I see your blog troll and raise you a faked death

Here’s the thing: I blog here and I blog somewhere else (actually 2 somewhere elses, but I don’t really count my tumblr blog because it’s basically a repository for my funny/stupid/gross/fucked-up pic collection so it’s not taking up massive amounts of valuable real estate on my hard drive…more of virtual storage container, full of virtual boxes, some that require eyeball bleach upon opening. And no, I’m not talking about porn, so get your mind out of the fucking gutter, I’m as pure as the pristine snow on the mountaintop. Ok, not really, but I am sneaky enough not to actually store porn on my computer. Not when there’s a billion porn sites you can just click on and no one is the wiser, especially if you clear your browsing history right after. Not that I do any of that. It’s just what I hear from my porn-wise friends. Those dirty perverts.)

Ok, where was I going with this??

Oh, right. Blogging. Not porn.

Anyfuckingway, I have noticed a difference in the quality and quantity of blog drama here as opposed to the other site I blog on and I must say, I’m a little perplexed. And vexed. And have a slight craving for a nice gouda cheese. Which has nothing to do with blogging or drama. I just like cheese a LOT, ok?

But where is all the drama?

Where is the religious fanatic that declares you’re all a bunch of godless sinners who are going straight to hell because of your outrageous blasphemizing? Where is the narcissistic bitch who views all other female bloggers as a threat to her popularity, so she publicly picks a fight, waits for the inevitable response and then immediately cries that she’s the victim while making a series of posts about the horrors of cyber bullying? Where is the asshole that gets cyber-wood by calling all women fat who are larger than a size 2 and then basking in the resulting feminine outrage? Where is the woman who complains about her shitty relationship in excruciating detail and then gets all huffy and pissed off when any of her readers suggest she might be far happier if she ended said-shitty relationship?

Where are all the men posing as hot women? Where are all the women posing as hotter and more interesting women? Where are all con artists with detailed fake backgrounds? The eventually-outed criminals who’s mugshots and criminal records still aren’t enough to make their most loyal sycophants admit those people were REALLY not who they claimed to be? The liars? The constant complainers? The psychos?

And for fucks sakes, where are the faked deaths? Because there is nothing like a death within a close-knit blogging community that turns out to be a huge elaborate hoax, just to get everyone grieving and in shock, which quickly turns to supremely pissed-off outrage, which then turns into a cyber lynch mob, which then causes a rift in the entire community which ends with people giving up blogging completely due to all the stress and bullshit and insane people who fake their own death.

Seriously, this place compared to my other blog place seems so calm and normal it’s creeping me out a little =))

Tampon crafting brings people together like world peace. Sort of.

This is what I love about blogging: one minute you’re discovering new-to-you bloggers that share a similar sense of humour/insanity and the next you’re on all forms of social media discussing tampon crafts. Where else can you find other people who appreciate the fine art of tampon toupee-making? It brings a fucking tear of gratitude to my eye…good thing I have my tampon hanky at the ready in case of unexpected crying due to cyber-happiness.

I decided to delve a little deeper into the vast unknown that is tampon crafting because I think it’s fucking genius (possibly the mentally disturbed kind of genius, but that’s often the best kind) and also I’m kicking myself for not discovering this back in the spring when I had a hysterectomy and no longer had a use for lady plugs (and trust me, trying to figure out what to do with a box of tampons was a fucking conundrum…throwing them away seemed like a big waste, giving them away seemed weird, because would you not be a little freaked out if some stranger asked you “hey, want some tampons?”. I also debated leaving them in the building lobby in the spot where people leave free stuff. I once found a box of about 50 extra small condoms there, which lead me to believe Frodo the hobbit is a tenant in my building and apparently he’s decided to stop being a horny little whore and choose a life of celibacy. Hence the tiny-condom giveaway. Also, Superman is my next-door neighbour. I know this because I saw him smoking on his balcony on Xmas Day wearing his outfit, including the cape. Did I mention I live in the best apartment building in the history of EVER? Fuck yes I do)

Anyfuckingway, I’m bummed about this tampon-crafting-discovery because now it’s way too late to throw myself a hysterectomy party with a uterus cake, tampon party favours and games like Uterus Hacky Sack and Fallopian Tube Sword Fighting.

Sigh.

Grocery amnesia

Apparently I have a condition that causes me to buy groceries during what I can only guess is some kind of food-fugue state. Because that’s the only explanation as to why I would own a can of bamboo shoot tips. I’m certainly not an adventurous cook and for the life of me have no fucking clue what the fuck kind of recipe requires a type of wood in it…perhaps I was feeling rather Iron-Chef-like at some point, with dreams of presenting a daring recipe of Vanilla-infused Bamboo Shoots poached in a brandy-based demi-glace so delicious that all of Kitchen Stadium would be weeping in culinary pleasure. Except for Morimoto, who would so ashamed he was beaten by a rank amateur that he’d flee in embarrassment. However, the Bamboo Battle was unlikely, due to the fact I couldn’t poach anything if my life depended on it and I have no fucking clue what demi-glace is either. So what the fucking fuck is this shit doing in my kitchen cupboard?

Also, what the fuck am I doing with 2 cans of cream of mushroom soup? I fucking hate mushrooms, because mushrooms are fungus, fungus is mold and there’s no fucking way I’m voluntarily eating something that looks like it sprouted up in the toilet of one of those insane Hoarder people’s houses  (and don’t start in with me about cheese, which I love and also happens to be edible mold, especially the kind that’s so stinky and runny, it looks like a fucking science experiment gone horribly awry, which is the best fucking kind. Because cheese is totally different from mushrooms. In the way that it’s fucking delicious and mushrooms are not). I would never buy mushroom soup because I certainly wouldn’t eat it, yet there it is, sitting in my cupboard.

And cornmeal. What the fuck do you make with cornmeal? I’m sure there’s lots of cornmeal-based recipes, but since I am not from The South (and no, I also have no fucking clue what grits are, or why you’d want to eat something named after the shit you vacuum off your carpet. However, bbq and deep-fried pickles more than make up for the whole grits debacle, so you Southerners are off the hook), nor can I ever remember preparing food where cornmeal was an ingredient, I have no fucking idea why I own a fair-sized bag of it.

Now since I’m sure I’m not the only person with grocery amnesia, what’s the weirdest thing in your pantry that you have zero recall of purchasing?

12 lessons learned in 2012

This post idea comes from the other site I blog on, but I decided to post it here too

These are some of the things I learned in the last year:

1) Thrift store shopping is way more satisfying than buying brand new. It’s treasure hunting for the broke and cheap but instead of a chest full of gold, it’s a pair of leather boots in fucking mint condition for $5.…jackpot, motherfucker!

2) Slowly cooking bacon in maple syrup creates the perfect balance of taste and texture…the crispy, salty bacon is harmoniously complimented by the sweet, caramelized glaze of sugary maple syrup. A fucking foodgasm deluxe.

3) Don’t try to climb over a gate when drunk, especially when your best friend is egging you on by slurring “Dooooon’t woooooorrry, itshhh fiiiine….I caaaaatch yeeewww if yeeeewww faaaaall”. Because she won’t catch you, due to the fact she’s so fucking drunk she can barely stand up herself and you’ll fall face first into gravel and look like you got hit by a truck in the morning.

4) My liver hates me far more now then it did in my 20’s. Damn you, delicious alcohol.

5) Stress is an effective but horrible way to lose weight and I don’t recommend it unless you’re a fucking masochist who enjoys depression and un-ending crying jags that leave you with zero interest in food.

6) Even a techno-moron like me can figure out how to use an e-reader.

7) What doesn’t kill me makes me stronger. Ok, I learned that a long time ago, but it’s one of those things you re-learn every time you’re teetering on that emotional cliff.

8 ) There is a zen art to golfing. You have to become one with the ball. And if that fails, stomp around the green while swearing in copious amounts, throw your putter at the nearest tree and threaten to run the ball over with your car if it doesn’t fucking co -operate and get in the fucking hole right fucking now.

9) There is not enough air freshener in the world to make your teenage son’s room not smell like feet

10) Laughter truly is the best medicine. Followed closely by valium.

11) There is no such thing as owning too many books. Until you have to move them. But as soon as they’re all back on the bookshelf you get post-move amnesia and you’re back to believing the no-such-thing-as-too-many-books truth again.

12) And finally: “Ruin is a gift. Ruin is the road to transformation”(Elizabeth Gilbert). Fucking rights it is.

Happy New Year!

Blasphemy Sunday: Satanic toast and other shit to ponder

Holy fuck, I’m not sure what my next-door neighbour is doing but it’s either some kind of reno involving loud power tools or they’re serial killers and are currently disposing of the evidence with a chainsaw and getting ready to brick it over in our shared wall. Which I would imagine would start to smell before too long so I figure I’ll know if it’s the former or latter in about 3-5 days.

Anyfuckingway, I was busy gooogling satanic toasters this morning (of course I am…what better way to celebrate blasphemy then with the toast of satan? Mmm…brimstony flavour goodness!) and after watching what is probably the best minute ever presented on tv (I cannot decide which is the best part…the piece of toast with “Satan Lives” on it, the hellfire coming out of the toaster or the quote “well Richard…when all is said and done, it makes good toast”…fucking AWESOME) I started gooogling “satanic kitchen appliances” to see if satan has branched out to blenders and ovens but apparently he prefers to send his evil message via burnt bread.

Then I ended up on the Church of Satan website to see if they had anything to say about The Dark Lord and his toast communiqués. And from the tone of the website, I’m pretty sure if I emailed to ask about evil toast, I bet they’d inflict Rule # 4 (from the Eleven Satanic Rules of the Earth, my personal favourite being #11,   “When walking in open territory, bother no one. If someone bothers you, ask him to stop. If he does not stop, destroy him.”), which is

“If a guest in your lair annoys you, treat him cruelly and without mercy.”

    

Now technically, email may not be traditionally considered a lair, but we are in the age of technology so it’s entirely possible a Satanist’s lair does extend to his electronic devices. So maybe I should just keep my toast questions to myself rather than risk their wrath (which they do mention on their home page…apparently they deliver, free of charge, to anyone who seeks to cause them harm. Wrath, that is. Not toast. Are you confused yet? Yes? Excellent.) Personally, I don’t see how toast can cause wrath, but then again, I’m unfamiliar with any Satanic Toast Doctrine, which I imagine is similar to Scientology, in the way that only the important people like Tom Cruise know all about the aliens…only the high-up Satanists know about the toast. Or maybe that should read THE TOAST. Capitalized to underscore the importance, you know. And that should probably be in some kind of gothic script too. I wonder if Satanists have a font preference? I’d email and ask but I’m pretty sure that might incur some wrath as well.

Ok, now I’m craving toast. With a side of wrath, please.

It’s the fiiiiiiinaaaal countdown

I read an article this morning that added more fuel to the fire that is Stacey’s Paranoia: Apocalypse/End of the World Division (fyi: all my paranoia has been neatly categorized and organized for more convenient panic attacks…and yes, I would make it all into a powerpoint presentation with graphs and piecharts if I knew how to do powerpoint). The Bulletin of Atomic Scientists have this doomsday clock they use as a symbol of an imminent apocalypse ( I wish I was making this shit up) and will be deciding at 1 PM EST today if they will nudge it forward towards humanity’s inevitable destruction.

How’s that for something to mull over your morning caffeine fix? I know I’m WIDE awake now.

Currently the clock is at 6 minutes to midnight and is calculated by looking at the current state of nuclear weapons, climate change and biosecurity, along with other issues that could influence humanity's survival. Are we really only 6 minutes (figuratively) from the brink of total destruction?? I would have thought it was only about 9:46 or so. Either someone is even more paranoid than me and has their finger hovering over that big red button that will make everything go boom or this is a government conspiracy in conjunction with the media and corporations like Walmart to throw us all in a panic so we run out and buy a bunch of shit we don’t need in order to make ourselves feel better and give us a false sense of security.

Either way, someone needs to calm the hell down, because the new season of Jersey Shore just started last week and it is completely imperative we don’t explode in a nuclear fireball until I find out if Snooki’s boyfriend finally gets clued in that she did have sex with the Situation.

I may be paranoid but I still have priorities, you know.

I don’t speak Internet Hipster

Thanks to technology (insert sarcasm here. Because I hate technology. And I’m saying that as I type this from my laptop while checking my Blackberry for messages. So also insert hypocrisy here) the English language has been subverted by hipsters, computer geeks and 15 year-olds into something that resembles letter vomit if you aren’t in the know. Screw a regular dictionary (not really recommended anyway because of the pointy edges and potential for papercuts in delicate areas)…you need the Urban Dictionary to translate this shit.

One of my other blogs is on tumblr and about 63% of the time I have no clue what anyone is talking about.  I follow mainly humour blogs mostly written by college students stoned on Red bull and Adderall/30 year old mouth-breathers living in their mom’s basements/hip people who take pictures of their lunch with their Instagram (who cares it was “taken with an Instagram”? It’s a pic of your pad thai, not the Mona Lisa, you pretentious asshat). Most of the posts don’t have much writing (if any) to them…they’re usually pics the poster has cleverly captioned or reblogged and added their 2 cents to, which is why I have a blog there in the first place…to use as my messed up pic repository

Anyway this techno geek tribe has their own language and I’ll be f-ed if I can figure out what they’re saying. And when I do on occasion figure it out I feel all smug and self-satisfied until I remember I’m a 40 years old who has no clue who Crystal Castles or Mac Miller are and don’t care either. It took about 9 months to decipher “gpoy” (great picture of yourself) so I figure another 4 years and I’ll know what
”ASG ASDFBASBNAEFDVSZ “ or “adljghjadgs” means (and I’m not kidding that those letters mean something…I just copied and pasted it off a post). I do however now know why Rick Santorum is being referred to as Assfroth (SpreadingSantorum…gooogle it), bacon is it’s own food group (like there was ever any doubt) and that you can’t help but say “Stap it Rahn Yer Trahmahtizing Meh” in your own head and not say it in Sammi Sweetheart’s voice, which is funny and totally annoying at the same time. So I figure I’m coming out ahead, knowledge-wise in the end