Me: i hate this time of year, i really really do. why isn't it christmas?
Fish: Because it's august, duh. Why would they do christmas in august?
Me: because why not? i bet JoE would go to a christmas party in august
Fish: Nope. No snow. Snow is the holiday lubricant
Me: I thought booze was the holiday lubricant
Fish. No, snow is the lubricant that helps us slide into the moist crevasse of Christmas
Me: you're writing christmas porn
Fish: Or I'm just making holiday innuendos
Me: either way i disagree. snow is the lone drawback to the holiday season. it is cold and wet and makes me fall down
(it is in cahoots with alcohol)
Fish: I have no idea how you love Xmas and hate snow
Maybe you should move to the southern hemisphere
Me: oh, it's ok as long as i never have to go outside. but short of having groceries delivered and door to door laundry service, snow is just in my way and ruining my pants
Friday, July 31, 2009
Thursday, July 23, 2009
The Way To MrSteve's Heart Is Through His Lungs
MrSteve: I LOVE smoking! If smoking was a chick I'd be married by now!
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
The Perils of Knowing Very Funny People
Me: Know who else is clever? Heather. And guess what? She's coming to visit me next week!
Coworker: That's great!
Me: I know! She and Amy are going to stay with me on their way back home from visiting Amy's family. And we're going to Skype call [the comic] and it's going to be hilarious.
Coworker: Oh yeah, because she does improv, right? You're going to pee your pants.
Me: I always almost pee my pants when I talk to Heather. This is going to be like I'll pee my pants and have tears running out of my eyes and be vomiting all at the same time. I'll be a smoothie of secretions.
Coworker: That's great!
Me: I know! She and Amy are going to stay with me on their way back home from visiting Amy's family. And we're going to Skype call [the comic] and it's going to be hilarious.
Coworker: Oh yeah, because she does improv, right? You're going to pee your pants.
Me: I always almost pee my pants when I talk to Heather. This is going to be like I'll pee my pants and have tears running out of my eyes and be vomiting all at the same time. I'll be a smoothie of secretions.
Wednesday, July 08, 2009
My Trip To The ER
Coming home from blighty, and for the last two days I was there, I found I was having a fair amount of back pain near the place where my right kidney resides. It got progressively worse and by Friday I could barely move. I was told repeatedly by many people to get my ass to the doctor, but I am stubborn and I was convinced all I needed was Tylenol, a heating pad and time. Until I realized I had started running a fever. Even then, I was sure it could wait til morning when the bartender would be home from work and I could drive myself there in the car. My neighbors Sugar and Spice were not having any of it. Spice called me from downstairs where they were watching the hockey game. "[Sugar] says she had a friend who died because of a kidney infection. She says if you don't come down here right now, [the Marine] is going to come up there and hog tie you and carry you to the car." Under those circumstances I allowed them to drive me to Northwestern (after the hockey game of course. Come on, it was Game 7 of the Stanley Cup!).
We arrived at Northwestern Emergency and checked me in. I got a fancy bracelet and was quickly called in to see the nurse. "I'm running a fever and I have a lot of pain in my right kidney," I told her.
"How do you know it's your kidney?" she asked.
This struck me as a trick question, but then again I had a fever. "Um, well, it's in the place where they taught me in biology class my kidney is supposed to be, so I just figured..." This seemed to be a satisfactory answer. She took my temperature (99.3), gave me a cup to pee in and told me to go to the desk if I suddenly got any worse.
I went and sat with Sugar and Spice. I didn't want to sit. I was in pain and had a fever and I wanted to lay down. But as all the seats in the waiting room have metal arms and it's not socially acceptable to lay on the floor in public I ended up curling myself into an upright fetal position and resting my head on my knees. And we waited.
And we waited.
The only good thing about having to go to the ER is that they are endlessly entertaining. There was a guy who worked there in some capacity (crowd control?) we named "Bernie Mac Guy" because he bore a resemblance to Bernie Mac and he was pimping out in a black suit of indeterminate material, a red shirt, a black tie and an incongruous pair of white latex gloves. I announced I wanted to marry him (fever). There was also a decrepit old man doing Sanford and Son impressions obnoxiously enough that Bernie Mac Guy told him if he didn't shut up he'd be put away in a room by himself. My favorite was a kid who may or may not have been in his mid twenties who I named Captain Vomit. Captain Vomit was so named because he was clearly going through severe withdrawal. He'd been issued a bed pan and every 15 minutes or so he would violently throw up into it and then button it with a pitiful moan of "Oooohh God, I want to die." God did not appear to be listening. But Captain Vomit is obviously much smarter than I, because as I was trying to get comfortable curled into a ball in a hard plastic chair, Captain Vomit took his bed pan and his blanket and lay down right in the middle of the waiting room floor. The staff yelled at him for some time to get up to no avail. Eventually they gave up and, get this people, wheeled a bed in for him to lay in so he would get off the floor. I was furious. "Is that it?" I complained to Spice. "All I had to do was lay on the fucking floor and they would have brought me a bed? Man, this is bullshit." And we waited.
While all this was going on, I was progressively getting worse. My legs were numb from my knees to my ass because of the way I was sitting, and the fever was making me too nauseous to hold my head up. Sugar and Spice were carrying on a conversation that I was listening to, but not much participating in because speaking (let alone thinking) was an effort. But apparently I tried. And apparently when I'm in a fever delirium I am fucking hilarious. It was related to me later (and mind you, I have almost no memory of any of this) that while they were talking I would appear to drift off to sleep, only to abruptly pop my head up every 20 minutes, make a completely inappropriate sexual comment, and immediately go back to sleep. Some of the things I allegedly said (anyone I'm related to would do well to stop reading right here and go to the next paragraph) are that "sperm is delicious!", that in fact I was a "come connoisseur" and therefore knew what I was talking about, and that a fun thing I found out I liked was being slapped in the face. I can't really argue with them - these are all things that I would definitely think, just not usually out loud.
At some point it became clear to the pair of them that I was in way worse shape than when I got there and Sugar talked the nurse into taking my temperature again, which had rocketed up to 102.2 over the two hours we'd been sitting there. The nurse gave me some Motrin and then I sat there and whined for the next 20 minutes about "when is it going to wooooooooork" until it kicked in. And we waited.
By this time it was past 1:30 in the morning and Sugar had taken a cab home. Spice and I sat discussing something (probably sex toys) for another hour or so until an enormous group of enormous people came in. They were all dressed like skanks, entirely in white, and every single one had blood on their clothes somewhere. It seemed they had been at a white party and several people had been stabbed, shot or both. One woman had poured herself into an outfit three sizes too small and made out of terrycloth with huge gold buttons down the front. "I want an outfit made out of a towel," I pouted to Spice, who pissed herself laughing. In the midst of this commotion my name was finally called.
The doctor, who was pleasantly surprised when we applauded her entrance to the room, told me I had a kidney infection and possibly a kidney stone, but that I would need a CT scan to find out about that last part. She then put me on a fluid drip and ran away with several vials of my blood. I was now very excited because 1) I love having an IV because it makes me feel important and 2) I had never had a CT scan before so I was curious and besides, how could a giant doughnut not be fun?
It turns out a CT scan is mostly just lonely because there's no one in there with you. The highlight was the contrast fluid. They ran it into my IV and a few seconds later everything from my neck to my vajay was really really hot for about 30 seconds. It was awesome. They did this twice. Boo-yah.
Anyway, long story even longer, I did not have a kidney stone so they gave me some antibiotics, an anti nausea and some Vicodin and sent me away. Total hospital time: 8 hours. Total hospital bill: just under $11,000. Hilarious moments I'm still giggling at a month later and that freak out the marine: Priceless.
Sugar and Spice: Thank you so much for out stubborning me and then sitting with me in the psych ward for the injured all night! You are both princesses among women.
We arrived at Northwestern Emergency and checked me in. I got a fancy bracelet and was quickly called in to see the nurse. "I'm running a fever and I have a lot of pain in my right kidney," I told her.
"How do you know it's your kidney?" she asked.
This struck me as a trick question, but then again I had a fever. "Um, well, it's in the place where they taught me in biology class my kidney is supposed to be, so I just figured..." This seemed to be a satisfactory answer. She took my temperature (99.3), gave me a cup to pee in and told me to go to the desk if I suddenly got any worse.
I went and sat with Sugar and Spice. I didn't want to sit. I was in pain and had a fever and I wanted to lay down. But as all the seats in the waiting room have metal arms and it's not socially acceptable to lay on the floor in public I ended up curling myself into an upright fetal position and resting my head on my knees. And we waited.
And we waited.
The only good thing about having to go to the ER is that they are endlessly entertaining. There was a guy who worked there in some capacity (crowd control?) we named "Bernie Mac Guy" because he bore a resemblance to Bernie Mac and he was pimping out in a black suit of indeterminate material, a red shirt, a black tie and an incongruous pair of white latex gloves. I announced I wanted to marry him (fever). There was also a decrepit old man doing Sanford and Son impressions obnoxiously enough that Bernie Mac Guy told him if he didn't shut up he'd be put away in a room by himself. My favorite was a kid who may or may not have been in his mid twenties who I named Captain Vomit. Captain Vomit was so named because he was clearly going through severe withdrawal. He'd been issued a bed pan and every 15 minutes or so he would violently throw up into it and then button it with a pitiful moan of "Oooohh God, I want to die." God did not appear to be listening. But Captain Vomit is obviously much smarter than I, because as I was trying to get comfortable curled into a ball in a hard plastic chair, Captain Vomit took his bed pan and his blanket and lay down right in the middle of the waiting room floor. The staff yelled at him for some time to get up to no avail. Eventually they gave up and, get this people, wheeled a bed in for him to lay in so he would get off the floor. I was furious. "Is that it?" I complained to Spice. "All I had to do was lay on the fucking floor and they would have brought me a bed? Man, this is bullshit." And we waited.
While all this was going on, I was progressively getting worse. My legs were numb from my knees to my ass because of the way I was sitting, and the fever was making me too nauseous to hold my head up. Sugar and Spice were carrying on a conversation that I was listening to, but not much participating in because speaking (let alone thinking) was an effort. But apparently I tried. And apparently when I'm in a fever delirium I am fucking hilarious. It was related to me later (and mind you, I have almost no memory of any of this) that while they were talking I would appear to drift off to sleep, only to abruptly pop my head up every 20 minutes, make a completely inappropriate sexual comment, and immediately go back to sleep. Some of the things I allegedly said (anyone I'm related to would do well to stop reading right here and go to the next paragraph) are that "sperm is delicious!", that in fact I was a "come connoisseur" and therefore knew what I was talking about, and that a fun thing I found out I liked was being slapped in the face. I can't really argue with them - these are all things that I would definitely think, just not usually out loud.
At some point it became clear to the pair of them that I was in way worse shape than when I got there and Sugar talked the nurse into taking my temperature again, which had rocketed up to 102.2 over the two hours we'd been sitting there. The nurse gave me some Motrin and then I sat there and whined for the next 20 minutes about "when is it going to wooooooooork" until it kicked in. And we waited.
By this time it was past 1:30 in the morning and Sugar had taken a cab home. Spice and I sat discussing something (probably sex toys) for another hour or so until an enormous group of enormous people came in. They were all dressed like skanks, entirely in white, and every single one had blood on their clothes somewhere. It seemed they had been at a white party and several people had been stabbed, shot or both. One woman had poured herself into an outfit three sizes too small and made out of terrycloth with huge gold buttons down the front. "I want an outfit made out of a towel," I pouted to Spice, who pissed herself laughing. In the midst of this commotion my name was finally called.
The doctor, who was pleasantly surprised when we applauded her entrance to the room, told me I had a kidney infection and possibly a kidney stone, but that I would need a CT scan to find out about that last part. She then put me on a fluid drip and ran away with several vials of my blood. I was now very excited because 1) I love having an IV because it makes me feel important and 2) I had never had a CT scan before so I was curious and besides, how could a giant doughnut not be fun?
It turns out a CT scan is mostly just lonely because there's no one in there with you. The highlight was the contrast fluid. They ran it into my IV and a few seconds later everything from my neck to my vajay was really really hot for about 30 seconds. It was awesome. They did this twice. Boo-yah.
Anyway, long story even longer, I did not have a kidney stone so they gave me some antibiotics, an anti nausea and some Vicodin and sent me away. Total hospital time: 8 hours. Total hospital bill: just under $11,000. Hilarious moments I'm still giggling at a month later and that freak out the marine: Priceless.
Sugar and Spice: Thank you so much for out stubborning me and then sitting with me in the psych ward for the injured all night! You are both princesses among women.
Amberance: Victorious
H-town: be jealous, i get to work with a tortie all day today
me: be jealous, i polished a miniature toilet last night
H-town: wtf
hahahah
ok, you win
me: be jealous, i polished a miniature toilet last night
H-town: wtf
hahahah
ok, you win
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
My Trip To England
It took several days and a hospital visit, but I am now fully recovered from my trip to England.
I was graciously hosted by the comic who has a lovely flat and is a fucking ridiculous cook. RIDICULOUS I tell you. Also he has an absolutely enormous stereo, handy since music is why I know him in the first place. Also he watches Voyager, which is just flat out fucking awesome.
Speaking of Star Trek, I have a new best friend and her name is, for real, Sulu. I would have given her a blog name, but come on, the woman's name is Sulu! I met Sulu and her husband G on the first Wednesday I was there, at The Globe in Letchworth. Together we enjoyed an evening of acoustic music, and by enjoyed I mostly mean tolerated, with one notable exception. A slightly unhinged, attractive blond Iclandic woman took the stage with her band. She was quickly dubbed "Bjork Stefani". We were in awe of her. Not because she was any good, although Sulu did buy her CD, but because she was just so completely insane. She went off talking on these weird tangents about pictures of people holding up a fish in the newspaper vs. the murder rate in England, or her preference of vanilla over honey. She also yelled at one woman in the audience for talking because she couldn't hear her backup singers which was awesome.
The following day, Sulu and I attended a corset party together, thus cementing our bond as best friends as we have now seen each other topless. Trying on corsets is fun. Trying on waspies is funner (as explained by the corseter, a waspy holds in the bits you don't want to see and lets out the bits you do want to see. Or less britishly, it cinches your waist while your boobs hang out). I briefly had the waist of Scarlett O'Hara. This entire exercise led nicely into our Monday evening trip to the sex toy shop together. Sulu couldn't wait to get me there as there were huge walls filled with toys. The collection was indeed extensive, but I was more impressed with two other things: 1. The fact that Sulu is on a first name basis and received a hug from the proprietor of the establishment, and 2. That we were served cappuccino while we shopped. Clearly the best sex shop the entire world over. I bought things. Oh yes.
Apart from my time with Sulu I mostly drank a lot. Now, "a lot" by my usual standards is actually not all that much due to the fact that I am a wuss and apparently that I am an American, or as the comic calls us, "sipping losers" (to be fair, he has never been to Tai's on a Saturday night so he doesn't have all the information). But even by his standards it was excessive. This started with the discovery that Strongbow in England is twice as strong as it is here, but equally as delicious. It continued the next night with the fact that I never do shots being thrown straight out the window for four rounds of sambuca in 15 minutes. (As the fourth round was being poured I stubbornly refused to drink any more. This was shot down by the hairdresser: "You HAVE to drink it. You're in England now.") The next night, away went my habit of going to one bar and planting myself there, as my "official" night out in Hitchin (we'd been there the night before) took us to four or five pubs, including one in which we walked in, ordered a shot of sambuca, drank it, and immediately fucked off. The next night it was back at The Globe because one of my favorite bands from Punky! Radio, the New Town Centres was playing there. The New Town Centres make you dance. Dancing makes you need a drink. It was a vicious cycle that ended in me trying to walk home barefoot. The next night out in Luton where we stayed overnight in a bar was the final nail in the coffin. Operations in my liver came to a screeching halt and a moratorium on alcohol was called for the following day. (This did not work. We found a really cool pub when we were being touristy in London that was across the street from itself. It was obvious we needed a glass of wine.) The last night was the comic's new cabaret show in London so I took it easy with one cider and an amaretto graciously supplied by Nat the Evil Lesbian, who struck me as not evil at all, but then again I haven't known her very long.
The day in London was excellent. Aside from the pub that is across the street from itself, we also saw a man with a bright yellow ass and an assortment of odd street performers near the London Eye. I had started off intending to actually get on the Eye until I saw the line, which was clearly hours long. "Absolutely fuck off no way," I said. This being the first time the comic had heard me over-emphasize something for dramatic effect, he found it hilarious and retold the story a number of times. I also had a Flake 99. A Flake 99 is an ice cream cone with a Flake bar stuck in it. Some of you may be aware of my total obsession with this candy bar. It was like a dream come true.
The absolute top, number one highlight of the entire trip happened on the night out in Luton at The Black Horse and I have yet to shut up about it. The comic had played a few songs on the jukebox and we were sitting and listening to them before heading over to the California Inn (it has shiny, sparkly things, thumpy music and there was someone walking around in a giant bunny head - it is exactly like California). A song started that sounded oddly familiar but that I couldn't place. The comic said, "I played this for you," having no idea that I'd ever heard it before. The second I heard the first line "I've been going out with a gir-rl, her name is Julie" I freaked out. Jilted John is the cornerstone of the soundtrack to my childhood. Kelly and Simmy's dad had brought the single over with him when they moved here from England. The four of us were absolutely OBSESSED with this song. We listened to it constantly. We sang it ourselves when we didn't have the record handy. We included it on our fake radio station Power 8000. I was immediately overwhelmed with an urge to call Kelly, but couldn't because my phone doesn't work in England. I settled for leaving it as a Facebook status the next day and insisting that the three of them leave comments. It was fucking phenomenal.
I spent the flight home wishing I wasn't on it, both because I didn't want to go home and because of this weird back pain I'd started having the day before. As it turned out I came back from England with more than just a new corset, a new glass dildo and a bottle of Abbot Ale. But that's an entirely different story.
I was graciously hosted by the comic who has a lovely flat and is a fucking ridiculous cook. RIDICULOUS I tell you. Also he has an absolutely enormous stereo, handy since music is why I know him in the first place. Also he watches Voyager, which is just flat out fucking awesome.
Speaking of Star Trek, I have a new best friend and her name is, for real, Sulu. I would have given her a blog name, but come on, the woman's name is Sulu! I met Sulu and her husband G on the first Wednesday I was there, at The Globe in Letchworth. Together we enjoyed an evening of acoustic music, and by enjoyed I mostly mean tolerated, with one notable exception. A slightly unhinged, attractive blond Iclandic woman took the stage with her band. She was quickly dubbed "Bjork Stefani". We were in awe of her. Not because she was any good, although Sulu did buy her CD, but because she was just so completely insane. She went off talking on these weird tangents about pictures of people holding up a fish in the newspaper vs. the murder rate in England, or her preference of vanilla over honey. She also yelled at one woman in the audience for talking because she couldn't hear her backup singers which was awesome.
The following day, Sulu and I attended a corset party together, thus cementing our bond as best friends as we have now seen each other topless. Trying on corsets is fun. Trying on waspies is funner (as explained by the corseter, a waspy holds in the bits you don't want to see and lets out the bits you do want to see. Or less britishly, it cinches your waist while your boobs hang out). I briefly had the waist of Scarlett O'Hara. This entire exercise led nicely into our Monday evening trip to the sex toy shop together. Sulu couldn't wait to get me there as there were huge walls filled with toys. The collection was indeed extensive, but I was more impressed with two other things: 1. The fact that Sulu is on a first name basis and received a hug from the proprietor of the establishment, and 2. That we were served cappuccino while we shopped. Clearly the best sex shop the entire world over. I bought things. Oh yes.
Apart from my time with Sulu I mostly drank a lot. Now, "a lot" by my usual standards is actually not all that much due to the fact that I am a wuss and apparently that I am an American, or as the comic calls us, "sipping losers" (to be fair, he has never been to Tai's on a Saturday night so he doesn't have all the information). But even by his standards it was excessive. This started with the discovery that Strongbow in England is twice as strong as it is here, but equally as delicious. It continued the next night with the fact that I never do shots being thrown straight out the window for four rounds of sambuca in 15 minutes. (As the fourth round was being poured I stubbornly refused to drink any more. This was shot down by the hairdresser: "You HAVE to drink it. You're in England now.") The next night, away went my habit of going to one bar and planting myself there, as my "official" night out in Hitchin (we'd been there the night before) took us to four or five pubs, including one in which we walked in, ordered a shot of sambuca, drank it, and immediately fucked off. The next night it was back at The Globe because one of my favorite bands from Punky! Radio, the New Town Centres was playing there. The New Town Centres make you dance. Dancing makes you need a drink. It was a vicious cycle that ended in me trying to walk home barefoot. The next night out in Luton where we stayed overnight in a bar was the final nail in the coffin. Operations in my liver came to a screeching halt and a moratorium on alcohol was called for the following day. (This did not work. We found a really cool pub when we were being touristy in London that was across the street from itself. It was obvious we needed a glass of wine.) The last night was the comic's new cabaret show in London so I took it easy with one cider and an amaretto graciously supplied by Nat the Evil Lesbian, who struck me as not evil at all, but then again I haven't known her very long.
The day in London was excellent. Aside from the pub that is across the street from itself, we also saw a man with a bright yellow ass and an assortment of odd street performers near the London Eye. I had started off intending to actually get on the Eye until I saw the line, which was clearly hours long. "Absolutely fuck off no way," I said. This being the first time the comic had heard me over-emphasize something for dramatic effect, he found it hilarious and retold the story a number of times. I also had a Flake 99. A Flake 99 is an ice cream cone with a Flake bar stuck in it. Some of you may be aware of my total obsession with this candy bar. It was like a dream come true.
The absolute top, number one highlight of the entire trip happened on the night out in Luton at The Black Horse and I have yet to shut up about it. The comic had played a few songs on the jukebox and we were sitting and listening to them before heading over to the California Inn (it has shiny, sparkly things, thumpy music and there was someone walking around in a giant bunny head - it is exactly like California). A song started that sounded oddly familiar but that I couldn't place. The comic said, "I played this for you," having no idea that I'd ever heard it before. The second I heard the first line "I've been going out with a gir-rl, her name is Julie" I freaked out. Jilted John is the cornerstone of the soundtrack to my childhood. Kelly and Simmy's dad had brought the single over with him when they moved here from England. The four of us were absolutely OBSESSED with this song. We listened to it constantly. We sang it ourselves when we didn't have the record handy. We included it on our fake radio station Power 8000. I was immediately overwhelmed with an urge to call Kelly, but couldn't because my phone doesn't work in England. I settled for leaving it as a Facebook status the next day and insisting that the three of them leave comments. It was fucking phenomenal.
I spent the flight home wishing I wasn't on it, both because I didn't want to go home and because of this weird back pain I'd started having the day before. As it turned out I came back from England with more than just a new corset, a new glass dildo and a bottle of Abbot Ale. But that's an entirely different story.
Picking on Sick People Makes You An Oily Cat Wank
Friday night, pre-hospital. I am running an approximately 100.1 degree fever.
Fish: Who is winning game 7? I could change over but I never change away from baseball to hockey. Personal rule.
Me: Pittsburgh, 1-nil.
Fish: Just because you went to England doesn't mean you say nil now. Welcome to America....it's called zero.
Me: I also say mental. And knackered. And what's all this then?
Fish: The last is Eddie Izzard. The other two aren't words. It's ok...you're feverish.
Fish: Who is winning game 7? I could change over but I never change away from baseball to hockey. Personal rule.
Me: Pittsburgh, 1-nil.
Fish: Just because you went to England doesn't mean you say nil now. Welcome to America....it's called zero.
Me: I also say mental. And knackered. And what's all this then?
Fish: The last is Eddie Izzard. The other two aren't words. It's ok...you're feverish.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Sex Kittens
I just renewed my subscription to Playboy by sending them a check with a picture of kittens on it. It may be the Vicodin, but this strikes me as hilarious.
I'll explain the Vicodin shortly. I'm not typing so well right now.
P.S. Also used a Yoda postage stamp. They may not send me the magazine anymore on principle.
I'll explain the Vicodin shortly. I'm not typing so well right now.
P.S. Also used a Yoda postage stamp. They may not send me the magazine anymore on principle.
Friday, June 05, 2009
Amberance: Automated Out Of Office Response
I have many funny thing to say. Many. Unfortunately I'm not going to write any of them at this time because I am too busy coming up with more of them while I'm in England. Oh by the way, I'm in England.
Details next week.
In the meantime, please amuse yourself by popping over to Fuck You, Penguin or your favorite (or favourite depending on your location) berating of cute things website.
Details next week.
In the meantime, please amuse yourself by popping over to Fuck You, Penguin or your favorite (or favourite depending on your location) berating of cute things website.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Vague Descriptions From Amtrak
Mrs. Sizemore: i shall make cake when you visit
you are coming on which day? the 18th?
me: i think so, did i send you the train reservation e-mail?
Mrs. Sizemore: nopes
me: you can has now!
Mrs. Sizemore: yaaaays
INCORRECT
Passenger 1: Amber [redacted] (Adult)
me: hahahahaha awesome
Mrs. Sizemore: amtrak tells lies
me: clearly
Mrs. Sizemore: unless they mean adult like, adult adult
x-rated and whatnot
me: right, i'll have to ask ;)
Mrs. Sizemore: Dear Train People,
Please clarify. Are you miscategorizing me, or do you know me all too well?
Thank you,
Amberance
me: perfect
you are coming on which day? the 18th?
me: i think so, did i send you the train reservation e-mail?
Mrs. Sizemore: nopes
me: you can has now!
Mrs. Sizemore: yaaaays
INCORRECT
Passenger 1: Amber [redacted] (Adult)
me: hahahahaha awesome
Mrs. Sizemore: amtrak tells lies
me: clearly
Mrs. Sizemore: unless they mean adult like, adult adult
x-rated and whatnot
me: right, i'll have to ask ;)
Mrs. Sizemore: Dear Train People,
Please clarify. Are you miscategorizing me, or do you know me all too well?
Thank you,
Amberance
me: perfect
And Then A Velociraptorbyte.
Me: What's the next biggest unit after a terabyte?
The agent: A pterodactylbyte.
The agent: A pterodactylbyte.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Amber and The Intern: Bad Wedding Guests
The intern: i had to give a speech at a wedding this weekend - terrifying stuff
Me: no doubt. did you mess up like my friend did? she said "Simone's birthday" instead of "Simone's wedding". We started singing "Happy Birthday" because we are assholes
The intern: haha; that's hysterical; luckily i didn't munson it; i figured if I started to freeze i would just start balling - but it went well so i was relieved
Me: balling like crying or balling like having sex with the nearest female? because that would have been hilarious
unless it was the bride, then not so much
The intern: haha, that might have been a bit awkward
in an awesome way
Me: no doubt. did you mess up like my friend did? she said "Simone's birthday" instead of "Simone's wedding". We started singing "Happy Birthday" because we are assholes
The intern: haha; that's hysterical; luckily i didn't munson it; i figured if I started to freeze i would just start balling - but it went well so i was relieved
Me: balling like crying or balling like having sex with the nearest female? because that would have been hilarious
unless it was the bride, then not so much
The intern: haha, that might have been a bit awkward
in an awesome way
Friday, May 22, 2009
In Which Amberance Briefly Grows A Pair
You know it's going to be just a stellar night when you have to use the phrase "DO NOT FUCKING TOUCH ME" before 9 p.m.
The whole thing seemed routine enough. It was Thursday night and therefore I was at Tai's having dinner with my roommate watching the Cubs lose and the Penguins win. When a guy came in by himself, shook the bartender's hand and sat down a couple stools away from me I thought nothing of it, because why would I? Apart from the fact that he was wearing his blue tooth earpiece like a fashion accessory he appeared fairly normal. Since this is being posted on Bizzybiz, you already know otherwise.
It became clear pretty quickly that he was completely inebretarded. In the space of twenty minutes he tried to shake the bartender's hand at least a dozen times. He also started in on me, wanting to know if I would play pool with him (no) and if I thought he was attractive (no), and then announcing "Giiiirrrrlll, you are fine!" (I was.) My terse answers, refusal to look at him directly and outright ignoring him did not serve as much of a deterrent.
And then he came over and put his hand on my arm.
Here's the thing with that, and actually there are two: 1) If you don't cut off that behavior immediately in drunks it will escalate until you find yourself being mauled, but more importantly 2) I have a thing about strangers touching me. It is that strangers should not be touching me. At all. Ever. So when this asshat touched my arm I screamed at him. "DO NOT FUCKING TOUCH ME! I am not kidding you." which was followed somewhat anti-climatically by the bartender repeating more calmly "Don't touch her."* This was effective. Temporarily.
Moments later, in came Gene Honda and his dinner. And so the douchebaggery continued. "Dude!" bellowed the shithead. "Shake my hand bro!" By this time Gene had started eating rib tips. Gene explains that he can't shake his hand right then, and also that he is trying to enjoy his dinner. Cockwad ignored this, and continued to try and shake a hand, get a hug, lean on, breathe on and generally irritate the crap out of Gene. The bartender said, "Leave the man alone, he's trying to eat his dinner." I said, "Get the fuck away from him, he's having his dinner." Gene said, "Listen, I don't know who you are. I am not going to shake your hand. I would like to eat my dinner and if you don't leave me alone I'm going to throw a bone at you."
In the meantime, other people started showing up in the bar. A guy came in with his girlfriend and started to shoot pool and two girls appeared and were talking to the bartender. It is these distractions rather than our words that got him away from Gene so that he could eat. Unfortunately for them. From across the room I heard the girlfriend say, "Please don't touch me," and the guy say, "Are you serious? I'm standing right here!"
Gene finished his dinner and we went outside, him to smoke, me because Gene said he's not leaving me in there defenseless. (I love my friends.) While we were outside a small miracle occurred: One of our friends who happens to be a detective for the Chicago PD showed up with his wife. I was ecstatic and promptly glued myself to them. We went back inside and settled in to watch the show fucknuts was putting on. By this point he could barely stand and was speaking Spanish. Another woman walked in alone and someone immediately grabbed her and sat her down with a group of people, probably saving her life. Or at least her sanity.
Jackoff stood alone and surveyed the room, eyes settling on me. In a moment of clarity he appeared to recognized me as the bitch who yelled at him and started lurching toward us, yelling something at me in Spanish and knocking over other people's drinks all the way. People who know me well know that I rarely confront people and even more rarely raise my voice. I am not yelly, and hearing other people yell normally causes me to panic and try to hide in a corner. I don't know if it was the depth of my anger or the presence of the detective standing beside me, but all that went out the window and I snapped. "You have GOT to be kidding me. Are you fucking serious? STOP fucking talking to me." As he took another step toward me I continued, "And if you get any closer to me I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL FUCKING HIT YOU!" I'm pretty sure the people at the gas station across the street heard me. He stood there, grinning stupidly while I stared him down and waited, fully prepared to punch someone in the face for the first time ever in my life (along with the yelling, I also don't hit people). He stumbled backward and spilled a beer.
The bartender had had enough (right about now, or perhaps earlier, you're saying "Why didn't he just throw the shit eating prick out of the bar?" Because it was too early for the bouncers to be there, and the bartender wouldn't have been able to take him out on his own if he'd started fighting). "That's it," he said. "You're done. Get out of here right now." We all stood at the window and watched him leave, bobbing and weaving across four lanes of traffic, miraculously making it to the other side without collapsing or getting hit by a garbage truck...and getting into a truck. The detective and the bartender bolted out the door and across the street before I could finish saying, "No. Way. He is going to kill someone." Eventually, the detective got his keys, the bartender called him a cab, and we bribed the cab driver (who took one look at him and said "I don't want this guy in my cab") to take him to the address we found on his driver's license since he couldn't remember where he lived.
So, all in all, the night was bizarrely entertaining, the detective bought everyone a round, certain death was prevented and I was a total badass for about 12 seconds. Not a bad night. MrSteve lamented to me that he missed all the good stuff, and Fish wanted to know why I get to have all the fun. The answer comes to us from the detective, who broke the stunned silence by quipping "Only at Tai's." Indeed.
Post script: Several hours later, someone dropped off a woman outside who got in the truck and drove it away. His wife.
*It keeps reminding me of the scene in American Pie, with the lacrosse coach yelling at the team and the assistant coach standing behind him mumbling the last thing he said. "CulmiNAtion."
The whole thing seemed routine enough. It was Thursday night and therefore I was at Tai's having dinner with my roommate watching the Cubs lose and the Penguins win. When a guy came in by himself, shook the bartender's hand and sat down a couple stools away from me I thought nothing of it, because why would I? Apart from the fact that he was wearing his blue tooth earpiece like a fashion accessory he appeared fairly normal. Since this is being posted on Bizzybiz, you already know otherwise.
It became clear pretty quickly that he was completely inebretarded. In the space of twenty minutes he tried to shake the bartender's hand at least a dozen times. He also started in on me, wanting to know if I would play pool with him (no) and if I thought he was attractive (no), and then announcing "Giiiirrrrlll, you are fine!" (I was.) My terse answers, refusal to look at him directly and outright ignoring him did not serve as much of a deterrent.
And then he came over and put his hand on my arm.
Here's the thing with that, and actually there are two: 1) If you don't cut off that behavior immediately in drunks it will escalate until you find yourself being mauled, but more importantly 2) I have a thing about strangers touching me. It is that strangers should not be touching me. At all. Ever. So when this asshat touched my arm I screamed at him. "DO NOT FUCKING TOUCH ME! I am not kidding you." which was followed somewhat anti-climatically by the bartender repeating more calmly "Don't touch her."* This was effective. Temporarily.
Moments later, in came Gene Honda and his dinner. And so the douchebaggery continued. "Dude!" bellowed the shithead. "Shake my hand bro!" By this time Gene had started eating rib tips. Gene explains that he can't shake his hand right then, and also that he is trying to enjoy his dinner. Cockwad ignored this, and continued to try and shake a hand, get a hug, lean on, breathe on and generally irritate the crap out of Gene. The bartender said, "Leave the man alone, he's trying to eat his dinner." I said, "Get the fuck away from him, he's having his dinner." Gene said, "Listen, I don't know who you are. I am not going to shake your hand. I would like to eat my dinner and if you don't leave me alone I'm going to throw a bone at you."
In the meantime, other people started showing up in the bar. A guy came in with his girlfriend and started to shoot pool and two girls appeared and were talking to the bartender. It is these distractions rather than our words that got him away from Gene so that he could eat. Unfortunately for them. From across the room I heard the girlfriend say, "Please don't touch me," and the guy say, "Are you serious? I'm standing right here!"
Gene finished his dinner and we went outside, him to smoke, me because Gene said he's not leaving me in there defenseless. (I love my friends.) While we were outside a small miracle occurred: One of our friends who happens to be a detective for the Chicago PD showed up with his wife. I was ecstatic and promptly glued myself to them. We went back inside and settled in to watch the show fucknuts was putting on. By this point he could barely stand and was speaking Spanish. Another woman walked in alone and someone immediately grabbed her and sat her down with a group of people, probably saving her life. Or at least her sanity.
Jackoff stood alone and surveyed the room, eyes settling on me. In a moment of clarity he appeared to recognized me as the bitch who yelled at him and started lurching toward us, yelling something at me in Spanish and knocking over other people's drinks all the way. People who know me well know that I rarely confront people and even more rarely raise my voice. I am not yelly, and hearing other people yell normally causes me to panic and try to hide in a corner. I don't know if it was the depth of my anger or the presence of the detective standing beside me, but all that went out the window and I snapped. "You have GOT to be kidding me. Are you fucking serious? STOP fucking talking to me." As he took another step toward me I continued, "And if you get any closer to me I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL FUCKING HIT YOU!" I'm pretty sure the people at the gas station across the street heard me. He stood there, grinning stupidly while I stared him down and waited, fully prepared to punch someone in the face for the first time ever in my life (along with the yelling, I also don't hit people). He stumbled backward and spilled a beer.
The bartender had had enough (right about now, or perhaps earlier, you're saying "Why didn't he just throw the shit eating prick out of the bar?" Because it was too early for the bouncers to be there, and the bartender wouldn't have been able to take him out on his own if he'd started fighting). "That's it," he said. "You're done. Get out of here right now." We all stood at the window and watched him leave, bobbing and weaving across four lanes of traffic, miraculously making it to the other side without collapsing or getting hit by a garbage truck...and getting into a truck. The detective and the bartender bolted out the door and across the street before I could finish saying, "No. Way. He is going to kill someone." Eventually, the detective got his keys, the bartender called him a cab, and we bribed the cab driver (who took one look at him and said "I don't want this guy in my cab") to take him to the address we found on his driver's license since he couldn't remember where he lived.
So, all in all, the night was bizarrely entertaining, the detective bought everyone a round, certain death was prevented and I was a total badass for about 12 seconds. Not a bad night. MrSteve lamented to me that he missed all the good stuff, and Fish wanted to know why I get to have all the fun. The answer comes to us from the detective, who broke the stunned silence by quipping "Only at Tai's." Indeed.
Post script: Several hours later, someone dropped off a woman outside who got in the truck and drove it away. His wife.
*It keeps reminding me of the scene in American Pie, with the lacrosse coach yelling at the team and the assistant coach standing behind him mumbling the last thing he said. "CulmiNAtion."
Thursday, May 07, 2009
In America We Celebrate The Failure Of Others. USA! USA! USA!
H-Town: dude - manny ramirez suspended 50 games for testing positive for steroids!
me: BWAHAHAHAHAHA this is the best news I've heard in a week
H-Town: so much for that winning record of the dodgers!
me: this is perfect. he looks even more like a complete douche than his contract holdup bullcrap did
H-Town: 50 games! i just can't believe that
me: i wish it was the whole year.
i am such a horrible person. this makes me so happy
H-Town: that doesn't make you a horrible person
me: no you're right. it makes me a proud american
H-Town: exactly
schaudenfreude may be a german word, but americans can say it
maybe not spell it, but we can say it
speaking of that word, i KNEW that Ms. Calif would have something bad come out about her background
hello naked photos
me: YYYYEEESSSS! What a brilliant day. It makes me want to wrap myself in a flag and hug my freedom
H-Town: hahaha
(think neil diamond) - Nudie pics from far away - they're comin' to America
you think they're gone but they're here to stay....they're comin to America
everyone from 'round the world
they're gonna see your nudie pics
TODAY!
*tempo slows*
My country tis of theee (NUDIES)
sweet land of irony... (NUDIES)
your ass I see (NUDIES)
*rocks out*
me: lolz
me: BWAHAHAHAHAHA this is the best news I've heard in a week
H-Town: so much for that winning record of the dodgers!
me: this is perfect. he looks even more like a complete douche than his contract holdup bullcrap did
H-Town: 50 games! i just can't believe that
me: i wish it was the whole year.
i am such a horrible person. this makes me so happy
H-Town: that doesn't make you a horrible person
me: no you're right. it makes me a proud american
H-Town: exactly
schaudenfreude may be a german word, but americans can say it
maybe not spell it, but we can say it
speaking of that word, i KNEW that Ms. Calif would have something bad come out about her background
hello naked photos
me: YYYYEEESSSS! What a brilliant day. It makes me want to wrap myself in a flag and hug my freedom
H-Town: hahaha
(think neil diamond) - Nudie pics from far away - they're comin' to America
you think they're gone but they're here to stay....they're comin to America
everyone from 'round the world
they're gonna see your nudie pics
TODAY!
*tempo slows*
My country tis of theee (NUDIES)
sweet land of irony... (NUDIES)
your ass I see (NUDIES)
*rocks out*
me: lolz
Friday, May 01, 2009
Next You'll be Telling Me Sandy Cheeks is a Crack Smoking Pole Dancer.
I like to think that I am not an alarmist, particularly where it comes to kids. I think it must suck for them to not be able to go roller skating without a helmet, elbow and knee pads, I'm not worried that they're all trying to kill themselves by swallowing Duplo blocks and I don't think the world is going to end if they accidentally hear someone say "damn" on tv.
But this?
This is just wrong on so many levels. First of all, The King in and of himself is creepy as all fuck. He is the bizarre love child of Guy Fawkes and a child rapist - he gives ME nightmares and I am (ostensibly) a grown woman. Then there's the dancing hos....are you serious? Stuffing a shoebox down their pants is not fooling anyone, Burger King. We all know you are selling sex to little kids. Congratulations, you have somehow managed to sexualize a beloved, mentally challenged, burger-flipping Porifera. And you, Sir Mix-a-lot. I suppose you really did need the exposure - I actually thought you were dead. It's comforting to know that 17 years after your one hit wonder, you continue to have absolutely no standards*. "Booty is booty"? Yeah right. Crap is crap, but you don't see me running around turning kids meals into disturbing fetish porn, do you?
*It was NOT comforting to look that up and realize that song came out 17 years ago. Thanks for that too, douchebags.
But this?
This is just wrong on so many levels. First of all, The King in and of himself is creepy as all fuck. He is the bizarre love child of Guy Fawkes and a child rapist - he gives ME nightmares and I am (ostensibly) a grown woman. Then there's the dancing hos....are you serious? Stuffing a shoebox down their pants is not fooling anyone, Burger King. We all know you are selling sex to little kids. Congratulations, you have somehow managed to sexualize a beloved, mentally challenged, burger-flipping Porifera. And you, Sir Mix-a-lot. I suppose you really did need the exposure - I actually thought you were dead. It's comforting to know that 17 years after your one hit wonder, you continue to have absolutely no standards*. "Booty is booty"? Yeah right. Crap is crap, but you don't see me running around turning kids meals into disturbing fetish porn, do you?
*It was NOT comforting to look that up and realize that song came out 17 years ago. Thanks for that too, douchebags.
Jenny and Amberance Can't Handle The Hard Stuff (Or Bad Music)
Mrs. Sizemore: vicodin is WEIRD
just a psa
me: um....?
oh, from your tooth
Mrs. Sizemore: yeah
i thought i would be tough and not take it
but that lasted about 4 hours and then i caved
me: yes, my old roommate jim was a big fan of that particular weirdness. mixed with copious amounts of beer and goldschlager
Mrs. Sizemore: oh yikes
i do not want to mix with anything
me: he has a bit of a death wish
Mrs. Sizemore: i keep getting waves of this strange, swimmy feeling
also, i keep crying
me: from the vicodin? i guess that would explain jim's penchant for emo, emo eyeliner
******later******
Mrs. Sizemore: blaaah
i officially do not like vicodin
why anyone would use this recreationally is astounding
me: reality is for people who can't handle drugs
Mrs. Sizemore: side effects?
me: of reality? walls staying still, only seeing one of something, inanimate objects do not talk and/or stare at you, no imaginary limbs growing out of your abdomen or flesh melting off your hands, etc.
Mrs. Sizemore: hmm
those are all correct
the side effects of the vicodin are not as pleasant
i am dizzy and hot
and also i keep wanting to cry
me: i would definitely stay away from the Fall Out Boy and My Chemical Romance CDs then
just a psa
me: um....?
oh, from your tooth
Mrs. Sizemore: yeah
i thought i would be tough and not take it
but that lasted about 4 hours and then i caved
me: yes, my old roommate jim was a big fan of that particular weirdness. mixed with copious amounts of beer and goldschlager
Mrs. Sizemore: oh yikes
i do not want to mix with anything
me: he has a bit of a death wish
Mrs. Sizemore: i keep getting waves of this strange, swimmy feeling
also, i keep crying
me: from the vicodin? i guess that would explain jim's penchant for emo, emo eyeliner
******later******
Mrs. Sizemore: blaaah
i officially do not like vicodin
why anyone would use this recreationally is astounding
me: reality is for people who can't handle drugs
Mrs. Sizemore: side effects?
me: of reality? walls staying still, only seeing one of something, inanimate objects do not talk and/or stare at you, no imaginary limbs growing out of your abdomen or flesh melting off your hands, etc.
Mrs. Sizemore: hmm
those are all correct
the side effects of the vicodin are not as pleasant
i am dizzy and hot
and also i keep wanting to cry
me: i would definitely stay away from the Fall Out Boy and My Chemical Romance CDs then
Monday, April 27, 2009
Monday, April 06, 2009
Disparity
The agent: We could sing "The Luckiest". I'll have to transpose it down so that it's more in your range. We should write some harmonies for it. We'll be like Simon and Garfunkel! You can be Art...
Me: Yeah, I'll be Garfunkel and you'll be talented.
Me: Yeah, I'll be Garfunkel and you'll be talented.
Wednesday, April 01, 2009
Ready For Prime Time
Last night after several hours of wrestling with my kitten in an attempt to get her to stop sucking on my neck and kneading my trachea so I could sleep (and breathe), I finally fell asleep only to be reawakened 30 minutes later at 2 a.m. The bartender was home 2 hours early and was talking under his breath, at first appearances to himself. Moments later I realized he was actually talking to a second, as yet unidentified person. I would have been touched that they were keeping their voices down to keep from waking me, were it not for the fact that they were simultaneously ripping packaging tape off of what sounded like an enormous cardboard box three feet from my bedroom door. A most hilarious fail.
Anyway, long story even longer, the mystery voice turned out to be the owner, and the mysterious box contained a 42 inch 1080p flat panel television. Inexplicably, this television turned out to be a completely random gift for me from the bartender.* He had apparently decided that I "needed" this to be able to watch football correctly. I am overwhelmed and completely bewildered. I am also certain that my roommate is awesome and possibly quite a bit more crazy than I thought.
*The huge cardboard box and giant Styrofoam blocks became a gift for Angela, who immediately commandeered them and built herself an enormous kitty fort taking up half the usable floor space in my living room.
Anyway, long story even longer, the mystery voice turned out to be the owner, and the mysterious box contained a 42 inch 1080p flat panel television. Inexplicably, this television turned out to be a completely random gift for me from the bartender.* He had apparently decided that I "needed" this to be able to watch football correctly. I am overwhelmed and completely bewildered. I am also certain that my roommate is awesome and possibly quite a bit more crazy than I thought.
*The huge cardboard box and giant Styrofoam blocks became a gift for Angela, who immediately commandeered them and built herself an enormous kitty fort taking up half the usable floor space in my living room.
Wisdom Of The Agent
Me (trying to open the door before it was unlocked): Oops. I was premature.
The agent: You're not mature at all.
The agent: You're not mature at all.
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