Now with more Neil Gaiman

March 20, 2011 at 6:07 pm (Funny at least to me) (, , , , , , )

I didn’t realize how unbelievably awesome eBay really is. I mean, I knew I could go there and bid outrageous amounts of money on an old dishrag that showed the image of our Lord after mopping up an oil stain. That’s pretty cool. But imagine my surprise when I searched for one of my favorite authors and guess the hell what?

Neil Gaiman for sale!!!

Neil Gaiman for sale!! Now with Buyer Protection!

That’s right, kids. I can buy Neil Gaiman on eBay! And what’s better, they also offer me eBay Buyer Protection…in case, upon receipt of my Neil Gaiman and I find he’s not quite up to snuff, I can send his ass back.

I could have also titled this post: reason #246 that search engines suck. But what would be the fun in that? And if you don’t know who Neil Gaiman is, SHAME ON YOU!

So now that eBay is apparently in the business of human trafficking, who would you buy?

Advertisements

Permalink 3 Comments

#28 is done…hello cherry pie!

March 14, 2011 at 11:36 pm (Bucket List, Uncategorized) (, , , , , , , , , )

Cherry Pie Goodness

Cherry Pie Goodness fresh out of the oven.

When I first put together my “40 before 40” list, I wondered which number I would cross off first…would it be an altruistic endeavor, such as signing up for the Bone Marrow Registry? Would it be something creative, like signing up for a stained glass class, or finally making some resin jewelry?

Nope. Silly me. Of course it would have to do with food.

But it’s not my fault, since today is Pi Day, and I share a classroom with two other teachers who are always looking for a good excuse to bring in yummy food. So when my one roomie suggested we bring in pies for Pi Day, who was I to rain on the celebratory parade?

#28 on my list was to make a homemade pie. Any kind, just homemade. Now’s probably the good time to mention that I really don’t like baking all that much. Measuring is for sissies, and I prefer to cook without recipes (which has resulted in some very tasty, and some very toxic dishes).  So baking a pie was a pretty big deal for me…seemed like the most imposing type of dessert I could manage.

Yes, I cheated a little bit. I bought a frozen pie crust, because I couldn’t stand the thought of actually breaking out the rolling pin. But the crumb topping I made was such a royal pain in the ass, I feel totally redeemed for the store-bought crust. Another reason I don’t like baking–it tends to be a pain in the ass.

So what did I learn from #28? You shouldn’t let fruit pies tip, not even a little bit…and you definitely shouldn’t try to counteract the effect by tipping it drastically in the other direction. Thank goodness I was on my toes this morning, and was able to avert the near pie destruction. I also learned I really don’t like making pies. I learned that my roomie who suggested “Pie Day” doesn’t like cherry pie. I learned that when you work with teenagers too long, you can’t write the word pie any longer without starting to snicker and thinking of dirty jokes.

And the world is a better place because of my pie.

More Cherry Pie

Cherry Pie. So easy a caveman can do it. Or me.

Permalink 3 Comments

It’s a gym you nitwit, not a beauty salon

February 25, 2011 at 7:37 pm (Funny at least to me, Uncategorized) (, , , , , , )

Photo Courtesy of elvissa on Flickr

Dear young blonde thang at the gym the other night:

I regret to inform you that you and your friend mistakenly entered into a gym…not a jungle gym, which would be more appropriate befitting your age, but a gym where people work out and sweat. A lot.

So while I understand you were a bit perturbed when I walked my sweaty ass into the women’s lav in order to wash my hands, I really was making a better use of the facilities. I know you desperately needed to know that your hair hadn’t lost it’s proper curl-to-skank ratio. And that your make-up was still attached to your face, because, god forbid, someone see you without eyeliner. But you’re not at a freakin’ beauty salon, honey, you’re at the local no-frills gym. Where I am the norm. Someone sweaty and without an ounce of make-up. And wearing some bargain t-shirts and sweats. Because as cute as your little leopard-print short-shorts are, they don’t really scream “take me seriously!” to the dudes I have to share equipment with. They do scream “take me!” though, so rest assured you will get plenty of the attention you claim to despise.

I also apologize for getting a bit perturbed myself as I had to wait to wash my hands because you and your friend were busy fixing said hair and making kissy faces at the mirror (because if you’re reflection doesn’t love you, who will?). I guess I don’t have the patience I used to with idiots. Sorry. I’m in my 30s. That’s the decade you become allergic to idiots.

Hopefully the dye-job didn’t seep into your brain, and you will be able to figure out that you were a bit confused on your surroundings, and we can co-exist in harmony the next time our paths cross. But lose the leopard-print shorts. They really do scream “take me.”

PS. And to the 40-something dude who couldn’t be bothered to say “thank you” when I held the door for you, despite my strong belief that my arms were about to fall off, your Certificate of Douchebaggedness is in the mail. “You’re welcome.”

Permalink 2 Comments

A year later & VD still sucks…

February 13, 2011 at 10:58 pm (Dating is Fun, Funny at least to me) (, , , , , , , , )

Valentine’s Day, you pervs. Valentine’s Day still sucks (though it goes without saying that Venereal Disease is certainly a unfortunate event as well).

But I am woman enough to admit that if I did have a significant other, I would so be expecting some candy, a car and a Ferrari. See, no one can live up to my expectations.

So in celebration of the little fat bastard, a.k.a Cupid, I give you some special Valentine greetings from those of us not so keen on the bloody holiday (and no, I have not become British…the mascot of the holiday is a non-toilet trained toddler who shoots *arrows* people, how could it not get bloody?)

zwani.com myspace graphic comments
Easter Graphics

zwani.com myspace graphic comments
Easter Graphics
cupid
Anti Valentine Day graphics comment

Button

Card

Permalink Leave a Comment

I blame the teenagers…

February 1, 2011 at 3:07 am (Funny at least to me) (, , , , )

Potty humor...get it???

I’ve never been the model of propriety. E.V.E.R. I inherited the potty humor gene from my grandfather, and have also been blessed with the ability to say something inappropriate at the world’s most inappropriate time. It’s my gift. I accept it.

But working with teenagers for 8 hours a day has enabled me to rise to a new level of maturity…especially the boys. I’m not even sure a sailor could make me blush anymore. And I confess that as I listen to people speak, I hold back the urge (sometimes) to shout, “That ‘s what she said!” The result of my interaction with teenagers is a collection of everyday words that make me giggle. Which pisses off people trying to communicate with me on a serious level, which thank goodness, does not happen too often. So, I give you the top 10 words I can no longer hear without giggling.

1) sack

2) tea bag

3) your mom (technically a phrase, but it’s my list)

4) titillate (don’t judge–you know you just giggled, too)

5) junk

6) hard (pretty much in any way shape or form…usually used in a sentence which is followed up by “That’s what she said.”)

7) balls

8) pump

9) nut(s)

10) Uranus (like you don’t laugh at that one, too)

Lovely image of the potty by Bart Everson

Permalink 1 Comment

Reflections should be limited to mirrors…and clean bodies of water.

January 23, 2011 at 10:16 pm (Somewhat Serious) (, , , , , , )

It’s been about a year since I started this blog…mainly as a therapeutic outlet for my foray back into the world of dating. I kind of knew going in that dating in my late 30’s was going to be nothing like dating in my 20’s, but even I couldn’t predict the gauntlet I would be running in the quest to find a suitable mate.

It makes me appreciate the idea of arranged marriages. For real, yo.

The past year has been funny, but not really fun. Thanks for bursting my bubble, reality–most of the good men really are taken. I’ve meet a few…OK,only two…that I even considered real mate potential. One of those chose someone else, allowing me to ask distance myself and then ask, ‘What the eff was I thinking?’ So thanks for the help on avoiding a major mistake, dude #1. The second, is phenomenal. Truly–one of the most interesting and highly admirable persons I’ve met in years, let’s not even worry about the dating aspect. Which we won’t right now, because the fates, sadly, are having none of it. But he does give me that little seed of hope, which sometimes, is the best of all possible outcomes.

During this quest, there have been so many nutjobs that I worry about the toxicity levels of the water here in Western New York. One guy couldn’t have a conversation without talking ad nauseum about how much he hated his ex-wife and what an evil bitch she was. Way to move on there, dude. After I told him I didn’t think he was in a good place for a relationship, he told me I was mean. Which I took as a compliment, because what he really meant was I am sane. Two weeks later, I get an email from him that he got married over the weekend. W.T.F.? You must be very happy in that world of yours you appear to be floating around in.

And this is mild compared to some of the other nonsense. Good thing I’m a high school teacher and used to dealing with humans under the influence of hormonal rages.

So, I guess this blog post really doesn’t have much of a point…just seemed like I should reflect on the year. Great idea. Now I just feel like I need a glass of wine.

 

Permalink 1 Comment

Good thing I have 2 1/2 years to tackle this bad boy

January 4, 2011 at 2:40 am (Bucket List, Uncategorized) (, , , , , , )

Day 3 of the new year, and not one of my 40 items is on the horizon…though I did look at the papayas at the supermarket as a possible fruit never-yet-eaten. And the portabello mushrooms, because you are visiting the blog of the last existing human to have never eaten a portabello mushroom. But then I thought that mushrooms are really a fungus, even though they are in the produce section, so they can’t really serve as a new vegetable…that would be like saying I wanted to try driving a back hoe (which I would do in a heart beat if anyone was every dumb enough to allow me behind the controls in one), but instead I ride around on a tricycle armed with a shovel.

Actually, it’s probably nothing like that, but I am freezing tonight and it’s affecting my brain…like my fingers feel like popsicles. Great, I just looked at my hands, and for a second they looked like old lady hands…thanks for the reminder, hands!

So I am trying to decide what I should tackle first, but I’ll probably just sit here and freeze for a while.

Sorry this blog has no real depth to it…just felt like being a smart ass for a while. It’s my blog. I can do that.

Permalink 1 Comment

eHarmony Sucks…just sayin’

December 26, 2010 at 3:11 am (Dating is Fun) (, , , , , )

I think the people who run eHarmony are delusional. You know that old guy in their commercials, who claims to be a “doctor”? Yeah, I’m pretty sure he’s a robot.

So I’ve been a customer of eHarmony. Only a little ashamed to admit it, mainly because it means I got played by a robot. I figured, if people are paying for a dating service, they might be a step up from the “hey baby, wanna get busy” crowd that lurks at bars and on free dating sites. Instead, I get a ROBOT sending me my perfect matches–of whom I have found maybe two out of 200 remotely interesting. So apparently, I don’t know what I want, because the robot assures me I should give people who don’t ever read books and work out 18 hours a day a chance, because that *is* what I really want. Thanks Mr. Robot. You suck.

Then Mr. eHarmony Robot has the nerve to invade my Facebook page.

What the evil eHarmony Robot wants you to believe...

If I ever find his little robot cave, I will do whatever it is people need to do to stop evil robots. I just need to do more research on that front. Promise.

Permalink 5 Comments

I blame The Magic School Bus

November 3, 2010 at 1:50 am (Uncategorized) (, , , , )

You know how society is crying how our youth grow up too fast? How kids are being exposed to sexual images by the evil media and turning them into little prostitutes and gigolos (OK, I had to look up how to spell gigolo, so I guess I’m not as risque as I thought)?

I blame The Magic School Bus. That’s right. The painfully bad mid-90’s cartoon that is supposedly teaching kids “science.” More like backroom biology!

So I’m at the gym, watching The Magic School Bus on closed caption. Don’t judge me, they don’t allow us to mess with the TV stations there. They are very controlling like that. Apparently the cracked-out bus has transformed into a space ship (oh, yeah, *that’s* scientifically sound), and is traveling through the solar system.

So what do I “read” on this innocent little kids show as they are headed towards Uranus (stop laughing just ’cause I said Uranus)?

“Uranus doesn’t do a thing for me…so you can get off of me, OK?”

I shit you not. I even googled the video to re-watch it, to make sure someone in the closed captioning service wasn’t messing with me. To make things worse, this is the scene in which the words are uttered.

The Magic Whore Bus is more like it!

How can our children be expected to remain pure with filth like this?!?!?!?

Permalink 1 Comment

Dexter is hot, and I’m a little bit simple…

October 12, 2010 at 12:41 am (Livin' La Vida Loca) (, , , )

I’ve always hated it when people assume I’m simple. Just because I don’t act like a pseudo-intellectual snob doesn’t mean I don’t have a functioning brain…but then something happens that reminds me that I give others plenty of ammunition to assume I am a few bricks short of a full load. Like when I choose an analogy with the words “brick” and “load”, knowing the connotations both those words carry beyond their intended meaning. At least with my friends.

So I am going over to a friend’s house to watch Dexter. Who is HOT! Dexter, I mean. Even if he is a serial killer, he’s a HOT serial killer. Because looking good can get you excused from all sorts of mayhem. But that really isn’t the point of my story. Even though a whole blog post about how HOT Dexter is would probably get a lot of hits.

So, again, I am going over to a friend’s house to watch Dexter. I have with me a bottle of red wine, because everybody know you don’t drink white when you are watching TV about serial killers. I have *some* class, people. Now, I confess–I am horrible with numbers. I don’t mean with math, just with the digits themselves. I can compute the resultant force of two masses pushing against each other, but I can’t remember two numbers. And if I am lucky enough to remember them, I flip them. This made learning lots of fun, and explains why I was an English major.

So I go up to house number 34, 100% positive that this is my friends house. I ring the bell. An old woman answers the door, looking a little concerned, but that’s how old ladies always look. I think it’s a lack of fiber. I figure this is Lisa’s mother, since her parents are living with her. I ask for Lisa. She tells me, “I’m not Lisa, I’m Louise.” Um, but that’s not Lisa, now is it? I apologize, knowing I have the wrong house, obviously, and Louise starts looking at me with the same sort of pitiful look she gives slow puppies. Great. Louise is judging me. She suggests I try number 43, which I think is a fabulous idea. After all, I probably just flipped the numbers.

So I take my bottle of red, and truck across the street, and ring the bell of number 43…and ask for Lisa. Who apparently doesn’t live here either. But Maryanne is very nice, and notices the bottle of wine, and says I must be a very nice friend. I think I’d like to party with Maryann some day, because she doesn’t judge me. She thinks I’m cool, even if I am a bit simple. The amazing upshot–Maryanne knows of Lisa, and points out her house…which is number 74.

The moral of the story? There is none. I’m just a simple girl with a penchant for red wine and hot serial killers. And I am OK with that. And Dexter was HOT!!!

Permalink Leave a Comment

Next page »