profane ways. Plus, it's just funny to read an 82-year-old woman calling John McCain an asswipe. You know, 60 years before I'm the one doing it.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
hey, is this thing on?
What in the hell is Sally Kern talking about? There is not one accurate piece of information in her little tirade. I think she got her "facts" off of Fred Phelps's posters. I can't believe she stopped short of "gay people caused 9/11." Although feminists were included in that list, weren't they? Given that she is an elected official, I'd have to assume that she believes women have rights equal to that of a man. Doing a little picking and choosing in who we choose to oppress, aren't we?
You know what, it's been done, Sally. You're like a less entertaining Ann Coulter. At least she has the balls to spew her vitriol on camera. You quite clearly didn't think anyone was going to hear this. That makes you both lame and gross.
I'd like to know what kind of gay mafia you think is running Pittsburgh, Sally. (Or any of the other completely random places you mentioned.) Ever been here? Clearly, you like to travel, what with your interest in regional Passion plays, just like any true patron of the arts. This isn't a "gay town." But we do have GLBT people. So does Iran. You know why? Because anywhere there are people, there are GLBT people.
Yeah, yeah, it was out of context, or you're addicted to something, or gay aliens took over your body and made you say all that to further the GLBT agenda (our agenda, by the way, is to be treated like people). But next time, why don't you just come out of the closet, as it were, and spread your fabulous glittering hate out for all to admire? Aren't you proud to be one of the Hetero Soldiers protecting America's 2-year-olds from weekly brainwashing sessions? You know the ones. Ones that will force children into living certain kinds of lives even if they know it's not who they are? Into going against the word of god? Something that might someday cause them to commit the sin of suicide, or worse, murder?
Or do you know that hate is something that can't be tolerated in public, because on some level you know it's wrong? (If only you had some book of principles on which you had based your life that you might be able to consult on this topic. What I did was I thought about it for a minute. When I was 6. But don't feel that you need to strain yourself.)
There's a reason that KKK members wear sheets. Ask yourself what you've done in confining your real views to whispers among people you thought were your confidants. And then remind yourself that in that group you thought was behind you all the way, there was someone who very clearly wasn't.
I'm not going to expend any more energy responding to this ridiculous woman. It's already been done rather eloquently anyway. And of course Ellen had something to say. And someone even said something in rhyme. Now that's awesome.
You know what, it's been done, Sally. You're like a less entertaining Ann Coulter. At least she has the balls to spew her vitriol on camera. You quite clearly didn't think anyone was going to hear this. That makes you both lame and gross.
I'd like to know what kind of gay mafia you think is running Pittsburgh, Sally. (Or any of the other completely random places you mentioned.) Ever been here? Clearly, you like to travel, what with your interest in regional Passion plays, just like any true patron of the arts. This isn't a "gay town." But we do have GLBT people. So does Iran. You know why? Because anywhere there are people, there are GLBT people.
Yeah, yeah, it was out of context, or you're addicted to something, or gay aliens took over your body and made you say all that to further the GLBT agenda (our agenda, by the way, is to be treated like people). But next time, why don't you just come out of the closet, as it were, and spread your fabulous glittering hate out for all to admire? Aren't you proud to be one of the Hetero Soldiers protecting America's 2-year-olds from weekly brainwashing sessions? You know the ones. Ones that will force children into living certain kinds of lives even if they know it's not who they are? Into going against the word of god? Something that might someday cause them to commit the sin of suicide, or worse, murder?
Or do you know that hate is something that can't be tolerated in public, because on some level you know it's wrong? (If only you had some book of principles on which you had based your life that you might be able to consult on this topic. What I did was I thought about it for a minute. When I was 6. But don't feel that you need to strain yourself.)
There's a reason that KKK members wear sheets. Ask yourself what you've done in confining your real views to whispers among people you thought were your confidants. And then remind yourself that in that group you thought was behind you all the way, there was someone who very clearly wasn't.
I'm not going to expend any more energy responding to this ridiculous woman. It's already been done rather eloquently anyway. And of course Ellen had something to say. And someone even said something in rhyme. Now that's awesome.
Monday, March 03, 2008
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
i can has whole new way to waste time?
If I turned Dusty into a loldog...I wonder how...maybe if...oh, wait, what's THIS?!
LolDusty.
Another lolDusty.
And another.
And in case you're wondering what a loldog is, they're the evolution of lolcats. Rate lolDusty well and make her a celebridog! We'll be just like Paris Hilton and her little rat dog.
Except for our ability to survive in the cold. And respective plethora of talents. Although I have no idea what kind of skill set the rat dog has, so I could be off-base there.
LolDusty.
Another lolDusty.
And another.
And in case you're wondering what a loldog is, they're the evolution of lolcats. Rate lolDusty well and make her a celebridog! We'll be just like Paris Hilton and her little rat dog.
Except for our ability to survive in the cold. And respective plethora of talents. Although I have no idea what kind of skill set the rat dog has, so I could be off-base there.
Friday, February 15, 2008
who do you know who could tell this story? no one, that's who
So I still have all this British money in my wallet that I apparently refuse to take out because I think I'm going to run across a currency-exchange booth on my way to work. Maybe it makes me feel...exotic? Maybe not.
Whatever the reason, I told Trina and she said, "Yeah, I found a wad of cash in one of my pockets the other day...Malaysian."
I want to write a script just so I can share this scene with the rest of the world, because it might be the funniest thing anyone has ever said.
Whatever the reason, I told Trina and she said, "Yeah, I found a wad of cash in one of my pockets the other day...Malaysian."
I want to write a script just so I can share this scene with the rest of the world, because it might be the funniest thing anyone has ever said.
nancy drew (times two) and the case of the forgotten hat
So Trina and I went to see "No Country For Old men" on Saturday, which was a fucking outstanding movie. Go see it. But that's not what this story is about.
As we were leaving, Trina noticed a hat on the floor next to where we'd been sitting and concluded it must have belonged to the guy who was sitting next to us. He was older, with a woman who was presumably his daughter.
"He was shorter and wearing black; she was taller than him and I think she was wearing pink. He also has a bad knee, so he can't have gotten far."
Stand down, Adrian Monk. Amanda is on the case.
So we spotted them right as they were walking through the door and we yelled what is now our catchphrase -- "Sir! Your hat!"
We hope this will grow into an international series.
Monsieur! Your beret!
Signore! Your cappello!
Hipster! Your fedora!
"Hipster! Your fedora!" will undoubtedly signal the tragic end of the series.
As we were leaving, Trina noticed a hat on the floor next to where we'd been sitting and concluded it must have belonged to the guy who was sitting next to us. He was older, with a woman who was presumably his daughter.
"He was shorter and wearing black; she was taller than him and I think she was wearing pink. He also has a bad knee, so he can't have gotten far."
Stand down, Adrian Monk. Amanda is on the case.
So we spotted them right as they were walking through the door and we yelled what is now our catchphrase -- "Sir! Your hat!"
We hope this will grow into an international series.
Monsieur! Your beret!
Signore! Your cappello!
Hipster! Your fedora!
"Hipster! Your fedora!" will undoubtedly signal the tragic end of the series.
not only did she catch the gingerbread man, but she fucked him up
So here in Pittsburgh, we had a bit of a snowstorm on Monday night. The roads were bad enough that on Tuesday, I got to have a Grown Up Snow Day. Which, in case you were wondering, is the best kind. The joy of making snowmen pales in comparison to the joy of vodka while the sun is still up. Sort of my homage to the housewives of old.
Also part of an homage to housewives of old -- I spent the whole day baking. And I mean baking. I made dozens and dozens of cupcakes, brownies, and enough pink-frosted sugar cookies to send eastern Europe into a diabetic coma. Yeah, that's right. Mama owned that kitchen. My cupcakes were glorious, too. Chocolate chocolate chip, white fluffy frosting, lovingly sprinkled with little chocolate bits. Carrot cake with cream-cheese frosting and whimsical pink sprinkles. Double fudge frosted brownies with little snowflake sprinkles. And I busted out the food coloring for those damn sugar cookies AND they had sprinkles, too. The dining room looked like it had been infested with Keebler elves.
I frosted my last cookie around midnight. It was a good day. The reason for this flurry of domesticity was that my mother was conducting a staff-support meeting on Wednesday and she likes to take goodies. That I make. I told her that I expected at least one marriage proposal by the end of the night. (And that if it was from a doctor, to assemble my dowry.)
So Wednesday morning, she solved the problem of how to transport so much deliciousness in one trip. She constructed something out of twine and a cooler and magic and went out to chip the ice off her car. Half an hour later, she was backing up, and...crunch. She said that she could hardly bring herself to get out and look. But as we all know, the Ford Escape versus Sprinkly Cupcakes bout did not end with an upset.
She made up a story about falling down the steps (onto tires?) and spewed every foul word she'd ever heard in her life at her steering wheel as she went in to work. Which is when her day got bad.
When she told me about her dessert demolition, even though I'd spent the entire day crafting all my little sugary babies with love and care when I might as well have been hurling eggs, flour, and vanilla extract on the front lawn, I'd never heard anything more hilarious in my life. I laughed so hard that my dog thought I was dying and she sprang onto my back. Because I was doubled over. She was somewhat less amused; she said she wanted to just crash the fuck into a tree and get it over with.
"Why? Were there cupcakes on it? Did the Muffin Man run past one? I hope you didn't go down Lollipop Lane and crush all the Gummi Bears."
Best part: someone still told her they were the best brownies he'd ever had in his life. Boo-yah.
Also part of an homage to housewives of old -- I spent the whole day baking. And I mean baking. I made dozens and dozens of cupcakes, brownies, and enough pink-frosted sugar cookies to send eastern Europe into a diabetic coma. Yeah, that's right. Mama owned that kitchen. My cupcakes were glorious, too. Chocolate chocolate chip, white fluffy frosting, lovingly sprinkled with little chocolate bits. Carrot cake with cream-cheese frosting and whimsical pink sprinkles. Double fudge frosted brownies with little snowflake sprinkles. And I busted out the food coloring for those damn sugar cookies AND they had sprinkles, too. The dining room looked like it had been infested with Keebler elves.
I frosted my last cookie around midnight. It was a good day. The reason for this flurry of domesticity was that my mother was conducting a staff-support meeting on Wednesday and she likes to take goodies. That I make. I told her that I expected at least one marriage proposal by the end of the night. (And that if it was from a doctor, to assemble my dowry.)
So Wednesday morning, she solved the problem of how to transport so much deliciousness in one trip. She constructed something out of twine and a cooler and magic and went out to chip the ice off her car. Half an hour later, she was backing up, and...crunch. She said that she could hardly bring herself to get out and look. But as we all know, the Ford Escape versus Sprinkly Cupcakes bout did not end with an upset.
She made up a story about falling down the steps (onto tires?) and spewed every foul word she'd ever heard in her life at her steering wheel as she went in to work. Which is when her day got bad.
When she told me about her dessert demolition, even though I'd spent the entire day crafting all my little sugary babies with love and care when I might as well have been hurling eggs, flour, and vanilla extract on the front lawn, I'd never heard anything more hilarious in my life. I laughed so hard that my dog thought I was dying and she sprang onto my back. Because I was doubled over. She was somewhat less amused; she said she wanted to just crash the fuck into a tree and get it over with.
"Why? Were there cupcakes on it? Did the Muffin Man run past one? I hope you didn't go down Lollipop Lane and crush all the Gummi Bears."
Best part: someone still told her they were the best brownies he'd ever had in his life. Boo-yah.
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