Category Archives: Tumblr

Normal people don’t sit at home and look at porn on the internet.

I'll be the one rocking and crying in the corner over here, okay, thanks. Ugh.

OK, this post is totally NSFW. Well, it’s Saturday, so probably you’re not AT work. Unless you’re me. Or my coworkers. Then you’re totally at work. And you’re miserable, because your job sucks and the callers are mean and also the thingamobobbers in the chairs that lift them up to a reasonable height aren’t working so you’re sitting like two inches above the floor and you have to reach UP to get to the keyboard, so you feel like maybe you’re in hell.

But anyway. Yeah, I’m not kidding about the NSFW-y-ness of this post. It’s porny, you guys. TOTALLY PORNY. Yet I’m fairly sure I finished it with the minimum of cusses. Do you know why? Because I’m as talented as I am lovely. SHUT UP I AM. So anyway! Yes. If you are of a delicate constitution, or if you don’t like perviness, or for whatever reason you’re all “no no not today my good sir” then you can come back tomorrow. What am I blogging about tomorrow? I don’t know. I haven’t decided yet. What do I look like, a Magic 8-Ball of blog topics?

One of my most amazing and lovely friends brought a situation to my attention that I think needs to be addressed. She would have liked to address it herself, but she is currently job-hunting, and does not think it would be the best course of action to post about this in such a way that maybe a potential employer could read this and be all, “Hmm. Maybe we will NOT hire her, because of the dirty.”

I have promised to keep her anonymous, and SO I SHALL. Let’s just leave it at, I adore her, she is awesome, and she kicks SO MUCH ASS, you guys, seriously, and my life is infinitely a richer place for having her in it.

ANYWAY, enough of the love for my anonymous friend. I need to give her a top-secret anonymous name. Let’s call her Rose. Because she’s gorgeous, but you don’t want to push her too far. BECAUSE THORNS. (Metaphorical thorns, obviously. She’s not all thorny. She’s not like that guy that grew bark on his arms. DO YOU REMEMBER THAT GUY. Ugh. That grossed me out SO BADLY. What? You have no idea what I’m talking about? THIS GUY. You’re welcome. And ew.) Thorns of WORDS. Barbed, awesome, perfect-for-any-situation words.

Anyway, Rose emailed me and said, hey, Amy, so I was thinking, this needs to be addressed, because it’s obviously a very serious problem. And today I looked into it, and ZOMG you guys. SUCH A PROBLEM.

What’s the problem, Amy? I can hear you asking. Yes, I can totally hear you, I have ears like a damn BAT, I’m telling you.

The problem is: taking nude photos of yourself to send to people online. Or to post online. Or otherwise for online consumption.

Now, before you get all up-in-arms and all “But AMY, it’s a DIGITAL AGE, we’re all DATING ONLINE, how ELSE are we supposed to BE INTIMATE” – just wait a second, slappy, I’m not finished.

For the most part – FOR THE MOST PART – sending nudie pictures of yourself to someone is NOT A GOOD IDEA. Let me reiterate, using smaller words. Do. Not. Send. Nude. Pix. On. Line.

Here is why, in list form for easy consumption:

  1. Most than likely, that relationship isn’t going to last. And you’re going to spend the rest of your life waiting for the other shoe to drop. The other naked, naked shoe. And for your mom to email you all, “Hey, your Aunt Matilda just emailed me this, she saw it on Facebook, is this your cooch? Why does someone have a photo of your cooch?”
  2. Naked photos aren’t that sexy. Sorry. They just aren’t. Being naked WITH someone? Totally sexy. Don’t get me wrong! I love some good alone time. But naked photos? Not really all that sexy. Like, you of course have to SAY they’re sexy. You have to be all, “Wow! That sure is…a large…photographic rendering…of your…swimsuit area! BAD TOUCH!” but mostly you’re thinking, “this would be a lot sexier in person. This is kind of a letdown, all-told.”
  3. What if you become a big famous famous person. You know that person you THOUGHT was worth sending tit-shots to is selling your photos to Extra for like $17.50 because they need that money to buy Ho-Hos. And then, MORE CALLS FROM YOUR MOM. “Honey? I just saw your boobies on Extra! Why does Extra have your boobies on my television set?”
  4. What if you’re emailing that photo and you accidentally send it to the wrong person? There is NO WAY you’re getting out of that one, Perv McPerverson.
  5. If you are in elected office, NEVER SEND NAKED PICTURES. There’s never a good time to do this. Not ever. Not even, like, if someone’s holding your mom hostage and tells you they won’t shoot her in her head if you send them a photo of your wang. DON’T DO IT; IT IS A TRAP.

But let’s say, hey, you’re in a committed relationship. Or, maybe you decide, hey, everyone’s doing it, this guy that I’ve known for like two weeks seems totally trustworthy, WHAT’S THE WORST THAT COULD HAPPEN. (This is not a good idea; please see notes 1-5 above.) Or, barring that, you just totally like to send naked photos of yourself to people. What? You want advice? I WILL GIVE IT TO YOU.

Rose pointed me in the direction of this website. IT IS NOT SAFE FOR WORK. Or children. Or people who like to NOT bleach their eyeballs after looking at the interwebs. Listen, if you click on that link, it’s not going to give you a virus, as it’s just a Tumblr. But if it DID give you a virus, it would be syphilis.

At first, I was just very confused, because she said there was a lot of porn on the site and it was just people wearing Guy Fawkes masks. (SIDE NOTE. Guy Fawkes masks give me the shivers. No, seriously. I think they are the worst. I think they are nightmare material. I think they are horrific. So this website is NOT AT ALL SEXY TO ME. It is FALSE ADVERTISING to call this SexyFawkes.) I couldn’t understand what was sexy about this, as it was just random people standing around in Guy Fawkes masks, and then I went into the archives, because Rose is one of the smartest people I know so I knew she wasn’t a liar, and HOLY HELL, PEOPLE.

I’m totally a prude and WHOA NELLY. ALL THE PORN. In those creeptastic masks. THIS IS AWFUL.

Apparently, from what I can tell, people send in photos of themselves in these masks that I think my death will wear when it comes for me and they can be doing whatever they want, as long as they’re wearing the mask. No, I’m not 100% sure what the point is, either, if there indeed is one. I guess to be famous? On the internets? Things that they have chosen to be doing: standing around aimlessly; showing me their bits; doggie-styling their girlfriend (YOU STOPPED AND TOOK A PHOTO??? I mean, kudos on the multitaskery, but she wasn’t angry you were all “Hey babe, just have to set up the tripod, wait a sec, ‘kay?), and, in what was my most favorite, apparently showing the entire interwebs what your cervix looks like while playing with anal beads. (Per Rose: “Save a little mystery–only your gynecologist should be able to look THAT far inside you.”)

Yes, I’m a little perplexed as to who is sending nude photos of themselves wearing a scary-ass mask to a Tumblr site. But I’m old, maybe it’s what kids today do for kicks, like the 2012 version of Whip-Its or something, what do I know. It seems that the youth of today have much less shame about their bodies. That’s nice! That must be a nice feeling to have, right? I mean, my mom taught me that you keep that shit covered up unless you’re married and making a baby? And yeah, I laughed that one right out of the courtroom early on. (No, there’s no courtroom. It is ALSO a metaphor.) But these kids did that ONE BETTER. They are not only showing it to their potential partners, they’re showing it to EVERYONE. Well, at least they’re wearing a mask, so they’re anonymous, so someday they can get a job at McDonalds or something. Yes, a mask. A MASK THAT WILL HAUNT MY DREAMS. My filthy, dirty dreams.

OK, so if you are Pervy Pete or Ding Dong Joe, you have already abandoned my site and are merrily looking at tits and dicks and that’s nice. But here’s the problem Rose had with the site.

A lot of these purportedly “sexy” photos are NOT SEXY AT ALL. MISTAKES WERE MADE.

Some of the problems:

Location. Rose pointed out some major problems: “Choose a location that doesn’t look like you live with your parents, such as a kitchen that hasn’t been updated since the 70s or a rumpled futon in their basement.”

Another problem – listen, I KNOW the best place for cellphone photos is the bathroom. I know that. Not only does it have the best light, you can see what the photo will look like in the mirror before you click it. I get it. I DO. But you can also frame it so that your shower curtain isn’t visible. OR YOUR TOILET. Come on, seriously? I mean, I’m probably not in a sexy mood anyway with a photo of your shower curtain and that effing MASK but I don’t want to see your porcelain throne, thanks.

Also, if you take a photo of yourself in your bed? I’m not saying you need to spring for the satin sheets, but probably CLEAN sheets. Sheets without unidentifiable GUNK on them. Also, balled-up dirty socks is not really making me want sexy-time.

Oh. OH. If it wasn’t so gross and I didn’t think I would contract crabs I’d show you the photo but if you go back like ten pages or something in the archives (NOT THAT I DID THAT WHO WOULD DO THAT) there is a nudie picture of some guy who I swear is standing in the open doorway of a cheap motel in the broad daylight. WHAT THE HELL. You weren’t afraid people would be walking by? I don’t…what? Who thinks this is a good place to have a photo session?

Posing. Per Rose: “Choose a pose that is flattering to your physique. If you’re a guy, scrunching your body up to maximize your tummy flab isn’t winning the ladies over.”

There were also a lot of ladies attempting the sexy “cat-pose” like crawling toward the camera or whatever and listen, that’s nice, in a music video from 1987, but in real life, you’re just looking silly right now. I don’t want to pour any sugar on you. Just stop it.

Technology. Again, per Rose: “If you’re going to Photoshop your photos, but you don’t know how, enlist an expert. Or we’ll just be laughing at you when your artistic efforts turn out stupid.”

I assume this is referring to the photo I must have stared at for about ten minutes, trying to figure out WHY IS SHE SO SHINY. I couldn’t tell – did she coat herself with baby oil? She looks like she’s made of plastic. Is this girl made of plastic? WHAT IS HAPPENING. And then I thought of Rose’s comment and I was all, “OH CRAP IT’S ON PURPOSE WITH SOFTWARE” and then I laughed and laughed because why is this a thing you would do? I guess you wanted to look like a life-sized Barbie, only grosser and much more skanktastic?

Weird props. Things that confused me: the guy who was naked and erect but draped in Christmas lights. (MERRY CHRISTMAS. Here is my penis. I am wearing a stalker mask. BEST GIFT EVER.) The aforementioned cervical-exam girl (listen, she had more props than just the beads. Also, there was what I think was a vibrator, but it also might have been a rectal thermometer. It did not look sexy; it looked clinical and sterile. Well, once-sterile. Not after what she was doing to it.) The woman who was naked and had Christmas bows over her nipples but not anywhere else (um…maybe you could have spring for some additional wrapping material for your hoo-hoo?)

Random confusing thing. What woman is going to not only give a blow job to someone wearing that horrible mask of grinning fear-related death, but let him PHOTOGRAPH IT FOR A WEBSITE. Unsexy.

So, tips. You want tips. I will give you tips. It is clear you need them.

  1. Don’t send naked photos online.
  2. If you absolutely, positively, MUST send naked photos online, please re-read number one.
  3. FINE. I see you are bound and determined to ignore me.
  4. Take the photo somewhere un-gross. If you must take it in the bathroom, please don’t let it look like you’re taking it in the bathroom. If you’re taking it in your bed, wash your sheets and stow the dirty laundry. If you’re taking it on the carpet and it looks like industrial carpet from a weirdo’s trailer where someone might keep women in cages, well, I can’t help you. Please see #1.
  5. Don’t pose like a dumbass.
  6. Don’t make yourself look like a life-sized blowup doll because it will give me nightmares and also hysterics.
  7. If you must use props, maybe use ones that are appropriate. Tip: Christmas lights aren’t sexy.
  8. If you’re paying so little attention to all the sex you’re having that you can take time out to put on a mask and take photos to send to some Tumblr site, I hope your girlfriend dumps your ass. Before she does this, I hope she takes all of your records and stomps on them with her stompiest shoes. PAY ATTENTION TO THE SEX YOU MORON.
  9. I don’t want to see that far inside anyone except that see-through plastic model of a person that my biology teacher used to have where you could see all the organs and shit. I loved that.
  10. If all else fails, please see #1.

I hope this has been helpful. If not, I hope you have plenty of bleach for your eyeballs. No, not you, Ding Dong Joe. I know this was just your cup of tea. YOU ARE WELCOME. No, you can’t “come over” for a “photo session.” Stop calling me. Who gave you this number?

(Title is OBVIOUSLY from the brilliant song “The Internet is for Porn” from Avenue Q. HERE IS THE VIDEO. You’re WELCOME.)

(Psst, thank you, Rose. You’re the best. And then again just a little bit better than that.)

Clearly, there are forces at work here beyond our understanding.

I consider myself somewhat savvy. I mean, sure, I’m totally old and all, whatever, and when the kids start doing what kids do, like, oh, I don’t know, having all the sex really young or wearing pants with “Juicy” written across the ass, yes, I find that perplexing, but I just chalk that up to being old. I’m sure my parents were equally confused with teenage actions and fashions when I was going through puberty. For example, the time I decided to dress like Cyndi Lauper for Easter Mass and they made me change my clothes even though that was a totally happening outfit, you guys, seriously. I mean, all they told me was to put on a skirt. They didn’t tell me the shirt couldn’t be a flared acid-washed denim miniskirt with feetless black tights with lace around the ankles. BE MORE PRECISE IN YOUR DIRECTIONS AND MAYBE THE PROBLEM WOULDN’T HAVE OCCURRED, MOM AND DAD.

If there is new technology and I think I might find it interesting, I make an attempt to learn it. Sometimes this meets with better results than other times. Facebook? Totally learned it. It was confusing at first, but I picked up on it. It doesn’t help that they change the damn thing every six months or so (come ON, Zuckerberg, and also, am I the only one who can’t get the damn timeline to stay set on “most recent?” It always defaults back to “highlighted stories” so I’m reading stories from two days ago. I don’t care about two days ago. I already read those. Gah) and when I wanted to learn Twitter, EVEN THOUGH everyone was all “Twitter is TOTALLY LAMESAUCE” I learned Twitter and now I win Twitter so suck it, haters. I’m not having as much success with Google Plus or Tumblr, but mostly because I spend all my Google Plus energy on Facebook and all my Tumblr energy on my blog, so it seems extraneous to have another Facebook (although it’s prettier and set up better) and a smaller blog. But I HAVE them. And I UNDERSTAND them. I just don’t enjoy them as much as other people seem to do.

But there are some things I just, for the life of me, do not understand. Like, things that I have TRIED to understand, but that completely and totally elude me. And I think I’m alone in them. I’m pretty sure I’m one of the only people in the world who feels this way. I AM CONFUSED.



I tried SO HARD. I don't get it. WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME.

OK, so how excited was I when I finally got my Pinterest invitation? The most excited. ALL the cool kids are on Pinterest! So I was all, “This will be a total time suck! I am the MOST excited. I cannot WAIT!”

I’ve had Pinterest for about two weeks now and how many things have I pinned? ONE.


Here are my problems with Pinterest.

First, I don’t ever come across anything on the Internet I feel is worth “pinning” so everyone can see. Mostly because I don’t look at pretty pictures online. I read dense slabs of text online. That is what I do with my online time.

Second, I am not planning a wedding, decorating a house, and I don’t cook or bake. These are the things that people seem to pin. Also, you know how some people are color-blind? I’m pretty-things blind. I mean, I see a pretty thing and I’m all “that’s pretty.” But I don’t appreciate it for its prettiness. And I don’t think, “I should pin that.” Last night, on Parks and Rec, Andy (who I love) was supposed to be finding clues for a treasure hunt. Instead, he brought back a huge gnarled branch. “I found this cool stick,” he said. “Maybe it’s a clue?” I’m Andy when it comes to Pinterest. I don’t see pretty things, even if they’re right in front of me. I see gnarly sticks that may or may not be clues.

Third, Pinterest is blocked at work, so even if I were to find something while killing time and web-surfing here, I can’t pin it. BLOCKED.

Fourth, I found some things that I randomly wanted to pin last week, and everything I clicked on said, “I don’t see a photo on this page” when clearly there WAS a photo on that page, and then come to find out you can’t pin things from Flickr, which one of the things I wanted to pin was from Flickr. The other thing wasn’t from Flickr. And there was definitely a photo on the page. Pinterest HATES me.

But people love Pinterest! SMART PEOPLE! That I love! I mean, I looked up tutorials, I’ve looked at the boards of the people I follow, I’ve tried to light the fires of Pinterest interest (heh) in my soul – NOTHING. My soul is DEAD to Pinterest. Sorry, world. I don’t get it.

Bon Iver

Even his emo FACE makes me annoyed. Even his emo BEANIE.

According to people who know things about music, Bon Iver is good. I didn’t even know who Bon Iver was. I just knew that every once and a while, this soporific crap would come on the radio and I couldn’t change the channel quickly enough.

To me, Bon Iver sound like the music you would put on repeat as you sat in the bathtub and slashed your wrists with razors and then put a dry-cleaning bag over your head for good measure.


They also sound a little like my record player used to sound when I would speed it up to make everyone sound like The Chipmunks, and a little like people talking sound when your head is underwater, and a little like Charlie Brown’s teacher.

They are everything I hate about music. They are a suicide note set to Musak.

But people seem to LOVE them. LOVE LOVE LOVE. Like, their shows sell out, and when people have tickets to a Bon Iver concert, people on Twitter are like rabidly salivating all over them all, “SO JEALOUSSSSS” and can you even IMAGINE sitting through two hours of this.

I’d put in a video, just in case you haven’t heard any of their music, but I don’t want to. I don’t want them on my blog. I DON’T WANT THEM HERE.

I realize this may make me some sort of troglodyte. What do you want from me. I said I was broken up there, did you not read that?

Family Guy

Nope. Still not funny.

I’ve watched, all-told, I think three episodes of this? Because people keep saying, “YOU HAVE TO WATCH FAMILY GUY.” And listen, I hate Family Guy. Like, HATE, hate.

I don’t think it’s funny. At all. I think it’s strangely animated, and I think the lead character’s voice is discordant, and one of the episodes I watched part of seemed to be making light of domestic violence, and this is humorous? I don’t get it.

Yet, again, VERY INTELLIGENT PEOPLE find this funny. So I’m either too old to get this, or it’s one of those shows like Arrested Development where I’m not intelligent enough to get it (but I totally usually get those shows, so I don’t think that’s it?), or I don’t like cartoons (again, probably not true, I haven’t missed an episode of The Simpsons since it started) or the rest of you people drank some sort of magic Koolaid and I wasn’t invited to the Jim Jones party. WHICH ONE IS IT.

Emo statuses on Facebook, and, subsequently, when people comment on them, saying, “I don’t want to talk about it”

The sheer fact that this graphic exists is distressing.

This is happening more and more and MORE. Listen, I’m totally the most closed-mouthed about my personal shit. I know, right now, you’re all, “LYING LIAR WHO LIES, we know ALL your personal shit.” But you don’t. You know what I want you to know of my personal shit. There is a lot of stuff I don’t tell you. There is a lot of stuff that only BFF gets, and, honestly, there’s a lot of stuff that even BFF doesn’t get. Because I was taught you keep your personal shit to YOURSELF, and you work through shit YOURSELF, and I AM A ROCK I AM AN IIIIIIIIISLAND.

But putting a status on Facebook like “You tore my heart out and stomped on it and how will I go on” and then someone comments with an “are you alright?” (NOT ME, I ignore those statuses as if they’re STDs) and you’re all “I don’t want to talk about it” CONFUSES ME. Why are you airing your dirty laundry? Don’t you have close friends you can share that with? Or, do you not have close friends? That makes me so sad for you. Is it attention-seeking? Are you attempting to get the attention of the person who scorned you? Are you just so sad you can’t help yourself and your fingers are working of their own accord? Don’t you have family on your Facebook page? Can’t they see that? Someone’s going to think you’re suicidal. Is that what you want? Do you want someone to think you’re suicidal? Is this a cry for help? WHAT IS GOING ON. I AM SO CONFUSED.

And listen, before you’re all “this is teens doing this” IT IS NOT JUST TEENS. It is ADULTS TOO. I don’t get it. Not even a little bit.

The world’s seeming obsession with Channing Tatum

Come on, ladies, seriously, this is a BRO. With a HUGE EFFING NECK AREA.

There are 43,000 actors more attractive than Channing Tatum. By the way, that’s not even a real name. It’s not even one of those “two last names” names. It’s like he picked two random street names out of a phone book and said, “That will be me now.”

Channing Tatum’s neck scares the bejeebers out of me. It’s like his head is an extension of his neck. His neck and head are the same circumference. Also, I think he seems like a bro. I hate bros.

Also, he can’t act. It’s like watching an alien from another planet attempt to fit into American society, watching this kid act. “I-AM-A-HUMAN-MALE-OF-YOUR-SPECIES.”

People luuuurrrrrve him, though. I don’t get it. There are other actors in a similar age range who actually have acting skills and necks that don’t look scary. Why don’t people obsess over those actors? Also, who put him in a movie with Rachel McAdams? If I was her, I’d have stayed in the coma. No one wants to wake up to that monstrosity at your bedside. Eek.

Yes. Yes, I know I’m probably broken. I SAID I WAS BROKEN. Whatever, I accept it. Probably I’m like poor Channing Tatum and am just attempting to fit into your human society. At least my neck is of normal circumference.

Also, I don’t know if you’re aware? But Saturday Night Live this weekend? Just found out that host: Channing Tatum. Musical guest: Bon Iver. IT IS MY WORST NIGHTMARE YOU GUYS. Maybe they’ll have a Family Guy skit and also pin a bunch of shit on Pinterest while putting up emo Facebook statuses. SO MUCH AWESOME IN ONE PLACE HOW WILL I SURVIVE.

They’ll give cameraphones to anyone. Seriously. Even people who use them inappropriately.

I have spent WAY TOO MUCH TIME screwing around when there are important things that need to be discussed today, you guys. Totally important things. So many important things, I’m going to list them, in a fancy list fashion. Because I’m fancy! Like a tea party or a eyelet dresser scarf with crystal perfume bottles arranged on it JUST SO!


OK, I know, EVERYONE’S all “zombies are coming! They’re almost HERE! They’re getting CLOSER now!” like the Monster Shouter in The Stand. I know. But I totally have irrefutable PROOF for you that they’re coming because I saw CREEPY GRAFFITI that PROVES it.

Well, it could also prove a lot of things, or nothing, but I totally took it as zombies. But let’s face it, I have zombies on the brain. Tonight, you guys, TONIGHT! The Walking Dead Season Two! Why are you not more excited? I think you might be broken.

Here’s the scoop, so you know that you’ll have to start working on your zombie preparedness kits. I work on Saturdays at an answering service, as I’ve mentioned, because I’m a poor person. Wait, I’m totally the 99%, right? I SHOULD BE PROTESTING. Wait, if I took time out to protest I’d lose my jobs and therefore my home and everything I own and I’d end up living in the dumpster behind the Dunkin’ Donuts. (Because listen, if I’m going to live in a dumpster, it’s going to be a good one. That’s probably a nice dumpster. And there’d be donuts! Only kind of gross ones!) So anyway, back on track. I know, get to the zombies. Hold your horses, buckaroo. So on one of my breaks this weekend, I was in the parking lot and looked across the street at the kind of abandoned nail salon/sell your gold place next door (yeah, they did both, and they’ve been closed for a month and are supposed to open again November 8th but I have my doubts. Also, they seem obsessed with lawn ornaments, and currently have a huge goose with a Pomeranian beside it, as if the goose is WALKING the Pomeranian, and this makes me laugh. Also one of those racist jockey statues which does not make me laugh) and noticed odd graffiti on the concrete wall of their parking lot. And then I realized, well, that’s it then! ZOMBIES.

…and you totally can’t see that at all. Listen, I TRIED. I zoomed in and EVERYTHING. And when I got home, I even tried cropping and shit. But it did not matter. This shows you what a bad photographer I am.

So trust me when I tell you that this says “2012 EXPECT US.” Also there’s a question mark in a box. I decided that’s one of those hobo marks (online someone called them “hoboglyphs” and I like that very much) that I read about once that told hobos in olden times what houses had good stew and what ones would poke you with sticks and such. But when I researched it I found NO INFORMATION THAT BACKED UP THAT THEORY. Zombies are VERY TRICKY INDEED. I DID find that a box with a dot in it means danger and two boxes interlocked means fear. So the box itself? Totally scary. The question mark, I don’t know, maybe scary fear? Zombie scary fear???

I also thought maybe they were trying to cast an Expecto Patronum spell but were doing it wrong, but that isn’t nearly as much fun for me as zombies.

So I think you’ll all agree that “EXPECT US” can’t mean anything but zombies. I mean, come on, I researched HOBOGLYPHS, here, people. Stock up on canned goods and bullets, because zombiegeddon’s coming in 3-15 months!


OK, so ALSO on my break, I went to my car and then was checking my phone outside and then looked down on my way in so I didn’t trip over anything and saw something so weird and distressing (but non-zombie-related, so don’t worry, you still have a little time for canned good hoarding) that I OF COURSE had to ALSO take a photo of it. And this one turned out prettier. If by “prettier” you mean “Amy, you seriously need to stop taking pictures of garbage.”

Now, listen, my job is kind of really gross. It’s in an old moldy bank, and one time this summer we got infested with the kind of flies that only hatch on dead bodies (yeah, we investigated it) and also there are weird smells and a sinkhole under the sink (how’s THAT for irony!) and no one understands the “washing your hands after using the restroom” signs so mostly they just use them to draw penises on. So totally gross. I kind of always want to burn my clothes after each shift.

Also yesterday, the words “I can’t get that up, ma’am. NO I CAN’T GET IT UP” passed my lips, much to the delight of my coworkers. It was not in reference to a lady-boner. But after my shift today I can guarantee you I wasn’t getting that up either.

So, yes, anyway. Imagine my dismay when I noticed these in the ashtray on my lunch break (and yes, the ashtray is a planter filled with wet sand, I told you, WE ARE FANCY):

Oh, what’s that? You can’t see what those are? WELL! You’ll be totally glad I zoomed in, then, WON’T YOU.


But here’s the confusing part. Unopened! Unopened, unused condoms! Did they give up on ever getting some? Did they totally commit to getting their girl pregnant? Did they have a fight with the Magnum people? I HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS. Also? You can’t see it? But there’s a garbage can literally two steps away from this. Like, if I hadn’t zoomed in on this weirdness, you’d see the trash can. I don’t get this. Was it an advertisement for their studliness? Was it an elaborate joke? WHY IN THE ASHTRAY?

Last year this was on the floor under my cubicle one day over there, which was also confusing:

It was a Ho Ho? And a fork? The Ho Ho was still in the wrapper. And the fork was on it, like someone was juuuust about to have a snack and then they were raptured. Oh, the note? Yeah, no, that wasn’t there. I put that there. For the photo. There was too much brown otherwise. Also, I left the entire tableau there when I left for the day, because I thought it would crack up another employee randomly, and the laughs are few and far between at that place.

The problems with this were multitudinous, but the biggest were, a., who leaves an uneaten Ho Ho? And b., who eats Ho Hos with a FORK?


People still say that, right? Well, I don’t care. It did.

OK, I have been playing with this thing for the past half an hour while I should have been finishing up this blog post AND IT HAS NOT ONCE BEEN WRONG. And the minute I finish up here I’m going to play with it MORE. It is AWESOME. It knows ALL of my favorite things. Seriously. It got Bernadette Peters. Who the hell even remembers who she IS anymore except for me? SO MUCH FUN. Except sometimes it’s a little wrong? And it took forever to guess NPH, and at first, thought I meant Jensen Ackles? And when I clicked on the “Details” button, it thought I should have answered “yes” to “is your character a Hasidic Jew.” Unless I’m totally off-base, I don’t think NPH is a Hasidic Jew. I could be wrong! But I think the media would have picked up on that by now, no?


So I signed up for Tumblr because EVERYONE’S on Tumblr and surprise, it seems like a lot of fun. So I guess I should have been jumping off all of those bridges and trying all of that angel dust all along, MOM. So, yeah, if you’re on Tumblr and you want to be my fuh-reeeend, link’s over there on the right. I don’t know what I’ll say yet. Probably profane stuff. I posted a picture of Edgar Allen Poe with cusses all OVER it. Digging it already, even though I’m not sure how it works totally yet.


A blogger who will remain unnamed recently posted her “rules of blogging.” And one of them was, “What’s with all the caps? That’s “shouting,” people. And it’s rude.” HEY. You know what? I KNOW WHAT IT IS. And you know what else? HONEY BADGER DON’T GIVE A SHIT. (LOOK OUT SAYS THAT BIRD.) Here’s the thing. I know how to use italics. I know they’re the classy person’s way of emphasizing something. Thing is? They don’t usually put across JUST HOW EXCITED AND/OR PERTURBED I am. Also, I shout a lot in real life. I don’t ITALICIZE a lot in real life. How would one even DO that? With a monocle and spats? I’m not classy. Can’t even pretend to be. Why bother? I’m gonna SHOUT ON HERE, Fancy Mc Bloggamuffin. And if you don’t like it and think I should be using my inside voice and my coasters and taking off my shoes so I don’t track mud all up in this bitch then I’m pretty sure that little x at the top right-hand corner will take you far, far away from this bastion of hopelessness. Who named you queen of blogging etiquette? Because I find it equally rude when someone tells other people what to do, so are we at an impasse now, or what? Now if you’ll excuse me I’m going to put my feet up on the table and pick my teeth with my fingernail. WHILE SHOUTING. Multi-tasky!

Have a lovely Sunday, everyone! I’m off to see Ragtime. Nothing like racism, Harry Houdini, and a girl on a swing to perk up an autumn Sunday!

Yoda wouldn’t actually need networking, his powers were more spiritual.

Yeah, I know, I totally promised you something sparkly awesome today. Sorry. I’ve been a little distracted because I’ve met my soulmate? And I’m finding it a little hard to concentrate because I’m imagining how fantastic our lives will be together?

Oh, FINE, I guess I can tell you who it is. I mean, what’s the harm, it’s not like he’s going to mind. We’re just that much in love. When it’s right, it’s right.

Oh! Hello, Amy. Yes, we are very much in love, thank you.

I am in love with Ben Wyatt from Parks and Recreation. See him up there? Yeah, I know, he’s super-hot. But you can’t have him. HE IS ALL MINE SO BACK RIGHT OFF.

See, I’ve always liked Ben. I’ve always liked Ben very much. But this week? I realized Ben and I were MEANT TO BE. Because Ben TOTALLY GEEKED OUT. TWICE. It was the best thing ever.

Mostly, Ben is good at being the straight man for the shenanigans that are happening in the Parks and Recreation office in Pawnee, and this makes for some awesome moments, like when he didn’t realize what all of the fuss was about Lil’ Sebastian:

This probably doesn’t amuse you at all unless you watch the show and if you don’t watch the show, you don’t even know who Lil’ Sebastian is. And that makes me so sad for you. I promise it’s the best. Just watch it. You’ll see.

ANYWAY, back to the reason I’m totally going to marry Ben. So Thursday, he geeked out about Game of Thrones. Donna asked him what was wrong, and if they’d cancelled Game of Thrones (because everyone picks on him for his geekiness) and his answer was the best thing ever. VERY haughtily, he replied: “No. And they would NEVER cancel Game of Thrones. It’s a crossover hit! It’s not just for fantasy enthusiasts. They’re telling human stories in a fantasy world.”


And listen, when I went searching today for the exact wording of this, I found some chick with a totally entertaining Tumblr who said SHE was going to marry Ben. Well. This is upsetting news. I called dibs. Thursday night. On Twitter. HE IS MINE, TUMBLR GIRL (whose Tumblr was totally entertaining and who I’m just about to stalk on Twitter now because I think we should become friends but don’t think for a MINUTE that means I’m going to let my guard down around you! Not for ONE MINUTE!)

Then, Donna and Tom forced Ben to go to the mall with them for “Treat Yourself” day (TREAT! YO! SELF!) – where they purchased insanely expensive things for themselves – but all Ben bought were white athletic socks. “I needed them,” he said. When they asked him what the one thing was that he could buy himself to make himself happy would be, if money weren’t an object – because it was TREAT YOURSELF DAY AND SOCKS DON’T COUNT, BEN – Ben tried on, purchased, and wore this out of the store.


Then he cried a lot because he was lonely, which was just funny because it was Batman crying, but that’s neither here nor there.

Also, I was having a lot of trouble finding a photo of this until I found it on ANOTHER Tumblr and there’s some OTHER girl who thinks she’s marrying Ben. Um, this is totally getting out of control. I CALLED DIBS. That’s like, legal and shit, right? Do I need to get a lawyer involved here? NO, I don’t know a LAWYER. No, wait, I am totally friends with a lawyer on Twitter. And I worked on a play once with a lawyer and I think we’re still friends on Facebook. And I’m sure if I contacted either of them and said “Hey, I called dibs on Ben Wyatt last night and now all these OTHER people say they’re going to marry him so can you get them to cease and desist for me?” THEY’D BE ALL OVER THIS TOTALLY EGREGIOUS TRAMPLING OF MY RIGHTS. So BACK OFF, Tumblr chicks. Do I need to create a damn Tumblr just to TAKE YOUR TUMBLRS DOWN? Because I WILL TOTALLY not do that at all because that sounds like it would be a lot of work, actually, and I’m really tired and also have a wedding to plan.

So, Ben Wyatt is a total nerd? And also adorable in that cute lost puppy way? And loves math and uses multi-syllabic words CORRECTLY? You just know he’d know how to use a semi-colon; I bet he uses them with abandon. What’s that sound? Oh, just MY OVARIES EXPLODING. Please ignore that.

Yes, yes, I realize that there is a REAL PERSON behind Ben Wyatt. Eh. Whatever. I don’t want Adam Scott. I’m sure he’s lovely, it’s just that I want BEN WYATT. Also, IMDb tells me that Adam Scott is ALREADY MARRIED AND HAS A CHILD. Well. See? That’s a buzzkill. BEN isn’t married. BEN is totally available. Well, ok, not “available” as much as “in love with me and we’re going to be very happy together and have a little house and dogs and probably also fish because I like the idea of having a fishtank but always forget to take care of fish so they die and I can’t have that on my conscience but Ben would be so responsible about those fish that having them would work out once we were married.”

Also, IMDb gets points for telling me that Adam Scott, and therefore also Ben, is 5’10. Well, I usually like men at least 6′ tall? Because I’m pretty tall and I like men taller than me, for whatever reason? But I’ll make an exception in this case. Because he looked shorter on my television, so this was a happy discovery. Also, Adam Scott is six months older than I am. I have no idea how old Ben is. It’s one of those things we’d discover about each other over long talks and Firefly marathons and snuggling on winter mornings and Trivial Pursuit games until 3 a.m. because we’re having too much fun to go to bed. Oh, and he would totally join my book club with me so we could read the same geeky books at the same geeky time and have spirited discussions about them. This is just going to be the best romance ever, you guys. Aren’t you the most excited ever for me? If not, WHY NOT. That’s kind of a dick move, actually, not wanting me to be happy. What? What’s that, mutterer in the back? Don’t think I can’t hear you. Oh, he’s NOT A REAL PERSON? Yeah? YOUR MOM’S NOT A REAL PERSON. What? “That doesn’t even make any sense because then you wouldn’t exist because in order for you to have been born, your mother had to have been a real person?” Yes. EXACTLY. Think about THAT the next time you want to be SNIDE about my totally awesome new romance that’s the shiniest romance ever, Killjoy McQueen.

So don’t be at all surprised when you get my wedding invitations in the mail. Well, SOME of you. Some of you aren’t getting ANYTHING. Because you’re totally rude about my awesome new love interest who is MADE OF WIN.

Added Ben picture! Because I can! People in love can totally put in added pictures!

Look at that face. That is the face of someone who’s in love with me. WHAT? IT IS. SHUT YOUR PIE-HOLE HATERS.

(Because I’m not a total dick, the Tumblrs I’m mentioning are Bavardage and Lothorn. AND the totally awesome Ben Wyatt: Human Disaster. Who also might want to marry Ben but isn’t as in-your-face about it, and if you want to see EVERY FACIAL EXPRESSION BEN HAS EVER MADE ON PARKS AND REC? Yep, she seems to have them. Thank you for the research, images, etc. But that’s as far as it goes. Don’t go assuming we’re BFFs! HE’S ALL MINE, LADIES. Also, the title? Totally a Ben quote. You love him now, too. You can admit it. You just can’t have him.)

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