Random crap post today, you guys. RANDOM CRAP POST. Oh, but FIRST! Happy MONDAY! Are you all totally enjoying your Monday? Was your weekend the most productive? Mine was full of laziness. Apparently the Christmas presents are NOT going to buy themselves. I’ve waited like a month and it hasn’t happened. I think I have to get on that at some point. Also, the cookies are not going to bake themselves, and the cards are not going to write themselves. This is totally disappointing. Why don’t the cats get on this while I’m at work? What else are they doing, just sitting around being lords and ladies of the manor and sunning themselves and sleeping and licking and whatnot? THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE. They are totally the worst minions. I really have to do something about this. Is there a DVD I can buy or something? I mean, once I saw a video where a dog went and got his owner a beer out of the fridge. I don’t like beer or anything, but the SENTIMENT is totally STILL THERE. How come my cats can’t write some simple Christmas cards? I’m not asking them to write a POEM or anything. Just an “I love you, happy holidays, hope your year was fantastic.” SERIOUSLY CATS.
Whew. OK. RANDOM CRAP POST LET’S DO THIS.
Everybody out of the pool!
So today, the office caught on fire again. I say again, because this happened once before, a few weeks ago. So for those of you with a scorecard at home (and seriously, that’s kind of awesome, send me a scorecard, I want to play, do I get a bingo dauber?) that’s TWO OFFICE FIRES in LESS THAN A MONTH. The people upstairs are total firebugs, seriously. Last time they set their toaster oven on fire and the firemen came out cradling it in gigantic Ove Gloves like they were in The Hurt Locker (although they did NOT look like Jeremy Renner, much to my dismay) and this time they came out empty-handed because apparently they couldn’t even find a flaming toaster oven. Was it hiding behind a potted plant?
What is going ON upstairs? Are they all Apocalypse-Now-ing in the break room or what? This is very perplexing.
Also, here’s what happens when the fire alarm goes off in my office. Brrrriiiingggg! Fire alarm! And I IMMEDIATELY HAVE TO PEE. It is UNFAILING. I didn’t have to pee BEFORE the fire alarm! And now it’s like this urgent call of nature where I’m going to have a bladder rupture. So last time, I didn’t pee, and it was the worst twenty minutes of my LIFE out there in the cold all “OH MY GOD FIREMEN SERIOUSLY” and “I wonder if anyone would notice if I peed behind this bush right here.” This time, I seriously stood up and said loudly “I don’t care if I burn to a crisp I am GOING TO THE BATHROOM FIRST” and I went to the bathroom. When I came back to my desk, one of my bosses (who I love, he’s like this little Nervous Nelly but sometimes he comes out with these little dry jokes and I just want to hug him because I know making a joke for him is just totally painful like being gutshot would be for anyone else) was running through my area and saw me and was all “AMY OH MY GOD FIRE FIRE YOU HAVE TO GET OUT” and I said, “Yes, I know, getting my coat now, see, all is well, I don’t even smell smoke, honestly” and he got CRAZY EYES and said “NOW THE FIRE IS HAPPENING NOW!!!!” and ran past me with his trenchcoat flapping in the breeze. I’m pretty sure he’s about one more office fire away from a massive heart attack. It’s totally worrisome.
Also, listen, aren’t firemen supposed to be hot? Television and movies tell me this is the case. Neither time the firemen have been especially hot. Also, they haven’t come out all sooty, and I was really looking forward to the sootiness like on television. This time, I got very excited and when the doors of the fire truck opened one fireman came out and he looked FOURTEEN. This is very upsetting. I mean, there are CALENDARS of these people. I KNOW. I have PURCHASED THEM. As GIFTS. Was this fourteen year old in the calendar? That’s probably violating a bazillion laws I don’t want to know about. Then later a hotter fireman showed up but I didn’t get a very good look because he went in to battle royale with the toaster oven or whatever the upstairs tenants lit up today and I didn’t see him come back out so I could ogle so he might be dead up there, I don’t know. UGH. This is SO DISAPPOINTING. (I will also take Arrested Development’s Hot Cops, in a pinch. I AM NOT PICKY.)
That is not a good idea, Mom. Seriously.
So apparently, when you have a blog, people think it’s a good idea to tell you things like “I found something for you to blog about! This is SO FUNNY!” and sometimes that’s really nice because then you have something to blog about that’s not a post just randomly putting together a bunch of crap because your brain is too fried from doing a fat lot of nothing all weekend to put together a real post.
So my mom told me this weekend, “I found something you have to blog about! It is the worst thing! Ever!” So I’m not really sure what she thinks I talk about here. Apparently, the worst things ever. She hasn’t ever even read my blog. She thinks it will get her fired or possibly download porn onto her work computer.
Did you click? If you didn’t, here is a photo.
IT IS A REAL DEER BUTT WITH A BOTTLE OPENER IN THE ASSHOLE. You are supposed to hang it on your WALL. So you can open your BEER with a deer’s ASSHOLE.
Although, my mom didn’t say “asshole” because my mom doesn’t cuss. I think she said “bunghole.” Because she is a CLASSY LADY.
Um. I don’t even know…this…this is for Truck Nutz people, right? Can you even imagine going over to someone’s house, like on a date or something, and he brings out a couple bottles of beer and is all, “Hey, we need to open these I HAVE JUST THE THING” and then OPENS THEM WITH THE DEER BUTT HE HAS ON HIS WALL.
Also, just so you know, on that same site, you can buy a kit? So you can make your OWN Deer Ass Bottle Opener. Or, if you’re a conservationist or just classy, a PLASTIC deer ass. Or a Deer Ass Bottle Opener with deer fur Truck Nutz hanging off it, for that added touch of je ne sais quoi. Or a taxidermied squirrel holding a bottle of alcohol so he looks like a little furry drunken hobo. OR ALSO GIFT CARDS.
My question is, how did my mother find out about this? And I’m pretty sure the answer is, there was probably an infomercial on about it. Because my father watches a lot of hunting shows and NASCAR on the weekends. That seems like the place where an infomercial for those things would be shown, right? Also, have you ever watched a televised hunting show? They are totally the funniest. The hunter always is saying “Shh…shh…coming up on the prey now…shh” and when I mock it my father’s all “SHHH AMY COMING UP ON THE PREY NOW” and I’m like “DAD THEY CAN’T HEAR ME.” Then I start saying “RUN AWAY DEER! RUN AWAAAYYYYY! LIVE TO FIGHT ANOTHER DAY MY FRIEND!” and he gets mad and tells me to go do something else because I’m ruining his program.
So listen, it’s that time of year! When you are looking for that perfect gift that NO ONE ELSE will buy for anyone! So you know what’s a good idea? NOT THIS.
I think it’s slightly better than being a regular whore.
So apparently, the spammers I’m getting on my blog now are trying a new tactic to get me to publish their spammy links, which is to INSULT AND INSULT ME. That’s totally humorous? But I think a little misguided? Because why would I a., publish a comment where your link is not a link to your blog or your Twitter feed or whatever but a link to an erectile dysfunction site, and b., publish a comment where you’re insulting me?
Their most common insult (I’m pretty sure they work from some sort of common spamming script, which makes me laugh, thinking they pass the script around or something, “YOUR TURN WITH IT NOW JIMMY”) is “It’s obvious you’re just begging for attention with this blog post.”
Dear Spammers: YES I AM. Yes we ALL are. Why the hell would we be bloggers if we didn’t want attention? I mean, I like doing this so much I’d do it even if only a few people read it, or no one, or whatever? But you know what’s awesome? ALL THE PEOPLE READING IT. Because I like attention. If I didn’t like attention, I probably wouldn’t have an online presence. Right? I’m a TOTAL attention whore. For the love of Pete, spammers! I’ve been a theater person since junior high. If I didn’t want people to look at me, I probably wouldn’t have gotten ON STAGE IN FRONT OF ALL THOSE PEOPLE, I’m thinking. Who doesn’t need validation? That’s stupid. YOU’RE A JACKASS VIAGRA SPAMMER.
I refuse to have my feelings hurt by “attention whore” because the WHOLE INTERNET IS ATTENTION WHORING and I totally accept it. I think it comes down to a., your clientele, and b., how you go about ATTRACTING said clientele. If you’re a sad panda attention whore (i.e. those people on Facebook who are all “Life has lost all meaning…I feel like a grey cloud, drifting from place to place, aimlessly…I can’t taste food”), you’re going to attract the rough trade of attention-whoredom. And who wants that? NO ONE. Well, maybe sad pandas do, I don’t know. But if you attention-whore by doing something you love, and you have fun with it, and you’d be a whore even if you DIDN’T get money left on the metaphorical nightstand, then probably you’ll get the classier clientele. Like SENATORS and CONGRESSMEN and maybe CHILDREN’S BIRTHDAY PARTY MAGICIANS.
Also, there’s one spammer who keeps saying “you relied too much on videos to make your point” on posts WITHOUT VIDEOS and that is very confusing. SPAMMERS I AM ONTO YOU. Sort of. Mostly I’m just befuddled.
I want to go to there
So in about two and a half weeks I’m off for Christmas. And you know what that means, right? No, not presents. Well, YES, presents, but not the point. NO NOT FOOD. Although yes, that too.
THE NEPHEW THE NEPHEW THE NEPHEW.
I spoke to The Nephew on the phone last night, which is always the most exciting because if there’s anyone who’s more excited about life, the universe, and everything than I am, it’s The Nephew. Here is how a typical conversation with The Nephew progresses:
Someone gives him the phone.
He holds it to his ear.
I say “Hello The Nephew! Hello baby! I miss you! I love you! I can’t wait to see you!”
He starts pushing all the buttons until the phone disconnects.
But yesterday, we had the following conversation:
Me: Hello, The Nephew!
Him: Who’s The Nephew?
Me: YOU are The Nephew!
Him: I AM THE NEPHEW.
Me: Yes! You are! Do you know who this is?
Him: On the PHONE.
Me: It’s Aunt Amy!
Him: (button-pushing noises…my father saying “Let’s not do THAT, The Nephew, because then Aunt Amy will disappear like she does EVERY TIME YOU TALK TO HER”)
Me: I will see you soon, babe! In a few weeks! For Christmas!
Him: *squeal noise so high only dogs in outer space could hear it, banging noises, screaming of “Presents! Presents! PRESENTS!”*
My dad: Nice one, Amy.
Apparently, The Nephew (and NO, I didn’t SAY “The Nephew” in our conversation. I said his NAME. Which I’m not going to TELL you. Because you might be KILLERS or KIDNAPPERS. And I’d totally go all psychoballistic on your ass if you touched my kiddo. So that’s his internet name, until he gets old enough to pick one out for himself) is as excited about Christmas as anyone can be. Is that not the best? Listen, my heart’s a total lump of COAL, you guys, but you can’t help but melt over a child’s excitement over Christmas. Especially when said child is one of the only people in the world you’d stop a stampeding wildebeest for with your bare hands and a bent paperclip, were those the only weapons available to you.
As stated multiple times recently, I am not in the Christmas spirit. I put up the tree this weekend but it produced a big old meh. I don’t want to shop; I don’t want to do anything holiday related. What I want is to sit on the floor and put together endless Duplo towers with the best little person in the planet and let him knock them over and squeal with joy and say “Again! Build it again!” And I will. Over and over. Unceasingly. He’s just that kickass.
OK, that was a LOT OF CRAP. Don’t you totally feel more enlightened? I know you do. Enjoy your Monday! Kick its ass squarely! YOU CAN DO IT! If not, well, it’s almost HALFWAY DONE! There is always a silver lining, what can I tell you?