Right then, so, two things:
1. I have once again let slip by the anniversary of this blog. Happy belated 5th birthday Bizzybizzers. It's very kind of you to stick with me. Sorry I suck at posting. But speaking of not posting
2. It is NaBloPoMo and I will be BloPoing every day all month long. I know, I know, it's gimmicky and lame, but the thing is, it forces me to spend a part of every day writing and in the long run I end up posting more ofter during the rest of the year than I otherwise would. What I need to have is a National Blog Posting Year, however this wouldn't entirely fit in with the cutesy rhyming scheme as "Yo" is not and never has been short for year. Also, I have already failed at this much like I did last year and will be backdating the first two posts because I'm sneaky like that. And anyway the principle is still sound.
That is all. Please carry on with whatever far more entertaining thing you were doing before your sudden inexplicable urge to see if anything had been posted to Bizzybiz (this is exactly how it works in my mind).
Sunday, November 01, 2009
Friday, October 16, 2009
MrSteve Totally Gets Me
Comments from MrSteve about yours truly:
"Just seen on TFLN (and it made me think of you) - "I love how my brain works. It's like being on drugs without the costly upkeep."
"Do you realize that the two most popular responses around you are the eye roll and the face palm?"
"Just seen on TFLN (and it made me think of you) - "I love how my brain works. It's like being on drugs without the costly upkeep."
"Do you realize that the two most popular responses around you are the eye roll and the face palm?"
Thursday, October 08, 2009
In Which Amberance Has A "Meal" In Spite Of Herself
Eventually, most people who know me give up on trying to appeal to my rationality (which they will by then have discovered I don't possess) and instead will deal with me in the altered state of reality in which I live. I am grateful for these people. Without them I would likely starve.
Case in point: Last week I wandered into the office of BrownsFan because I was ravenously hungry but mentally incapable of purchasing food because all I had on me were $20s. Now, if you don't know me well, this will not seem like a problem, because if I have money, I can obviously buy food. The folks who DO know me have just collectively thought "Uh oh" because they all know the $20/$10 dilemma. The $20/$10 dilemma is this thing where I am a ridiculous asshat and won't break a $20 for anything that costs less than $10, and also will not pull out the plastic for anything that costs less than $10. Basically, if I want something that costs less than $10 and I don't already have a fistful of change and small bills, I'm screwed. And in this case hungry.
"I need you to convince me that not eating anything even though I'm hungry because I don't want to break a $20 is stupid," I informed BrowsFan. A rational appeal calls for a rational response doesn't it? No! No, it most certainly does not, and BrownsFan has known me long enough to realize that even if it seems like I want a logical answer, even if I specifically ask for one, I'm never going to buy into such hooey. And bless her, she didn't even try.
Instead she said, "It's Thursday today, which means you're going to the bar right? So since you're probably going to take a cab home, you're going to have to break that $20 later on tonight anyway. If you do it now, you won't have to ask the cab driver for change," which appealed to both my large bill asshattery AND my paralyzing fear of strangers. In the face of such a flawless argument, there was nothing for me to do but go to Walgreens and buy a bag of Chex Mix.
Case in point: Last week I wandered into the office of BrownsFan because I was ravenously hungry but mentally incapable of purchasing food because all I had on me were $20s. Now, if you don't know me well, this will not seem like a problem, because if I have money, I can obviously buy food. The folks who DO know me have just collectively thought "Uh oh" because they all know the $20/$10 dilemma. The $20/$10 dilemma is this thing where I am a ridiculous asshat and won't break a $20 for anything that costs less than $10, and also will not pull out the plastic for anything that costs less than $10. Basically, if I want something that costs less than $10 and I don't already have a fistful of change and small bills, I'm screwed. And in this case hungry.
"I need you to convince me that not eating anything even though I'm hungry because I don't want to break a $20 is stupid," I informed BrowsFan. A rational appeal calls for a rational response doesn't it? No! No, it most certainly does not, and BrownsFan has known me long enough to realize that even if it seems like I want a logical answer, even if I specifically ask for one, I'm never going to buy into such hooey. And bless her, she didn't even try.
Instead she said, "It's Thursday today, which means you're going to the bar right? So since you're probably going to take a cab home, you're going to have to break that $20 later on tonight anyway. If you do it now, you won't have to ask the cab driver for change," which appealed to both my large bill asshattery AND my paralyzing fear of strangers. In the face of such a flawless argument, there was nothing for me to do but go to Walgreens and buy a bag of Chex Mix.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Slutty Piety
The cake master: so what should i be for halloween?
Me: slutty something. the only costumes available for women are slut versions of other things
The cake master: i know, which is why i plan on making my own costume
i was thinking either nurse ratchet from from one flew over the cuckoos nest, or the pope, only with huge boobs
Me: the pope should always have huge boobs. i'd be more inclined to heed the pope if he had giant knockers
Me: slutty something. the only costumes available for women are slut versions of other things
The cake master: i know, which is why i plan on making my own costume
i was thinking either nurse ratchet from from one flew over the cuckoos nest, or the pope, only with huge boobs
Me: the pope should always have huge boobs. i'd be more inclined to heed the pope if he had giant knockers
Thursday, September 24, 2009
That Should Just About Cover It
Chris G: I don't agree with what you do, but I approve of what you do because you do what you do.
Me: Yes, I do do what I do.
Me: Yes, I do do what I do.
I'm Going Off The Rails On A Crazy Train
Once upon a time, when I was the frightened victim of a home invasion, I had this conversation with Fish:
Me: There's no spiders in the Loop.
Fish: I'm pretty sure that's not true.
For those keeping score at home, that makes it Fish and things that are trying to kill me 1, amberance nil.
I noticed the first one coming down the stairs at Quincy last Friday morning hanging from the overhead light. Not your standard yellowish brown house spider of run of the mill terrifyingness, but one of those big black ones with the huge fat asses that are clearly capable of devouring an infant in under two minutes or, more importantly, a grown woman in ten. Hanging from the light just waiting with patient malice for me to walk underneath it so it can jump on my head. Being that it is officially autumn now, I have prepared myself for spiders seeking a warmer environment, i.e. indoors or hanging off of a light, so the heart attack I had was relatively minor and I made a mental note to use the other stairs when I went home.
One of the things with me and the spiders is that these incidents do not leave me right away. When I encounter one I tend to relive it for hours and I am on heightened spider awareness for several days. I don't seem to be able to just shrug it off and forget about it. Because of this, when I went home that afternoon, my eyes were scanning every overhead light I would have to pass . I found another one on the other set of stairs. And another one on the walkway. And then, when I got on the platform, HOLY FUCKING SHIT THERE WERE DOZENS OF THEM. Every single light. I mean it, every one. And they were moving. Oh they were very busy spinning their evil death traps and plotting my demise. It was the longest wait for a train I have ever experienced.
Even when the train showed up the terror didn't stop. I was looking in the corners of the train, at the seat backs, the hand rails. I checked my jacket hood and my backpack. There was no way, I thought, no WAY with that many spiders and that many people for them to jump on, that they hadn't orchestrated a mass invasion of the transit system. I didn't see any more that day, but I didn't manage to stop thinking about it either. The situation was clear: I can't use the Quincy train station any longer. At least until mid winter.
"What are you going to do, walk to work?" asked the comic (who has thus far failed to grasp the depth of my fear) later that night when I told him.
"No, I'm going to start getting off at Washington/Wells."
"What if there are spiders there?" There are spiders there, I've checked. But there are far fewer of them, they are more spread out and the station is designed in such a way that I'm not forced to walk under the lights (a.k.a. gauntlet of terror). It is by no means a perfect solution. I still spend the ride home checking and rechecking all surface areas on myself and the train, and my nerves are still at Defcon 3 the entire time I'm standing on the platform, but I can handle it. So far. The comic has decided that he prefers sexy blonde ponytail Amber to the pile of crazy you all have just experienced. "I'll leave bananas Amber for someone else," he said. That, good people, would be you.
Me: There's no spiders in the Loop.
Fish: I'm pretty sure that's not true.
For those keeping score at home, that makes it Fish and things that are trying to kill me 1, amberance nil.
I noticed the first one coming down the stairs at Quincy last Friday morning hanging from the overhead light. Not your standard yellowish brown house spider of run of the mill terrifyingness, but one of those big black ones with the huge fat asses that are clearly capable of devouring an infant in under two minutes or, more importantly, a grown woman in ten. Hanging from the light just waiting with patient malice for me to walk underneath it so it can jump on my head. Being that it is officially autumn now, I have prepared myself for spiders seeking a warmer environment, i.e. indoors or hanging off of a light, so the heart attack I had was relatively minor and I made a mental note to use the other stairs when I went home.
One of the things with me and the spiders is that these incidents do not leave me right away. When I encounter one I tend to relive it for hours and I am on heightened spider awareness for several days. I don't seem to be able to just shrug it off and forget about it. Because of this, when I went home that afternoon, my eyes were scanning every overhead light I would have to pass . I found another one on the other set of stairs. And another one on the walkway. And then, when I got on the platform, HOLY FUCKING SHIT THERE WERE DOZENS OF THEM. Every single light. I mean it, every one. And they were moving. Oh they were very busy spinning their evil death traps and plotting my demise. It was the longest wait for a train I have ever experienced.
Even when the train showed up the terror didn't stop. I was looking in the corners of the train, at the seat backs, the hand rails. I checked my jacket hood and my backpack. There was no way, I thought, no WAY with that many spiders and that many people for them to jump on, that they hadn't orchestrated a mass invasion of the transit system. I didn't see any more that day, but I didn't manage to stop thinking about it either. The situation was clear: I can't use the Quincy train station any longer. At least until mid winter.
"What are you going to do, walk to work?" asked the comic (who has thus far failed to grasp the depth of my fear) later that night when I told him.
"No, I'm going to start getting off at Washington/Wells."
"What if there are spiders there?" There are spiders there, I've checked. But there are far fewer of them, they are more spread out and the station is designed in such a way that I'm not forced to walk under the lights (a.k.a. gauntlet of terror). It is by no means a perfect solution. I still spend the ride home checking and rechecking all surface areas on myself and the train, and my nerves are still at Defcon 3 the entire time I'm standing on the platform, but I can handle it. So far. The comic has decided that he prefers sexy blonde ponytail Amber to the pile of crazy you all have just experienced. "I'll leave bananas Amber for someone else," he said. That, good people, would be you.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Re: Boobs
Conversations at Tai's frequently involve boobs. To wit:
The bartender (to Teacher Charlie): You like big boobs.
Me: That's why he doesn't hit on me.
Teacher Charlie: No, actually I'm more of an ass man than a boob man.
Me: Oh. Well then why DON'T you hit on me? My ass is cute.
Teacher Charlie: It is, but I can't hit on you, you already know I'm a sleaze.
-----------------
Me (arguing about the relative attractiveness of myself and our friend who was asked to do Playboy): She has bigger boobs than me.
The Angry Scotsman: You have bigger boobs than me.
Me: I hope so.
The Angry Scotsman: But mine are hairier than yours.
Me: You hope so.
The bartender (to Teacher Charlie): You like big boobs.
Me: That's why he doesn't hit on me.
Teacher Charlie: No, actually I'm more of an ass man than a boob man.
Me: Oh. Well then why DON'T you hit on me? My ass is cute.
Teacher Charlie: It is, but I can't hit on you, you already know I'm a sleaze.
-----------------
Me (arguing about the relative attractiveness of myself and our friend who was asked to do Playboy): She has bigger boobs than me.
The Angry Scotsman: You have bigger boobs than me.
Me: I hope so.
The Angry Scotsman: But mine are hairier than yours.
Me: You hope so.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
I Can FEEL When Retail is Near. That's Why I Have to Go.
Fish: Where are we thinking for mattress shopping?
me: hell if i know, someplace known for their sale of mattresses i assume
Fish: Look, you have a vagina. Shopping is your expertise. I just bring my pocketbook
me: when, in the entire history of knowing each other, with the exception of going to ikea, have you ever known me to be all "omigod, let's go SHOPPING!"?
Fish: Never. I'm not arguing that YOU don't like shopping but your genes KNOW shopping. It's your bloodrite.
Imagine you are anakin
When you are born you don't know you have control over the force
But you do, because you have no father and George Lucas is terrible at drawing Jesus allegories
Hope this helps
me: hell if i know, someplace known for their sale of mattresses i assume
Fish: Look, you have a vagina. Shopping is your expertise. I just bring my pocketbook
me: when, in the entire history of knowing each other, with the exception of going to ikea, have you ever known me to be all "omigod, let's go SHOPPING!"?
Fish: Never. I'm not arguing that YOU don't like shopping but your genes KNOW shopping. It's your bloodrite.
Imagine you are anakin
When you are born you don't know you have control over the force
But you do, because you have no father and George Lucas is terrible at drawing Jesus allegories
Hope this helps
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Bizzybiz Makes The Grade
There are three podcasts that I listen to which are each my favorite podcast assuming you are allowed to pick one per country, and they are also all somewhat related given that they are all friends with each other.
Punky! Radio you have heard of before because I simply cannot shut up about it. And if you thought I loved it before, you should see how much I love it now since going to England, where I got to be the mystery assistant on not one but two episodes during my visit. You could say I now have an intimate knowledge of the show.
Air Out My Shorts is a show by two loony Canadians (I am laughing at my own stupid joke there) where they read short stories sent in by listeners. The reading is usually butchered and the plot eviscerated by the two of them and it is really really funny.
Finally from right here in Chicago comes Total Talk Nonsense with Jon and Scott, a brilliant piece of talk show lunacy that is a great way to pass the hours at work, if you work at a company that is very very lenient about you listening to content that is not at all safe for work. It is both funny and intelligent, except for when it is hilariously stupid: I have convinced a dozen or so people to start listening to this show based on one infamous clip where Scott demonstrates his inability to read aloud (click on the clip called "Total Talk Nonsense Promo") and inadvertently invents a new word. Scott has also recently started a very well written blog that I have been enjoying for a few months.
These three podcasts are the gold standard by which I judge all other podcasts, including my own (assuming we ever do another one STEVE). So I was very surprised and happy when TTN's latest episode mentioned that I'd gone out to see their band at The Beacon Tap a couple of months ago. But even better than that was Jon's mention of this very blog and how much he likes it! Jon, thanks so much for the shout out and the compliment! And keep me in the loop because I would still love to Skype in to the show.
These three podcasts are the gold standard by which I judge all other podcasts, including my own (assuming we ever do another one STEVE). So I was very surprised and happy when TTN's latest episode mentioned that I'd gone out to see their band at The Beacon Tap a couple of months ago. But even better than that was Jon's mention of this very blog and how much he likes it! Jon, thanks so much for the shout out and the compliment! And keep me in the loop because I would still love to Skype in to the show.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Amberance: Of Questionable Usefulness
me: oh so did i show you the new boots i bought?
H-town: no!
me: these
H-Town: holy schneikes
those are some sexy fishing waders
for the sexy fisherman in your life
awesome
can you come over and walk around on our front lawn to aerate it?
me: no problem
there's going to be a vinyl corset that goes with those when i find it
H-Town: yes
you'll be entirely waterproof
me: it's a dream of mine
H-town: don't sit on any old grandmother's vinyl couch, you'll be stuck forever
me: i can lay down on the grass and be a slip n slide
H-town: hahahaha
"honey, get the hose!"
me: hopefully no one will try to make me float on top of a pool all winter
H-town: hahaha
that'll be a skinny pool
hey, nice pool cover. oh that? that's actually amber
aaaaand scene
me: we're here all week
H-town: remove the vinyl cover before trying the veal, folks
H-town: no!
me: these
H-Town: holy schneikes
those are some sexy fishing waders
for the sexy fisherman in your life
awesome
can you come over and walk around on our front lawn to aerate it?
me: no problem
there's going to be a vinyl corset that goes with those when i find it
H-Town: yes
you'll be entirely waterproof
me: it's a dream of mine
H-town: don't sit on any old grandmother's vinyl couch, you'll be stuck forever
me: i can lay down on the grass and be a slip n slide
H-town: hahahaha
"honey, get the hose!"
me: hopefully no one will try to make me float on top of a pool all winter
H-town: hahaha
that'll be a skinny pool
hey, nice pool cover. oh that? that's actually amber
aaaaand scene
me: we're here all week
H-town: remove the vinyl cover before trying the veal, folks
Monday, August 17, 2009
Amberance: Fun and Social (No, I'm Serious)
It has taken me well over a week to sit down and write this post detailing the events of two Thursday nights ago. This is due as much to the fact that it took me nearly this long to recover from it as it is to my well documented laziness.
In the past several months, I have inexplicably developed a social life. My good friend MrTrivia is in large part responsible for this, having gotten me addicted to playing trivia at Witts and introducing me to some really cool people. Two weeks ago, our standing plans for Wednesday night trivia got canceled due to everyone but MrTrivia and me bailing. We decided that two people was not enough for trivia and decided to skip it for the week, leaving open the possibility of meeting up at Tai's the next day.
Thursday rolled around and it looked like it was going to be a typical Thursday with no MrTrivia due to this text message I received mid-afternoon: "I remember now why I got married. When my wife is here she makes me go to bed, but when she is out of town I stay up all night playing video games. Don't think I'll make it tonight." I had also gotten a text from MrSteve asking if I'd be around. MrSteve has gone and got himself a girlfriend and so understandably does not always show up for the Thursday ritual. I assumed he'd be showing for one and then heading off to visit his lady as per his recent custom. I was wrong on both accounts.
Shortly after I showed up for dinner, MrTrivia walked in. He had apparently texted everyone else we know as well, because they started showing up a few at a time. Notable amongst this group was Steve G. Steve G is one of Cap's fraternity brothers and is somewhat difficult to describe. He the kind of person where he shows up and you're excited to see him because you know the evening is going to be hilarious and then you regret it later when you've been thrown out of several bars due to his jackassery.
In the meantime, MrSteve had also showed and brought along his girlfriend, the actress. The significance of this cannot be overstated: MrSteve has done his very best to keep us from meeting for as long as possible because of some nebulous fear he has that Something Might Happen - at his expense. So his bringing her to Tai's on Thursday was a momentous occasion, which I marked by squealing and throwing my arms around her the second they walked through the door. Much as MrSteve had feared, the actress and I got on famously and spent most of the night talking while MrSteve made a David Byrne "My God, what have I done?" face.
By now there was so much activity that I had begun taking notes, despite knowing they were unlikely to make sense when I sobered up. Here are some:
It was now 3:00 a.m. I shocked, SHOCKED the entire staff with my entrance and the fact that I was still awake, let alone still out and still drinking. I don't remember much of what happened after that, except for a Steelers/Wolverines fan that wanted to take me to dinner (NO! A thousand times no!). At some point I wrote a note to myself which simply reads "titty fucking". I have no idea. The next thing I knew, the lights were up and everyone was being asked to leave. I stuck around, figuring at this point I might as well just catch a ride home with the bartender. Meanwhile out on the sidewalk, MrTrivia was trying to hail a cab so he and Steve G. could go out for breakfast, and Steve G. was putting his nipples on the window and waving at us. MrTrivia later told me this behavior continued at the diner where Steve G. offered the server a handjob for a free slinger. For my part I went home and left a bunch of insane comments on Facebook, then fell asleep for an hour in my clothes. The bartender had to wake me up for work, where I spent the day fueling my consciousness with Diet Coke and trying to will time to speed up so I could go home.
MrTrivia, thanks for a great night out and for not letting me give in to the temptation of being a responsible adult. It turns out I don't hate fun after all.
In the past several months, I have inexplicably developed a social life. My good friend MrTrivia is in large part responsible for this, having gotten me addicted to playing trivia at Witts and introducing me to some really cool people. Two weeks ago, our standing plans for Wednesday night trivia got canceled due to everyone but MrTrivia and me bailing. We decided that two people was not enough for trivia and decided to skip it for the week, leaving open the possibility of meeting up at Tai's the next day.
Thursday rolled around and it looked like it was going to be a typical Thursday with no MrTrivia due to this text message I received mid-afternoon: "I remember now why I got married. When my wife is here she makes me go to bed, but when she is out of town I stay up all night playing video games. Don't think I'll make it tonight." I had also gotten a text from MrSteve asking if I'd be around. MrSteve has gone and got himself a girlfriend and so understandably does not always show up for the Thursday ritual. I assumed he'd be showing for one and then heading off to visit his lady as per his recent custom. I was wrong on both accounts.
Shortly after I showed up for dinner, MrTrivia walked in. He had apparently texted everyone else we know as well, because they started showing up a few at a time. Notable amongst this group was Steve G. Steve G is one of Cap's fraternity brothers and is somewhat difficult to describe. He the kind of person where he shows up and you're excited to see him because you know the evening is going to be hilarious and then you regret it later when you've been thrown out of several bars due to his jackassery.
In the meantime, MrSteve had also showed and brought along his girlfriend, the actress. The significance of this cannot be overstated: MrSteve has done his very best to keep us from meeting for as long as possible because of some nebulous fear he has that Something Might Happen - at his expense. So his bringing her to Tai's on Thursday was a momentous occasion, which I marked by squealing and throwing my arms around her the second they walked through the door. Much as MrSteve had feared, the actress and I got on famously and spent most of the night talking while MrSteve made a David Byrne "My God, what have I done?" face.
By now there was so much activity that I had begun taking notes, despite knowing they were unlikely to make sense when I sobered up. Here are some:
- "Shark guy: We just didn't know they would travel those kind of distances for sex. Me: What? Have you HAD sex?" It was shark week that week, and I was ODing on shark programming. I'd sucked the bartender in as well, and so we had it on in the bar. The show we were watching was about the mating habits of Great Whites, and the shark guy's comment led to me demanding that MrSteve look up the distance of how far I've been known to travel for a conquest on his iPhone. (I have traveled 1/7 of the total circumference of the earth. Eat that, sharks.)
- "Paulblo!" I coined this term for our friend Pablo, who has recently discovered a discrepancy in his first name on several government documents. Some of them have him listed as Pablo, and others as Paul. He's been having a bit of a nightmare getting it sorted out. For the rest of us it's been really entertaining as we've all started treating him as if he were two separate people. Pablo declined to go out with us, so MrTrivia sent him a text: "Dear Paul, Pablo is being a douche. Meet us at Tai's."
- "Steve G's phone: I have feelings for you! Fas. (e-mail [MrTrivia] and he'll explain)" I have no idea what this means. Neither does MrTrivia, I checked.
- "[the actress]: It's an equation. A 39 cent kite times two engineers = you need to buy a more expensive kite. Me: Yeah, they need a kite like in The Kite Runner, but without the rape." MrSteve was telling us a story about how he and his brother struggled to get a cheap kite to fly. I was, naturally, looking for an opportunity to say something wholly inappropriate.
- "Penis pancake!" MrTrivia cleared this one up the next day when I found a photo of a cock-shaped pancake in my e-mail.
It was now 3:00 a.m. I shocked, SHOCKED the entire staff with my entrance and the fact that I was still awake, let alone still out and still drinking. I don't remember much of what happened after that, except for a Steelers/Wolverines fan that wanted to take me to dinner (NO! A thousand times no!). At some point I wrote a note to myself which simply reads "titty fucking". I have no idea. The next thing I knew, the lights were up and everyone was being asked to leave. I stuck around, figuring at this point I might as well just catch a ride home with the bartender. Meanwhile out on the sidewalk, MrTrivia was trying to hail a cab so he and Steve G. could go out for breakfast, and Steve G. was putting his nipples on the window and waving at us. MrTrivia later told me this behavior continued at the diner where Steve G. offered the server a handjob for a free slinger. For my part I went home and left a bunch of insane comments on Facebook, then fell asleep for an hour in my clothes. The bartender had to wake me up for work, where I spent the day fueling my consciousness with Diet Coke and trying to will time to speed up so I could go home.
MrTrivia, thanks for a great night out and for not letting me give in to the temptation of being a responsible adult. It turns out I don't hate fun after all.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Snow Blows
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
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
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.
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