Sunday, September 11, 2016

10 lessons for wedding day

So, I got married!

Lessons:

1. Never try a new hairdo on your wedding day. It will suck and you will hate it and look ugly but not want to offend your BFF who painstakingly curled every strand. The photographic repercussions of your unwillingness to hurt feelings will last decades.

2. Learn which poses look good and which make you look like a walrus so you do not intermingle the two. (See #1 on photographic repercussions.)

3. It will be a huge blur and you won't talk to everyone nearly as much as you wish.

4. Check the hotel room's alarm clock to make sure it's not set for asscrack of dawn disrupting beauty sleep!!

5. Hold the handrails on the staircase and not JUST the dress.

6. People will congratulate you on life milestones and you will feel happy and overwhelmed and then sad that there won't be anymore societal milestones to check off because society doesn't care about old people and the nursing home is the next step.

7. You will order and pay for a plate of giant shrimp and then never touch them because no one eats on their wedding day.

8. All the planning will not help it be less abstract until the moment it is happening.

9. He won't even care that your hair is awful and he will tell you that you look beautiful, and you will ugly cry during the ceremony which will be
captured and uploaded to social media by countless others without having gone through your careful anti-hideous curation protocol.

10. You will have married the best person in the universe and feel like you (undeservingly, but still) won the jackpot. 💕

I'm so happy!

(Sent from my phone)

Friday, September 2, 2016

Moving bites

I've moved recently, kindof. Does hauling piles from one place to another for 14 hours count as a workout? Or is it basically just a hobby at this point because it's happened so often?

Sunday, June 5, 2016

Scrotal Recall

I share my Netflix account with my nephews and I can just picture the following conversation happening at my sister's house:
Nephews: "Mommy, what's 'scrotal' mean?"

My sis: "Um, where did you hear that word?"

Nephews: "Aunt Hannah saved 'Scrotal Recall' to her watchlist on Netflix."

My sis: "Um, I'll be right back, I have to call Aunt Hannah...."

The description is that a guy gets chlamydia and then calls every ex-girlfriend to notify them. I haven't seen it yet but I admit the title was... catching. I think it's not even possible for a dude to even know if he has chlamydia so I'm not quite sure what medical experts were on the show's advisory committee, but I'm sure I'll find out.

I tried to watch Girlfriend's Guide to Divorce and I got so disgusted I couldn't even finish the first episode. I can only hope that Scrotal Recall pulls through....

Thursday, May 26, 2016

New fitness fad: zOMG Spider in Modern Dance

I don't know what's worse: almost walking into a dangling spider slowly lowering itself from the ceiling or losing sight of it after twisting into an involuntary backbend. But I think I just discovered a new workout better than P90x.

(Sent from my phone)

Wednesday, May 18, 2016

Woman wins right to basically give herself lap dances at work and I don't know how to process this.

Okay so I just did the math. 47 times a day times for "at least" 15 minutes = 11.75 hours. Minus 8 hours for sleeping, 2 hours to drive to and from work, an hour for lunch, and an hour to get ready in the morning, and she is only able to work 0.25 hours a day. Isn't it just a bonafide disability at this point?

http://m.huffpost.com/us/entry/ana-catarian-bezerra-legally-masturbate-at-work_n_862452.html

(Sent from my phone)

Wednesday, April 27, 2016

My Hateful Vacation Diary, or Why I Will Never Go On a Cruise Again So Help Me God


Last week I went on a cruise I planned over a year ago. I hated the one I was on as a teen but that was a million years ago and besides, I wasn't with my BFF then. This would be a whole different experience, I thought.

Oh, how I thought wrong.

Some mildly horrifying cruise ship facts:
  • It costs almost a billion dollars to build a modern cruise ship.
  • The ship uses about a gallon a second of fuel. (Their calculations, not mine.)
  • On board, there are (for a one-week journey): 1,500 gallons of ice cream; 55,000 lbs of fresh fruit; 49,000 lbs veggies; 18,000 lbs potatoes; and 70,000 bottles beer.
  • It is possible to read a 300-page novel in one day (if you do nothing but read and eat)
Enter my cheerful trip diary:

Day 1:

Any self-consciousness I had about my body is COMPLETELY gone. Everyone on this cruise is fat as fuck. And I will be too in 7 days, seeing the delicious, never-ending buffet.
Day 2:

I hate everything. How did I not realize that a cruise is like a giant obnoxious steel jellyfish with 4,000 human tentacles insufferably stinging their way through the ocean? I'm never doing this again.

 Day 3:

I realize there are no noise ordinances in the middle of the sea, but MUST it be this loud? Seriously. Witness:


Obnoxious dance music is blaring from every deck. It is absolutely inescapable. Every hour, there's an announcement about bingo or the napkin-folding class. People do not know how to entertain themselves unless surrounded by a cacophony. Or fed bullshit manufactured recreation.

I read a 300 page novel in one day and it was the only reason I haven't jumped overboard yet.

I'm so fucking miserable.

Day 4: 

Lady in hall was queasy, I have a headache that won't go away and the people next door have been flushing their toilet notstop for the last hour. Norovirus? I'm doomed.


Day 5: 

Level of loathing has reached a new high. I've decided my main goal for this trip, in order to make the suffering worthwhile, is to save myself $7 on a bottle of self-tanning lotion so I won't have to wear pantyhose when I go back to work. So I have acquiesced to a deck chair.

However there is no place on this stupid ship where I can be alone. Hateful dance music is blaring from every crevice, causing a line of numbed and sweaty folk to sway dully and sip margaritas across the entire length of this 1,000 foot vessel. I have lost faith in humanity.


Day 6:

I'm ready to jump. Where are we? I don't give a shit what port this is, I'm not leaving the cabin. It's the only quiet place on the ship. The omniscient presence of people has reached absolutely unbearable levels.


I can't get a glass of water in the stupid cafeteria without someone pushing into me from behind. I can't walk to the elevator without oblivious forms darting into my path. No one is paying attention to anyone else because no one has had a deep thought for more than six days. The entire ship is bursting with hedonism. No one gives a shit about anyone but themselves.

The only people I want to be near (as long as I don't have to talk to them) are the recluses like me. At least the antisocial guy hulking over a book at the next table has a philosophical teeshirt.

Day 7:

Land! Thank GOD the ordeal is over. I need to spend a month on top of a mountain away from civilization. I hate everything and everybody. The only silver lining is that I can go back to work right away because I never got norovirus.

My idea of a good time now.