Amberance: Keeping The World Safe From Douchebag Pickup Artists

Amberance is sitting at the bar conversing with two other girls. Two drunk fans arrive direct from the Cubs game and come sidling up to us.

Drunk #1 (putting his arms around the other two girls and staring at me): Hello, ladies. I see you're having a delicious beer. We were at the game.
Me: I gathered.
Drunk #2: It was an awesome game.
Me: Yeah grand slam, I saw that.
Drunk #2: You were watching it?
Me: We were watching that and the Bears game. Oh and a couple college football games.
Drunk #2: Really? We love girls that can talk about sports, right Aaron?
Drunk #1 (Aaron, apparently): We do. That's super hot.
Me: Wait, your name is Aaron?
Drunk #1: Yeah.
Me (overly excitedly and clapping hands): That's my boyfriends name too!
Drunk #1 and #2 mumble something inaudible and walk away.

Amberance and Jenny: LOLdorks

Mrs. Sizemore: ummmmm genius: http://www.thinkgeek.com/stuff/41/snuznluz.shtml
me: wow
Mrs. Sizemore: O HAI, PETA. u can has dollarz because i sleep too much?
me: kthxsnuz

Squirrelarity Ensued

A while back, I cleaned out some junk from my apartment to make room for new junk that the bartender inherited from his mom. Among the things I discarded were an old beat up TV stand and a penguin cookie jar that was merely taking up space on my kitchen counter. The TV stand went out on the deck to serve as a table we won't use to go with the chairs we don't sit in. The cookie jar got put on the bottom shelf of the TV stand and forgotten about.

This morning the bartender was watching a little TV when he got home from work, but kept getting distracted by a loud ruckus coming from the deck. Eventually he got annoyed and went outside to see if perhaps Crazy Next Door had passed out without bringing her animals again, or possibly a hobo had climbed three flights of stairs to ransack our sparsely furnished deck.

He did not find a dog, a cat or a hobo. What he did find was two squirrels. One squirrel panicked and jumped into a nearby tree. The second squirrel stood on the railing staring defiantly at my roommate - with an enormous cookie in his mouth. Apparently I had baked some cookies, put them in the penguin and immediately forgotten about them, and then never checked inside to see if there were any actual cookies in it before I dumped the cookie jar outside. Where it sat for about four months before the two enterprising squirrels figured out something was inside it, pried the plastic seal from around the mouth of the jar, knocked the penguin's head to the ground and made off with the tasty loot.

I want a squirrel.

Inner City Living Can Be Demanding

One thing you can do that's REALLY douchey is to slam into someone's parked car so hard you leave a dent that I can fit my whole head in, and then just drive off. Fair warning to whoever did exactly that to Alistair: my roommate is livid and a very vindictive person. I would suggest not parking within a half mile radius of the place you hit my car if you plan on being able to drive yours.

Dreams Can Come True With Science

While I am not nearly finished grieving for my kitty angel Kristen, fate has stepped in to unite me with my next pet.



Behold: the minicow. (scroll down a bit for video)



It is too bad that there would be no practical reason to adapt this breeding technology to give us whales that can fit in the palm of your hand. But no matter. I love cows.

Klingon Clock

There is an episode of Star Trek: TNG ("Ethics", season 5) in which Worf undergoes an experimental and dangerous surgery to replace his entire spine, which had been damaged in an accident leaving him paralyzed, with a brand new replica spine created in the lab. Unfortunately, removing a spine and sticking in a new one is no walk in the park and he dies on the table. But shortly thereafter, when the counselor goes to inform his young son of his death, Worf miraculously comes back to life. This is because Worf is a Klingon, and his physiology has built in redundancies that back up all his systems, including neural function. Klingons need this because as warriors and a generally angry race, they have a tendency to get stabbed, shot, bludgeoned, impaled, etc. on a pretty frequent basis. Without it, they would probably all die in their youth and have no ability to propagate the species. But that's not really my point.

My point is that I think my alarm clock may be a Klingon. Now I realize this may seem far fetched. My clock is not prepared for battle, in fact it is quite peace loving. There is also the somewhat minor point that alarm clocks are inanimate which may disqualify them from being considered a part of a humanoid alien species. But Klingons are down with meditation, much like my clock, and it is also capable of spontaneous regeneration.

Much like Worf, my clock was recently faced with a catastrophic injury. While I was away in Baltimore, the storm of the century hit Chicago, sending down as many bolts of lightning in a couple of hours as the area normally receives over 6 months. Seriously. Lance Berkman actually ran off the field in the middle of a play during the Cubs/Astros game amid almost constant lighting. My alarm clock, being plugged into the wall, got hit with a huge power surge and promptly died. Also like Worf, my clock underwent experimental "surgery" when I attempted to get it to run on batteries in the hope that it was just the electrical cord that was damaged. No luck. My dead clock sat on my night table, not chiming and not telling me the time.

For three days.

Until two days ago around midnight when I heard from inside the closed lid the sound of a chime tuned to E. I quickly opened the lid to discover that my alarm clock was on and flashing 12:00, having apparently regenerated itself from its redundant Klingon anatomy. It is obvious that there can be no other logical explanation. From now on I will try to always show honor and courage in front of my clock and try very hard not to piss it off.

QAPLA'!

Perils of the All Ages Show

The bartender: I've got 14 year old boobs in my back.
Me: That's ok, I have 14 year old elbow in my boobs.

Airport Entertainment - Boobs

waiting to board a flight at O'Hare

Me: Want to play "I Spy"?
The agent: Ok.
Me: Can I go first?
The agent: Yes.
Me. Ok. I spy giant cans.
The agent: You can't do that!
Me: What?
The agent: You just told me the answer!
Me: No, you tell me what color they are. I spy giant cans.
The agent: Are they in a green shirt?
Me: Yes!

We Now Return You To Your Regularly Scheduled Programming

Episode 2 of Dumbassity was posted a couple of weeks ago, in which we discuss food, gaming and torturing Barbie.

You can download it here.

R.I.P. Kristen Ann

Sorry about the lack of posting. I spent the last two months or so focusing on Kristen the angel cat. Caring for a kitty in end stage renal failure takes a great deal of time and effort. It is the hardest thing I've ever done in my life. Posting was not a priority. In the end we couldn't stop her decline, and so my pretty princess died on July 30. I'll get back to regular posting as soon as I can.

Mommy misses you, Kiki. I'll see you at the Rainbow Bridge baby girl.