Monthly Archives: November 2011

“Why am I such a misfit? I am not just a nitwit.” Yes you ARE, Hermie. SHUT UP.

Let’s talk about Rudolph for a minute.

FINE, you know I never talk about ANYTHING for minute. Man, you know me TOO WELL. For a while, then. Let’s talk about Rudolph for a while.

Which Rudolph? Nureyev, what the hell Rudolph do you THINK? The REINDEER, you dolt, the REINDEER.

That special was on recently, and I know, I probably should have watched it? Because, get in the Christmas spirit! And, tradition! And, it’s kind of a musical! And, little puppet creatures!

But I kind of can’t stand it.

I know! I KNOW. That makes me a total heathen. OK, there are things I LIKE about that special. I will talk about them in a minute. But let’s talk about the shitty things first, ready?


This effing elf makes me INSANE with annoyance. First, there’s the voice, which is like nails on a chalkboard mixed with someone who doesn’t bother to blow their nose. Then there’s the whole “I don’t WANT to make toys! I want to be a DENTIST!” OK, you know what? That’s fine! Don’t do what people expect. I totally stand behind that. I mean, if everyone told me I had to make toys, I’d probably want to hang myself with garland, too. But STOP WHINING ABOUT IT. “A dentist, a dentist” SHUT UP HERMIE. The reason the other elves didn’t want you around wasn’t because you were a big weird weirdo who didn’t like making toys; it was because YOU NEVER SHUT UP ABOUT DENTISTRY. And you know what bores the pants off people? Dentistry. Also, you know what annoys people who are happy in their job? Constantly telling them how much that job sucks. SUCK ON THAT HERMIE.


I know. Right now you probably want to lynch me in the town square, or something. Whatever. I don’t care. RUDOLPH WAS ALSO A TOTAL WHINER. Granted, he had a little more reason to be – his dad was a total asshat, and we’ll talk about that later – but ZOMG SHUT UP RUDOLPH. The worst part is when he’s wearing that fake nose so he has adenoid-voice. I hate that part. I do have to admit to being a wee bit charmed by “she thinks I’m cuuuuute!”, though.


Now, listen. I don’t have a PROBLEM with the misfit toys. I ADORE the misfit toys, actually. I have a problem with the ISLAND. What’s up with this horrendous segregated Survivor Island where we let broken things languish? I’m so a misfit toy, I can’t even tell you. That scene used to make me BAWL when I was little. And my poor dad would be all, “Um, Amy, you are aware that all works out well for the Misfit Toys, right?” all worried about his girl’s mental health (spoiler alert, he still is) and I’d say “I KNOW BUT THEY’RE SO MEAN TO THOSE TOYS WHY CAN’T WE GO GET THEM NOWWWWW” and then I think he would go to the basement to fix things that weren’t certifiably insane. Also, the list of things that are wrong with the toys is cuckoo-bananas. There’s a water pistol that shoots jelly. Well, first, that is DELICIOUS. And second, wash it out and put in WATER, you weirdos. And so what if the elephant is spotted, or the bird swims (HELLO SO DO PENGUINS) and what is even WRONG with that doll? NOTHING THAT’S WHAT. The whole thing is HORRIBLE. Was it a concentration camp metaphor or something? I hated that so much. That was TOO MUCH FOR CHILDREN YOU GUYS.


Why is there randomly a lion guarding the Island of Misfit Toys? It’s like we fell into Narnia. That’s confused me for years. And he has WINGS. And his name is KING MOONRACER. Are you shitting me? What the hell were people smoking when they came up with this nonsense?


“Oh, my son’s handicapped, let’s hide that from the world by making him wear mud on his nose THAT HE BREATHES OUT OF and also SHAME HIM SHAME HIM DAILY!”

Shut up, Donner. I wish the Bumble had eaten your whole face.


This Santa is the suck, you guys. Well, all Santas are, because I’m scared shitless of Santa, but this one’s all all crotchety and beady-eyed and yelling at people and his ho-ho-ho’s sound forced and I kind of hate him the most. He makes his reindeer play reindeer games in order to win his approval – NO ONE LIKES REINDEER GAMES, SANTA – and he’s totally in on the whole “hide the deformity” thing because you KNOW Donner wouldn’t have done it if he thought Santa, evil overlord of the Pole, welcomed individuality. See? THIS IS WHY I HATE SANTA YOU GUYS.


This snowman is the worst. His songs last like a MONTH EACH. You have to watch all the woodland critters racing around and he’s singing and singing and SINGING and you KNOW it’s only because he’s Burl Ives or whatever and WHO THE HELL CARES because Burl Ives wasn’t even popular in my GENERATION I don’t know Burl Ives from a HOLE IN THE DAMN WALL. Shut up, SNOWMAN.

OK, so there are the things that annoy me. Which are most of the things, let’s be frank. But there are a few things I love. Here. I will show you!


Once Rudolph’s mud-nose falls off and everyone’s all “you’re DIFFERENT HA HA” he gets all indignant and you think he’s going to come up with something awesome and then he squeaks out, all righteously, “Stop calling me NAMES!” and it’s HILARIOUS. I mean, it’s also probably very what-leads-t0-a-school-shooting, but the delivery of the line makes me roll on the floor with laughter every time.


Every once in a while, the characters will be surprised or hit over the head or almost eaten by the Bumble and they’ll get eyes like the eyes above. This is just the funniest to me for no reason. I out-of-control love this expression. It is the BOMB, yo.


Yukon Cornelius is the BEST. I like that he licks his little prospector’s pick and is all, “Nuthin’.” I like that he’s fearless. I like that he’s rescuey. I like his gumption. I like his corny jokes. He’s my kind of hero. More him, less everyone else in this show, please.


I am totally in love with the Bumble. I want the Bumble to eat everyone except Yukon Cornelius and the Misfit Toys and then have a show about just THEM. I want the Bumble to eat Hermie when he’s pretending to be a pig. I want the Bumble to have venison for YEARS with Santa’s reindeer. Poor Bumble! And then that effing HERMIE neuters him, effectively, by pulling out all of his teeth, and they make him PUT STARS ON TOP OF TALL TREES for all of the rest of time. Wow, that’s totally NOT SLAVE LABOR AT ALL. What the HELL. I will adopt you, Bumble. I will get you SHARP DENTURES and let you EAT ALL THE PEOPLE YOU WANT.

In summation: everyone sucks at this North Pole except the Misfit Toys, Yukon Cornelius, and the Bumble (pre-neutering.) And this show is about bullying, segregation, neutering, and slave labor. Keep that in mind when you’re watching it with the kiddoes this holiday season! Cheers! (YES, I’m totally fun around the holidays. WHY WOULD YOU ASK ME THAT.)


I’m pretty sure you’re not “loosing” your mind. I mean, you might be. But odds are good you’re not.

Good morning, Lucites! (Meh. I still don’t love that.) I SAID GOOD MORNING! You haven’t had your coffee yet, have you? Well, drink up. Could you PUT any more sugar in there? I mean, seriously, you know that once you put too much sugar in there it reaches some sort of scientific saturation point or something and you just get a soggy mess of coffee sugar at the bottom, right? Or is that what you’re going for? I mean, if it is, go to. Who am I to stop the march of progress?

Today, we’re going to talk about something very near and dear to my heart. No, not cake. No, not turtles. No, NOT Joss Whedon. STOP SHOUTING THINGS OUT. This isn’t the Republican Presidential Candidate Debates, what the hell.


Ooh, stop SHRINKING AWAY IN FEAR. Grammar is your FRIEND.

Well, grammar is SOME of you people’s friend. And honestly, it’s the friend of most people who read my blog, because I think most people who read this wouldn’t stick around long if they weren’t at least semi-literate. That was a total pat on the back and kind of rude. Really, what I meant was, I write a lot, and if you’re not into reading all the words and such, you might have clicked here once, then moved on, because you would be frightened by the loquaciousness. And that’s ok. I’m totally kind of scary. I get that.

But there are other people out there who have fights with grammar every day, like total schoolyard BULLIES of grammar. And grammar doesn’t like that! Grammar wants you to love it! Grammar’s totally slutty, y’all. It wants you to use it. But it is not a cheap whore! It does NOT want you to abuse it! No, no!

So let’s go over some common grammar mistakes. I know these are going to seem like “blah blah, I GRADUATED FROM ELEMENTARY SCHOOL AMY” to some of you. Most of you. But think of the people who are searching Google someday for help on these things. I would like if they found my blog and it was a reference. That would be nice! Like, once? Someone found my blog because they wanted help with pie charts? And how nice was that, I was totally helpful. I like to think that some high school kid was all “I AM THE GREATEST” that day in school because of me. So today we’re doing GRAMMAR. Also, have you SEEN the internet lately? It makes you want to set your eyeballs on fire with cooking oil.

It’s vs. its 

Let’s start small. “It’s” is a contraction. A contraction is when a letter, or more than one letter, is dropped from a word, and then it is conjoined with ANOTHER word, using an apostrophe. That’s a lot of talking, right? It’s = IT IS. See? See how easy that is? You take out the “i” from “is” and SMOOOOSH together the two words and add an apostrophe and you have a contraction. Other contractions, not to muddy the waters, are “they’re”, “we’re”, “aren’t”, etc. You get this, right? I mean, “it’s” is a lot of other things, too, but above all else, it’s (see what I did, there?) a contraction. For IT IS.

“Its” is a possessive. It means “belonging to it.”

So in the sentence “She gave the cat it’s dinner,” the writer is actually saying “She gave the cat it is dinner,” and I think we can all agree that’s just a really, really stupid thing for anyone to say, right? Is the cat dinner? IS IT REALLY?

Or, alternately, in the sentence “I don’t know if its a good idea,” you don’t know if WHAT’S a good idea? Where’s your damn apostrophe, weirdo? It’s not like they cost anything, except if you’re sending a telegram. And who even sends telegrams anymore? We’re not Mad Men.

Now, look, to make you yahoos feel better, I actually, yes, EVEN ME, make errors here. Because I was absent this day in school. I even remember the day. It was third grade. I was sick. We were discussing possessives. I got back the next day and I saw the last day’s lesson on the board and I was all, “Hey, teacher, what is this I love learning!” and the teacher said “Nevermind, you’ll catch up.” Nope. Never did. I have a little cheat sheet for possessives hanging on my office cube wall. I AM TOTALLY SERIOUS. So don’t feel too bad. Possessives can be hard. (My issue is that I constantly am wanting, for no good reason at all, to add an apostrophe AFTER the “s” in “its.” No, I don’t know why, either. THANKS A LOT THIRD GRADE TEACHER WHO HATED MY LOVE OF LEARNING.)

They’re vs. There vs. Their

Ooh, NOW we’re getting to the nitty-gritty, right? This is something no one can master. NO ONE.

“They’re” is, as discussed above, what? Yes! That’s right! A contraction! It means “they are.” A sample sentence using it correctly is “They’re going to be so mad you stole all of that porn.”

“There” is a word designating a place. My favorite sentence using this word is “I want to go to there.” This is a sentence used by Liz Lemon in 30 Rock, and also by me, pretty much constantly, whenever I see something or someone I desire. Which is a lot. I want all the things. All the time.

“Their” is a possessive (I know! Those again!) meaning “belonging to them.” A sample sentence using this word correctly is “Don’t touch their meth, because you’ll totally get shot in the head for that around these parts.”

Now, apparently, someone sent out a memo that these three words can be used interchangeably. NO NO NO. That is NOT THE CASE BUCKAROOS. An example of bad news: “I went to the Walmarts and they were all out of adult diapers over their.” OVER THEIR WHAT? Over their…heads? Over their…bottom lines? THIS DOESN’T MAKE SENSE. (Also, why are so many people pluralizing store names? I mean, I do it as a joke, but some people do it ON PURPOSE. There’s a local commercial where the woman says “Going to my local Hannafords is such a great shopping experience” and I want to pelt her with rotten peaches every time I hear it. GAH.)

Think about what the word means before you insert it in a sentence. Are you going somewhere? Use there. Are two or more people doing something? Use they’re. Does something belong to someone? Use their.

You’re vs. Your

Now that you rock the their/there/they’re thing, this is cake, right? IT IS. And everyone likes cake. SHUT UP THEY DO.

You’re = you are.

Your = belonging to you.

Correct: “That is your bag of weed.”

Correct: “You’re doing it wrong.”

Incorrect: “Your a weirdo troll-person and I want to slap you in you’re face area.”

Also, you might want to use “yore”, but that really only works if you’re from ago times. So probably don’t use that regularly.

Could of/would of vs. could have/would have

I get why you’re doing this. I do. The English language, she is a tricksy mistress. She sounds one way, she spells another. When you say, out loud, “I could have gone for a second tequila shot,” it kind of SOUNDS like “I could of gone for a second tequila shot.” So you WRITE it that way. I get it. I’m not totally unsympathetic, you guys. I like puppies, kittens, and lost causes. I really do.

DON’T EVER WRITE COULD OR WOULD OF. It’s never right. Ever. Not even EVER. Except if you’re making fun of people who write such things, or if you’re writing a grammar tutorial. And even then, it’s iffy.

To vs. Too vs. Two

Homophones. I know! They all sound the same. That’s crazysauce! Just like the you’res and the theres, these sound the same, so they’re really perplexing. Stop being homophonic, you guys. It’s 2011, and that’s totally embarrassing.

To – just a teeny little preposition. “I went to the stripclub.”

Too – also. “I want all the Precious Moments figurines, too!”

Two – more than one, less than three. “Why the hell do you have two wind-up spark-spitting nun figurines?”

Replacing any with any others makes you look to, two, toooooo ridiculous. Pay attention to what you want to say, and SAY IT.

Spelling and you

Listen, I was the spelling bee champion of my school for three years running. I’m totally bragging because I’m proud as SHIT about that. I went to the regional bee and almost made it to Washington twice, even. Like, I was 6 people away from Washington, once. Also, it was the 80s, so I wore totally stylish white sparkly tights.

And I get that it’s a digital world and things move fast and there are typos. I make them, too. Whatever. The occasional typo never killed anyone. I know that. But constantly misspelling things? THE SAME THINGS? I want to punch you with one of those Hulk Hands.

Here are some spelling issues that make me grit my teeth so hard that I’m pretty sure I need a dental nightguard.

Alot. ALOT is TWO WORDS. A. Lot. “I have a lot of issues.” “I like a lot of things.” “I DISLIKE a lot of things.” See? TWO WORDS. Why so smish-smashy with this? I don’t get it. “Alot” is never a word. Ever. “Allot” is totally a word, but doesn’t mean many. You always, always, ALWAYS need a space in between “a” and “lot.” Think about it this way. You have a cat. Do you have acat? No. You have a refrigerator. Do you have arefrigerator? No. You also don’t have alot.

Desert/dessert. A desert is where Snoopy’s brother lives; a dessert is a delicious treat for your mouthhole (unless there’s fruit in it, ick.) Remember it thusly; there are two “ss”s in “dessert” because it’s TWICE as delicious as eating sand. Unless you’re like a sandworm or something, what the hell do I know about sandworms. This spelling mistake has the added appeal of making me giggle a lot, because “I was eating the most delicious desert ever last night” and “OMG did you hear about that guy who got lost and died in the dessert?” are both totally funny.

Lose/loose. You LOSE your mind. Your morals are LOOSE. Similar to the above, it’s funny when these are done wrong. But also totally kind of sad. “I am always loosing my keys!” makes me think you’re releasing them into the wild or something. How to remember them: there are two o’s in loose, because only LOSERS have one o. Get it? Man, do I hate losing.

Advanced grammar, for you smarty smartertons

Semicolon usage. People are petrified of semicolons. PETRIFIED. Here’s a tip. Want to woo me? Use a semicolon correctly as if it’s no big thing. I’ll be a quivering bowl of jelly at your feet. Completely guaranteed. Send me semicolon porn. I’m totally not even kidding you right now. Semicolons are just about the sexiest, and I do so love a person who can use one correctly.

A semicolon is used for a few things. Here’s a handy style guide. But an easy way to tell if you’re using it correctly for beginners is – are the two clauses you’re joining stand-alone sentences?

Example: “I always liked to visit the ocean; the sound of the waves had a nice calming effect.”

See, the first part is a sentence on its own. And so is the second part. And you could just put them as two separate sentences. But with that semicolon, it looks FANCY. And makes me hot.

You can also use semicolons in non-classy sentences. To class them up. For example: “I told Tommy I’d be waiting for him naked at the pay-by-the-hour-motel; he was going to be a little late, because he had to pick up some booze and condoms and Lysol.”

So totally classier than your normal bedbug-ridden rendezvous, am I right?

Making up words is the awesomest. OK, listen. Now, I don’t advocate that beginners make up words. Because if you do, you’re probably going to stumble and look foolish. But for those of you who want to have a Miss Kitty Fantastico time, making up words of your own is the BEST. Like, did you see what I did up there? Awesomest? Totally not a word. I KNOW! Other words I like to use a lot that don’t exist anywhere but in my own head and also on the interwebs are “interwebs,” “douchecanoe,” “asshat” and the derivative of that, “asshattian,” “ragetastic,” and “clumsified.” You can do this, too. It makes you look clever, even if you’re not. I mean, of course I’M clever. I would never even insinuate I’m not. And you’d sure as shit better not, either. I’ll punch you.

OK, so there’s your grammar primer, kids and kiddettes. You can refer to this as often as you need to. I give you permission. Bookmark it, what the hell. It will make the world a better place, I’m pretty sure. And what else am I here for? Oh, the free porn? Well, yeah, there’s that.

(Psst…on another totally horn-tootin’ topic, I had two new posts go up on my other ventures yesterday. One on Insatiable Booksluts Death-Matching two Joe Hill books – Heart-Shaped Box and Horns – and one on The Loser’s Table, screaming at all of you for not introducing me to the amazingness that is Marian Call earlier than a few days ago. AND, in even MORE geektastic geekgasm news, BOTH Marian Call AND Joe Hill totally tweeted me – ME! – that they’d READ THE POSTS. I know. I KNOW. So yesterday was kind of probably the pinnacle of my life, and I’m done now? It’s all downhill from here. Anyway, I love them both to pieces, and I highly recommend, to the highest nth, you read anything with Joe Hill’s name on it – my favorite so far is Heart-Shaped Box, but he hasn’t misstepped yet, so you can’t go wrong with any of his work – and go IMMEDIATELY to the link at the bottom of the Marian Call post and download one of her albums. Or all. All of her albums. But my heart is totally swept up in Got to Fly at the moment. Now, go forth, grammar-perfect, with good books in hand and good music in your earholes. You’re welcome.)

I’ll be flying on Christmas Morning…I’ll be flying on Christmas Day.

I think you randomly get a lot of brain fluff today. I’m at loose ends. 


So I got Twit-spammed by some religious looney this weekend. The religious looney told me that the Mark of the Beast was upon us, and that I’d be ok if I followed the two commandments. 


First, the Mark of the Beast? Is that like the little 666 that was in Damien’s hair? I have to research this. My church wasn’t big on Revelations, growing up. 

This is very confusing, internet. There are a lot of Mark of the Beast websites (and seriously, can I get a Mark of the Beast t-shirt? OH MY GOD. I used to KNOW a guy named Mark. He should totally capitalize on this. Like, when he’s hitting on someone, say, “Hi! I’m Mark. You know, like “of the Beast.” That would weed out the religious crazies! MARK YOU CAN HAVE THAT ONE) and in one place it seems to think that the Mark of the Beast is the Euro? And in another it seems to think that the Mark of the Beast is the Damien 666 head-stamp? (Or also, one place said it might be a hand-stamp, which makes me think you could use it to get into over-21 clubs. BEAST clubs.) And ANOTHER place said it refers to a future where we’re all forced to attend religious services on Sundays. These things kind of don’t go together at all. I want a unified Beast-Mark theory or something. I don’t like loose ends. 

Also, two commandments? Which two? I don’t like that the spammer wasn’t specific. In looking over the list, and interpreting the commandments loosely, I think I broke five of the ten commandments THIS WEEKEND ALONE. This is worrisome. Did I break the two remaining commandments? Which two are they? Spammer, you are really leaving me hanging in the wind, here. Do I get to make the decision? FINE. I decide that the two remaining commandments are “Don’t murder” and “Don’t covet thy neighbor’s ass.” I don’t have any interest in murder because it seems like a lot of work, and my neighbor’s ass holds no interest for me whatsoever. SAFE! Safe from beast-marks! 


I’m usually totally Christmas-oriented. This year, I am the Grinch, mixed with Scrooge and Bill Murray from Scrooged and also probably the Heat Miser or something, although I never saw that special. It’s kind of perplexing. Is it something that happens when you get older? I bought some presents for people today, which I thought might make the holiday spirit kick in, but mostly it just was shopping. (They’re pretty kickass presents, though. I mean, you don’t have to be all toot-toot on board with Christmas to win at buying presents.) 

So I think I have to go on some sort of ramp-up-to-Christmas plan to get in the mood. Like, put up the tree! Put up the lights! Put up the hanging thing with frogs kissing that makes me laugh like a moron every year! (It probably wouldn’t surprise anyone to know I’m a total kitschy Christmas-decorations fan, right? I also love horrendous tree ornaments. I have one that’s made of rubber from a Happy Meal in the 80s and it’s Grimace and on the back it says “The Grimace.” Every year it makes me laugh so hard because of that “The” I can’t even tell you. THE Grimace? Why does he get a The? Is it because it’s The Hamburglar, and you thought everyone needed a The? THAT IS AWESOME. I also have some angels that are missing their heads – I don’t know why I find this entertaining, but I do – and a wooden soldier that my brother made when he was little that looks like it has a noose around its neck, which again, probably isn’t funny to anyone but me, but to me it’s just about the best.) 

Do some baking! That will totally help, because I win baking. I’m good at baking. I cuss a lot, though. And I make a huge mess. But the result is really kind of spectacular. 

Also, I think I have to start watching Christmas movies and specials early, to get in the mood. I have a regimen of Christmas specials and movies that I watch. It’s very precise. I’m totally the most serious about my Christmas specials. I might watch others, if I catch them on television – I’m not averse to watching Scrooged or the Charlie Brown Christmas special – but my PERSONAL Christmas watching is: The Grinch That Stole Christmas (at least twice); It’s a Wonderful Life (while wrapping gifts, and then again on Christmas Eve while everyone else in my family is at church); and A Wish for Wings that Work

What? What’s that? You’ve never HEARD of A Wish for Wings that Work? Shame on you. SHAME ON YOU I SAID. It’s only the best Christmas special EVER. 

You’ve heard of Opus and Bill, I assume. I mean, unless you’re a total heathen. Or maybe really old. Or really young. Berkeley Breathed – Bloom County? Outland? Opus? The cartoon strips in the paper? The books? No? Anyone? – had a character named Opus. Opus is a penguin. Opus is my favorite cartoon character of all time. Because I love penguins. And there was also a character named Bill the Cat, who is mentally deranged (at least in A Wish for Wings that Work.) 

Anyway, in 1991, Breathed wrote a children’s book about Opus and Bill called A Wish for Wings that Work. IT IS THE BEST CHRISTMAS STORY EVER WRITTEN. 

You really should read it yourself, because you’re missing out, but here’s a quick teaser: it’s about how Opus the penguin has one wish for Christmas – he wants Santa Claus to bring him real wings. That work. Not stubby little non-functioning penguin wings. Real ones. So he writes a letter to Santa, explaining why he needs them, and that Santa is his only hope. He faxes the letter, and goes to sleep, sure that his wish will come true.

I’m not saying another word, other than: something happens Christmas Eve to Opus after he faxes that letter that makes me cry so hard I get hives and blotchy-face and have trouble breathing correctly for a bit, and I’ve watched the special (and read the book) once a year, every year, 19 years (this will be the twentieth anniversary! Aw, happy anniversary, little Wish for Wings that Work!) 

Wikipedia tells me that Berkeley Breathed was not pleased with the way this special turned out. This really saddens me. I’m probably the only person who has watched this special as an annual tradition for twenty years. It’s really, really good, you guys. I mean, I love the Grinch and his Grinch-feet getting cold in the snow, and I love teacher saying that every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings, and I love Charlie Brown’s sad little tipping-over tree, but oh, do I adore Opus’s little sad, hopeful face watching the sky as the ducks fly by. And I’m pretty sure The Nephew might have enough attention span to listen to the whole book this year. I’m bringing it home, just in case. I’d like there to be two people in the world who make Opus an annual tradition. 

I’m feeling a little more Christmassy right now. I think that’s penguin-magic. Thank you, Opus. 


There is a box of envelopes sitting at the front desk and it says, in obnoxiously large letters, “ENVELOPES – STORE IN A COOL DRY PLACE” on it. So, you know, as you do, I said, “Just reading that makes me want to store that in a wet, hot place. Like a rainforest. I hate that it’s being so bossy.” Response: “That would make the envelopes stick closed, I think.”

Explaining how to illegally watch television shows online to another co-worker. “But it’s illegal.” “Yes, technically.” “But you’re not supposed to.” “No. I know. But everyone does it. Highly doubtful they’re going to lock you up for watching that episode of American Horror Story you missed.” “But I don’t want to do something illegal.” “OK, well, no one’s TELLING you that you HAVE to. I’m just saying it’s an OPTION.” “But it’s illegal.” “Yeah. Forget I mentioned it. Sorry. This never happened.” 

Fancy dressed-up coworker walked in, so I said, “You look nice today!” “I have a meeting today,” he said. “Oh! Hope it goes well. I bet they’ll just throw money at you, because you look like a fancy person. It’s the tie that does it, I think.” Dead stare. “I don’t think they’ll actually do that, Amy.” NO REALLY? I thought clients were always tossing around money. I’m just going to stop trying. I mean, it’s Monday, so I’m not really at the top of my hilarity, I get that, but also, YOU COULD GIVE ME SOMETHING TO WORK WITH HERE PEOPLE. 


So we were discussing that Meyers-Briggs Personality Test today (we discussed this before, remember?) and I took it again and apparently I’m still an INFJ, so that’s nice. It’s nice that I’m consistent. I like that. No one else that was taking it got the same result today, though, which is a little distressing, but they assure me we’re not mortal enemies or anything because that’s not how these things work. So that’s nice. ANYWAY, I read the description and it seems pretty right-on. I’ll take it. My favorite line from the analysis? “They are internally arranged in a complex way that only they can understand.” Ha! I totally have a scientific REASON to be all twisty, yo. IT IS SCIENCE. 

Alright. That’s all the lint you get from my brain’s dryer trap today. You have to clean that out between cycles. Otherwise you could totally get a dryer fire. You’re WELCOME.

I’m single and there’s way, way too many options

OK, so yesterday, two things happened: NO CELL PHONE COVERAGE ZOMG and also we discussed dating tips, and I sent you out, minions, to go forth and collect me dating tips for the modern age so we could discuss them today.

WELL! It’s a new day, and guess what? NO CELL PHONE COVERAGE AGAIN YESTERDAY. Yep! Another shift at work without my cell. So that was super-fun and not-at-all-upsetting. Come to find out my dad was WRONG (I know! What the hell?) and apparently there’s something going on there where, in the past week, over half of the employees’ cell phones won’t work anymore. So I was totally right and there’s some sort of blocking device happening, right? Can robots running the world be far behind? CAN THEY?

Also, my dad said to ask “my blog people” about the cell phone blocking technology. Apparently, he thinks that I have a lot of readers who know about totally nefarious plans so I can’t tweet on my breaks on Saturdays. Also, I think he thinks my blog and Twitter and Facebook are all one thing, which is totally adorable. So anyway, blog people, what the hell? What do you all know about this? I mean, if my dad says you know, you probably do. Then again, he’s said you’re all imaginary a number of times so I don’t know how much he really believes you’re going to have an answer to this totally pesky problem.

ANYWAY. So, guess what? At first, you minions totally did not come through for me AT ALL with the modern dating advice. I had ONE MINION. One. ONE! That is not at all satisfactory. Then that one minion, who is very very famous, apparently, activated HER minions, and then I got a few more minions. So! Good job, minions. You have helped me write a blog post. Now, can you come write it? I have a lot of things to do today. Like put up the Christmas tree. The cats won’t do it for me. I asked.

So, without further ado:

(as helpfully offered by the minions of Lucy’s Football)

“Here’s a bit of modern dating advice: DON’T DATE PEOPLE YOU MEET ON THE INTERNETS. TRUST ME. IT CANNOT END WELL. All those people on eharmony commercials? LIARS.”

This tip came to us from the minion who led me to my new minions, Handflapper. Now listen, I didn’t know she EXISTED until recently. But now I do, and I am VERY EXCITED. Because we are totally internet BFFs. Don’t be sad, other internet BFFs. I’m a total internet BFF floozy and slut it up all over internet BFF-land. ALSO! I didn’t know about her BLOG until recently. But it is AWESOMESAUCE.

Anyway! This is very good advice. Especially about eHarmony. Because listen, once upon a time when I was trusting of all the things? I thought, hey, let’s try dating online! So I tried the free eHarmony trial because the people in the commercials looked so goddamn cute? But the tests you had to take to get in took me – and this is not even an exaggeration – like a month. OK, that was totally an exaggeration. But at least a few hours or something. They were boring and detailed and I hated them and I usually really like personality tests. Then the people I was matched with were so far from people that I might be interested in that I thought maybe my evil twin had accidentally stepped in and taken some of the tests when I was zoned out with boredom? Then, THEN, come to find out that eHarmony wasn’t allowing people that didn’t believe in God or gay people on their site. (They have a separate site, “Compatible Partners,” for gay people, and that’s not Jim-Crow-y at all! And I can’t find anything that says you have to believe in God to get on eHarmony so maybe that was an urban legend or something that happened a long time ago, I don’t know. I’m touchy about God stuff so it could just be me.)

ANYWAY, so eHarmony is out, and matched me up with the guy who tried really hard to be a date rapist until I escaped, and Plenty of Fish was kind of full of weirdos except that really nice guy who didn’t have a chin (I WAS THE ASSHOLE IN THAT SITUATION NOT HIM) so then I totally gave up. I know. I know, I’m not usually a quitter. I’m all about beating a dead horse. But there were a LOT of weirdos, you guys.

But LISTEN! I think there might be normal people. I know four people (who read this blog, so no names) who are either married to, or in serious relationships with, their internet fellas or ladies. So it can happen. I don’t want to call Handflapper a liar (because I’m pretty sure she’ll cut me, she seems totally badass), but I think the verdict’s out on this one. Are there crazy pervs who may or may not totally lie about everything about themselves? (Like, one time, when the internet was a baby, a woman I knew DROVE TO FLORIDA to meet her internet boyfriend, who ended up being 15 years younger, 200 pounds heavier, and 7 inches shorter than he’d said he was, and also the photo he’d sent her was of his own DAD, EW EW EW. Also, he showed up in a little sports car, and I’m going to be totally mean here, but HE GOT STUCK IN IT. I’m not kidding. He was so…um…bulky…he got STUCK in his CAR. She had to haul him out. Sexy first intro, right?) (I just re-read that and realized that it looks like I’m vaguely covering that this happened to me. It didn’t. Like I could afford to go to Florida on a whim in college. It was a coworker. I felt SO BAD for her, you guys. She was SO CRUSHED.) Yep. Are there also normal people who make you all kinds of irrationally happy? Yep. I kind of have to believe that, too, even though it’s scary and I’m really bad at trusting anyone with anything because people are very irresponsible and the reason we can’t have nice things. It’s a crapshoot.

Now listen, I totally researched and shit how to put Tweets into a post and this was going to be very pretty. But I can’t figure it out because I am functionally handicapped when it comes to technology and also because my minions who help with things like this are sleeping or something. So you don’t get pretty. SORRY.

“Dating advice? Don’t go out w/anyone boring. Even if they offer to pay for dinner. Unless you’re really hungry.”

This tip comes to us from @lgalaviz, who is totally one of my minions and always wins the internet. Also, her blog is the best. Sometimes she mentions me in it. READ HER BLOG NOW DAMMIT.

I completely agree with this. I hate boring. HATE. Listen, I am a firework of excitement. What? I’m completely annoying and never shut up? YES. I am THAT TOO. I know I can totally bulldoze a conversation. But if you can’t keep up with me, you aren’t invited to my party. If I have to hold the entire conversation on my own? I’m out. One guy, who made me do all the talking, without even giving me anything to go on other than a “mm-hmm” or a “nope” for like three HOURS, emailed me when he got home telling me how well it went and that he wanted to kiss me and couldn’t wait to do it next time. THERE WILL BE NO NEXT TIME I ALMOST DIED OF BORED. I come from a family of very loud, very entertaining people. You can’t get a word in edgewise. They’re hysterical and they’re sarcastic and they’re the ones you want to be hanging out with. They’re the standard I measure all social interaction against and find it lacking. If you’re all quiet mouse in your quiet house? Thanks for playing and have a nice day, bub.

But yeah, sometimes you’re really hungry? So I suppose you have to put that aside if you really need a chimichanga.

“The only dating advice I remember was that ‘The Rules’ crap…”

This comes to us from Mer, who is my REAL LIFE friend. I know! She’s met me in REAL life. And still likes me! She’s like a very famous famous person! We went to California together once! On a road trip! It was the awesome! Also, she has the honor of being the person I watched “Once More with Feeling” with the first time! That’s not the kind of thing you take lightly, you know.

I remember this book. Sort of. Wasn’t there something like, “Don’t accept a date for the weekend any later than Wednesday because then he won’t think you’re a priority” or something? Let’s research.

“Don’t Talk to a Man First,” “Don’t Stare at Men or Talk too Much,” “Don’t Call Him and Rarely Return His Calls,” “Don’t Go Dutch on a Date,” “Don’t Meet Him Halfway,” “Stop Dating Him if He Doesn’t Buy You a Romantic Gift for Your Birthday or Valentine’s Day,” “No More Than Casual Kissing on the First Date,” “Be Honest, but Mysterious.”

Wow! These are really, really, helpful, if by helpful, you mean the worst ideas possibly ever! I guess sixteen years ago when I was busy finishing college women were busy ACTING LIKE TOTAL ASSHOLES. Here’s my question – what kind of man are these rules going to land you? I don’t think I’d want him. He seems like he’s too easily fooled. I like a man who’ll call me on my shit. I mean, probably then I’ll yell at him or something, but I like that he showed the initiative and intelligence not to be fooled.

“Dating: I do this thing in bed w/a guy’s nuts. It’s like Rock-em-Sock-em robots. Guy is speechless after so it must be good.”

This comes to us from @ShirleyEwe. She is a new minion. Also, apparently, the best, because this is VERY GOOD ADVICE. I will have to try this soon. Who wants to volunteer? I’ll make a list and check your references.

“My dating advice is to invite them over to drink and do laundry.”

This comes to us from @Patrixmyth. He is a GERMAN minion. (I have to edit this to add: he is LIVING in Germany, but he is an AMERICAN minion. This is VERY IMPORTANT and I am VERY SORRY.) That is very exciting! I am an international superstar, yo! And this is very good advice. Except, I don’t have a washer/dryer, so they’d have to use my laundry room. And the people who hang out in there are all kinds of sketch. There were some people in there the other night who were loudly on their cells? And after a few minutes, I realized they were TALKING TO EACH OTHER. What? Why are you doing that? I mean, unlimited cell minutes are nice, but also, so is talking face to face. Also, @Patrixmyth wouldn’t clarify if I had to do the guy’s laundry, or if we were doing our own laundry, or what, which makes me think I’m supposed to do the guy’s laundry, and no way, buckaroo. Do your own delicates. I’m busy enough as it is. I have to Rock-Em-Sock-Em some guy’s nutsack in a little while. That’s going to take TIME. You can’t half-ass something like that.

“If you get a flat tire on the date don’t change it if you want him to call you again.”

This comes to us from @zippy219. I want to find whatever douchecanoe was rude to her and punch him in the neck because she is one of my FAVORITE minions. Listen, first, if I got a flat tire on a date, I’d call AAA, because that’s why I have them, and they make me feel safe. Second, if some guy was threatened by how shiny amazing rainbow awesome I am, he can fuck himself twice over, Sally. I’m not going to pretend I can’t do something I rock at just so he can feel like his dick’s less microscopic.

“Don’t pretend anything. It’s guaranteed heartache later on.”

This is from @lahikmajoe. He is very intelligent about a lot of things. The thing I like most that he is intelligent about is cheese. Also I like his blog, because he goes to fancy places, and I can pretend I went, too, and that I’m cultured. ALSO like cheese.

This is actually very heartfelt and true and appreciated. I’m really, really (as mentioned) bad at subterfuge. Like, I can leave shit out? I do that all the time. But flat-out lying? Really bad at it. And when people do it to me? Oh. That is bad, bad news. My dad’s response when he finds out someone lied to me: “Oh. They’re dead to you now, right?” Yep. Pretty much.

So, yes! Listen to the man and STOP BEING LYING LIARS WHO LIE. Thanks.

“My best advice: Guys aren’t ever really private. If he doesn’t want anyone to know he’s dating you, he’s ashamed or married.”

This comes to us from Amanda. I have to add something to this one, which is totally not at all uh-uh no way from experience no not me: gay. Also he might be gay. And ashamed. And, in New York, possibly also married. To a husband.

Anyway, yes. This is very astute. I’ve had this happen, and I agree. Also, Amanda is secretly my sister, by the way, because we have the same list of things we are looking for in a potential mate. Ready? You can take notes if you want.

  1. Intelligent;
  2. Well-read;
  3. Funny.

I mean, Amanda put it that way. Because she’s a classy lady. I’m pretty sure I might have said something like “if he can use a multisyllabic word correctly in context I’m spreading right there at the Friendly’s before the Happy Endings sundaes arrive” or something. Yep. I know, right? Why someone hasn’t snapped me up yet, I’ll never know.

Hey, also, Canadian men who are lucky enough to go on a date with Amanda? STOP BEING ASSHOLES. She’s just about the most amazing, and I’m about one more bad date story from coming across the border with a chainsaw and a hatchet after the lot of you. TREAT HER RIGHT YOU YAHOOS.

So here are the tips my minions have collected for you! Are you so enlightened now? Yeah. I thought so. I totally provide a service over here, I can’t even tell you. You’re WELCOME, interweb daters! Good luck with the dating thing! Watch out for serial killers/people carrying copies of The Rules/those crazies from eHarmony!

(Title is a line from Julia Price’s amazing, boppy song “Girlfriend”, which I can’t stop listening to since I heard her live on the radio about a month ago. Seriously. She’s just about the most adorable. Watch, watch. You will love.)

One of the top songs of 1938: “Whistle While You Work” by the Seven Dwarves. This says a lot about 1938.

OK, before we get started, let’s tell a story about THE WORST 8 HOURS OF MY LIFE. Ready?

So I went to work yesterday, and that sucked, but whatever, I need the money, as I am a very poor person and all, and so I got to the parking lot at work. And I had some time to kill because I thought, ZOMG I have to leave the house on BLACK FRIDAY DUN DUN DUNNNNNN so I left hella early (like that? I’m totally hep, yo) and then there wasn’t any traffic so I got to work half an hour early. So, when I have half an hour to kill, I inundate the people I love with tweets and emails and texts. I mean, as you do. THAT’S HOW THEY KNOW YOU LOVE THEM IT’S NOT AT ALL ANNOYING. But! When I pulled my phone out of my bag! NO Gs. Usually, I have three Gs! No. No Gs! So usually that’s fixable by turning the phone on and off and also glaring at it because I’m totally the scariest but THAT DIDN’T WORK YOU GUYS. AT ALL. All DAY. And there’s no internet at my second job.

Just take a minute and let this soak in. I WENT 8 HOURS WITHOUT INTERNET OR TEXTING CAPABILITIES.

Somehow, at lunch, two tweets snuck through the Iron Curtain of evil and I could SEE THEM, as TEXTS, but I could not RESPOND to them, and I could see that they were AWESOME, and I WANTED to respond, but COULD NOT. The dingoes totally ate my baby.

So as the day progressed I got scratchy and started seeing bugs climbing out of the walls, you know, like the addicts in the filmstrips they used to show us in health class, and then on the drive home the Gs returned. WHERE WERE YOU Gs. I don’t UNDERSTAND.

My father assures me that this was not some sort of conspiracy perpetrated by my employers to keep me from checking my phone by employing G-blocking technology even though they were TOTALLY digging a big hole by the building for no apparent reason the other day that I think probably could house some sort of cloaking device. And my dad is all about the conspiracy theories so if my DAD tells me I’m being cuckoo-bananas, then probably he’s right.

ANYWAY. I totally survived the DAY WITHOUT PHONE SERVICE. I’m pretty sure I deserve a medal. And NO, people who thought I hated them all day because I wasn’t responding to you, I don’t. Well, MOST of you, anyway. YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE.

OK. Moving on! So, my wonderful friend @melme found this article yesterday on Alligator Sunglasses called 1938 Dating Guide for Single Women. It is full of very, very helpful advice. And photos! Of women being BAD DATES! And men SCOWLING AT THEM! I’d gank all the photos but that seems rude. I don’t want to get eaten by some alligator wearing sunglasses. So click. It will make your WEEK.

I’m totally ganking the advice, though. I’m not THAT scared of an alligator in sunglasses.

“Don’t sit in awkward positions, and never look bored, even if you are. Be alert, and if you must chew gum (not advised), do it silently, mouth closed.”

Um…what’s awkward? THIS IS UNHELPFUL. I win the gum thing, though. I have TMJ. If I chew gum, my jaw locks shut like a trap. IT IS HOT.

“Careless women never appeal to gentlemen.”


“Don’t use the car mirror to fix your make-up. Man needs it in driving, and it annoys him very much to have to turn around to see what’s behind him.”

This bugs the shit out of me. What kind of woman is all pulling the rearview mirror around to fix her lipstick while someone is DRIVING? I get pissed if someone ADJUSTS THE PASSENGER SEAT in my car. I’d probably lop their hand off with my ice scraper if they decided to rearrange my rearview mirror. That’s set just so. STOP TOUCHING IT.

“If you need a brassiere, wear one.”

Helpful! Thanks.

“Don’t be familiar with your escort by caressing him in public.”

I’m pretty sure they don’t mind unless you’re all “snuggy wuggly cuddly cuddlums” or something annoying like that. It means you want to fuck them later. They like that, because it’s not always obvious to them that you want that unless you flat-out say “hey, I want to fuck you later.”

“Don’t be sentimental…men don’t like tears, especially in public places.”

I’m very weird about crying about sad things in front of people. I will seriously run a Chariots-of-Fire like SPRINT rather than let people see me have an actual sad emotion. However, that being said, Jesus, men in 1938 and I would NOT have gotten along. I have totally overactive tear ducts. I cry over EVERYTHING funny. Especially horrible things like people falling. Men in 1938 would NOT have wanted to see my brassiere at ALL.

“Don’t be familiar with the headwaiter, talking about the fun you had with someone else another time. Men deserve, desire your entire attention.”

Hee! Headwaiter! If someone brought me to a place with a headwaiter, I’d be more excited about the fancy salt and pepper shakers than chatting up the headwaiter, let me tell you. Also, “deserve, desire” my entire attention? They might desire it – and well they should, I’m amazing as shit, and when I’m into you, you feel like a million bucks – but they DESERVE nothing. Screw you, 1938.

“Please and flatter your date by talking about the things he wants to talk about.”

Oh, good. Can we talk about cars, please. And also maybe sports. And to top it off let’s talk about really cool things your friends said when you were hanging out the other night. HEADWAITER GET OVER HERE.

“Don’t drink too much, as a man expects you to keep your dignity all evening. Drinking may make some girls seem clever, but most get silly. The last straw is to pass out from too much liquor. Chances are your date will never call you again!”

If I went somewhere I was “expected” to keep my dignity, I’d be flat-on-my-ass drunk before the appetizer course was served. I’m really bad at living up to expectations. AND I AM TOTALLY ALWAYS CLEVER. “The last straw.” Hee! Well! Isn’t THAT knicker-twisty. Just think, this boring sap MIGHT NEVER CALL YOU AGAIN. OH THE HUMANITY.

I want to go back to 1938 and give this chick the following set of rules:

  1. This dude’s probably going to get drafted in 3 years. Don’t waste your good brassiere.
  2. Look bored now, so he can get used to it. Imagine the letdown when you start looking bored AFTER the wedding. Best to get it out there early on.
  3. Careless women totally appeal to gentlemen. Don’t be fooled. That’s why the words “shameless hussy” were strung together originally. Men LURVE a shameless hussy.
  4. If he won’t let you use his car mirrors to touch up your makeup (which, what the hell, you should know better, Grabby-Hands McGillicutty), either get your own goddamn car and drive YOURSELF to the date, pop a little compact mirror in your purse, OR DON’T WEAR SUCH HIGH-MAINTENANCE MAKEUP. I solved it.
  5. Wear a brassiere, don’t, I don’t give a shit. Those brassieres in the 30’s looked like total torture chambers anyway.
  6. If your guy doesn’t want to be caressed in public, even a little, maybe introduce him to your nice friend Steve the hairdresser. Then you’d have totally fabulous friends and be invited to the best parties.
  7. Why are you even CRYING in public? Go to the damn BATHROOM. Unless you’re crying because you’re laughing so hard because someone fell down and/or ripped the ass out of their pants. OBVIOUSLY that’s ok.
  8. If you need to slut it up with the headwaiter, be polite and go back at the end of his shift. That being said, NO ONE DESERVES YOUR ENTIRE ANYTHING.
  9. If you want to talk about the things your date wants to talk about, more power to you. If your eyes are glazing over from boredom, TELL HIM TO SHUT HIS EFFING CAKEHOLE AND IT’S TIME TO TALK ABOUT MUTUALLY PLEASING THINGS NOW. Ugh.
  10. And you know what? Yep. Drinking too much does make an asshat out of you. I’d like to go back and tell little college Amy this as she falls asleep on the bathroom floor because it’s closer to the toilet, you know, for the all-night vomiting. Mostly, though, it’s for your own damn protection, little 1938 lady. Hard to fight someone off when you can’t even stand on your own two feet without being all “the world! So SPINNY!”

Do we even HAVE dating rules now? There’s the milk and the cow thing that my mom still says (don’t get me started, I KNOW) and, like, the three-date rule or something (I was never very good at that, sorry, propriety) and probably don’t go on a date with someone who asks you if you’re cool with being stabbed to death HA HA JUST KIDDING GET IN MY WINDOWLESS VAN NOW. I need MODERN DATING RULES. I’m going to research this for tomorrow. Or how about you all comment or tweet me some, because that’s a hell of a lot easier than researching? DO MY BIDDING MINIONS.

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